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“All right,” she said to no one. “Get out of your head, and let’s get this over with.”
Holly trudged up the driveway to the front stoop of Rick’s surprisingly charming ranch-style house. With a brick façade and navy blue shutters around four front windows, the place had a cozy vibe to it. After a fortifying breath, Holly knocked on the blue door that matched the shutters.
“’S open! Come on in,” came the muffled reply.
Holly pressed down on the lever, pushed the door open, and stepped into the foyer of Rick’s house. First impression: the man needed to watch some HGTV. Bare white walls greeted her, no rug or mat on the worn linoleum floor, and a few unopened twelve-packs of beer stacked halfway down the hall. “Rick?”
“Yeah, babe, in the kitchen. Come straight to the end of the hall.”
Holly winced at the endearment. When LJ called her babe, her insides turned to jelly. When the guys in the MC did it? She took it in stride. Actually, she liked it. It was sisterly in some way, which made no sense, but she rolled with it.
With Rick? Not so much. Seemed somehow…sleazy.
She walked down the sparse hallway until she entered the quintessential stereotype of a man’s kitchen. Open pizza box on the black countertop. Empty beer bottles lined up near the trash can. A pristine oven that didn’t look like it’d ever been used. A neon Blue Moon beer sign was the only decoration she’d seen so far. The monstrosity hung above an unvarnished round wood table with two chairs.
“Damn, woman, you sure can rock a pair of tight jeans.”
Holly turned her head to the left and found Rick leaning against his small kitchen island. His eyes shone, and the tip of his nose practically glowed red. A beer bottle dangled from one hand with another six empties near the box of half-eaten pizza on the counter.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” Was he on his seventh beer? No way. It was six on a Saturday evening, and he’d planned to be the driver to Knoxville.
He took an unsteady step away from the island and toward her. “Too bad you’re giving all that away to a piece of trash.”
At once, Holly’s blood ran cold. He was drunk off his ass.
“Rick,” she said with a shake of her head. “Can we please not do this? I came as a favor to my parents. I understand how awkward this is, but we’re here, and we have the tickets, so let’s just try to make a fun evening of it. Huh? I’ll drive.”
“Giving it to a fucking biker,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I don’t get it.” As he talked, he gestured with his hands, spilling a stream of beer onto his linoleum floor. The mess went completely unnoticed by him. “Just don’t get it.”
Could this get any more uncomfortable? “So, uh, how long have you lived here?”
Please accept the change of subject.
“Heard a rumor that Little Jack has a monster cock. That what you’re looking for? A giant cock?”
What the hell? “You did not just ask me that. You know what, Rick, I know I made a promise to my father, but I don’t think I can go through with this. I’m gonna head out.”
She spun on her heel and started for the door at a rapid clip. Halfway to salvation, a hand clamped down on her wrist and yanked her back. She slammed into his chest, hard. Her momentum nearly toppled the wobbly man, and on instinct, she reached out to steady him.
Somehow, they ended up in reversed positions, with him now blocking her path to the door.
Shit.
“He thinks he’s so fucking tough. They all do. Think they’re untouchable. Well, they have no idea what’s coming for them. No idea how your father is going to burn their club to the ground.”
Holly’s belly ached like her stomach acids were burning a hole straight through every layer of the organ. Now, when LJ asked, she’d have to tell him Rick touched her. That thought almost made her more nauseated than thinking of her father’s scheme to take down the motorcycle club.
“Rick, I need to leave, and I think you need to stop drinking and lie down for a bit.” Would he even remember this encounter in the morning? Would he wake wondering what the fuck happened and curious over the fact he couldn’t recall a single moment of the concert?
“Sure, LJ’s big,” Rick went on, with a laugh. He tried to take a step closer to her but ended up listing too far to the right and careening into the wall. “He’s a big motherfucker, but I bet he can’t fight for shit. Bet I could fucking take him.”
Take him where? What was going on? Holly could barely follow this conversation. Before she had the chance to respond, Rick jumped and somehow managed to land in a fighter’s stance without falling flat on his face. “I could so fucking take him.”
