Fuckballs.
That was Painter, Puck’s friend. I’d recognize him anywhere, even if he wasn’t wearing his Reaper colors. Not that I knew him—not really. But he’d been in jail with Puck. The welcome-home party that changed my whole life had been half for Painter, half for Puck. We’d all ridden back to Idaho together and I’d caught Painter’s eyes following me a time or two. Speculative and assessing, like I was some kind of strange creature he couldn’t quite identify.
Now he was chatting up Anna, who was working reception, so I ducked back down the hallway and into the bathroom. Why? I have no idea. Painter’s arrival had nothing to do with me. Probably. Didn’t mean I wanted to talk to him.
But seeing him reminded me of Puck and things went downhill from there. Specifically, I pondered all the reasons I absolutely shouldn’t ever talk to or even look at him again. Biker? Check. Dangerous? Check. Scary sexy? Check.
Scary, period.
I amended my mental “fuckballs” to “flying fuckballs with caramel sauce on top.”
He’s not Teeny, but he’s still part of Teeny’s world, I lectured myself, trying to focus on the combs I was sanitizing. And in his world, sometimes they give teenage girls to men as “welcome home from prison” presents, dumbass. Did you forget that part of the story? Puck Redhouse saved you to cover his own ass. This is not a romance and it won’t end happily ever after.
No. That wasn’t fair. Puck had been doing more than covering his ass when he dragged me out of California. He’d never been in real danger—wasn’t like the SWAT team had been poised and ready to bust him for screwing a minor. Nobody at that party had cared what happened to me at all. Not until him. He’d saved me because somewhere deep inside he was a decent human being.
The romance bit, though . . . That was dead-on. If I wanted happily ever after, Joe Collins was my guy.
I didn’t share any of this with Blake, who gave me a ride home after school. He had classes down at North Idaho College on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so when our schedules aligned, he drove. The system worked, although I wished he’d let me give him gas money. Fortunately, Earl had left a message earlier in the day saying that my car was ready and he’d left it parked in the alley behind my apartment. Over the weekend I’d have to go and pick some huckleberries to make him a pie, I decided. Earl loved his huckleberry pie, and we were at the tail end of the season so it was now or never.
“You got time to give me a haircut tonight?” Blake asked about a mile outside Callup.
“Sure,” I told him. I’d been cutting his hair for a while now. I might not have a license yet, but a simple trim like his was easy enough to do.
“That’d be great. I’m on at seven at the Moose, but I’m hoping to pick up Danielle in time for us to grab some dinner before our shifts start.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You got plans for tonight?”
“Nope, just going to relax at home. Maybe drink some wine and sit out on the roof with a book or something.”
“What about Joe? You could give him a call.”
“It’s been a busy week,” I said, dodging the question. “Lots of things happening. I’m ready for some time alone.”
Usually I spent my Friday nights hanging out with friends. Tonight I was really looking forward to doing nothing. I knew that eventually I’d be working most weekends, but until Danielle and I were up to speed Teresa didn’t want us both on shift during the busiest nights.
Maybe I’d use the time to count and roll all my coins. I threw all my change from tips into a big glass jug that I broke into whenever I truly hit bottom. If Mom finally left Teeny, I’d need it. Not that it would be enough . . . money was going to be a big problem.
Don’t get too excited, I warned myself firmly. She never leaves him. Maybe she never will.
Thankfully, Blake dropped the conversation about Joe, parking behind my place in comfortable silence. We went upstairs and I pulled one of my mismatched wooden chairs into the center of the living room. The floor was faded, scuffed hardwood and I loved every inch of it—the easy sweep-up after haircuts was just one of many advantages.
“Okay,” I told him. “Get your ass over to the sink and let’s get you washed up.”
“I’m going to grab a beer, that okay?”
“Sure, get one for me,” I told him as I ducked into the bathroom to grab some shampoo.
“Just one,” he warned. “Don’t want you cutting off my ear.”
I heard the pop of a beer cap coming off. Then he handed me a brown bottle. Taking a deep swig, I flipped on the hot water, which always took forever.
Blake pulled off his shirt and leaned over the basin, pretending to flinch when I started rinsing his hair.
“You’re such a baby,” I told him. “Stop whining, or I really will snip your ears.”
“Were you always a bitch like this? I remember you being nicer.”
“I’m taking lessons from Danielle.”
Blake laughed, and minutes later I had him washed and ready to go, wrapping a towel around his head to sop up the water. He flipped it expertly into a girl-style wrap around his head, then struck a “sexy” pose for me.
“How do I look?” he asked. “Fabulous?”
I shook my head and took another drink of beer.
“Sit your fabulous ass down in the chair. Otherwise you won’t have enough time for dinner.”
While he made himself comfortable, I turned on my little stereo. I’d bought it the day after Thanksgiving last year in Coeur d’Alene with Regina, when it was marked down to forty bucks. It had pretty good sound, though. Way better than you’d expect for the price.