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She said his last name like someone who spoke fluent Spanish—or at least was around a lot of people who did. She pronounced it as it was meant to be pronounced.
“If so, we have a deal, yeah.” He offered his hand and she shook it. She did not return his smile. The woman had not cracked a smile since he’d greeted her at the door.
If her Mojave feelings about contracts were like his Muscogee family’s feelings about contracts, that handshake was the thing to trust, whether or not she ever asked him to sign one of her pastel sheets of paper. He’d known a rare few Indigenous people who trusted a signature.
As Geri gathered her papers together, the familiar roar of Harleys rose up outside. Cooper was expecting it, but he tuned in and listened for a second to make sure he knew those bikes. Yep, that was Ben’s Road King and Zach’s Fat Bob.
His VP and his SAA. Together, they three were the top of the charter’s food chain. And today, they were riding north to meet with the Clark County sheriff. He’d been hard to pin down, and that was cause for some concern.
An important feature of the Bulls’ business plan was getting local law on board. In Tulsa, for as long as the Bulls had been outlaw, they’d had a working relationship with the Tulsa police chief, the Tulsa County sheriff, and the chief of the state highway patrol. When they were home, as long as they kept their shit quiet and didn’t make trouble for any elected officials, they were pretty much free to go on about their business, whatever that business was.
It was mainly on Cooper to forge those relationships here in Nevada. But, again, they were working backward, the need coming before the friendship, and that put the Bulls at a disadvantage. Another disadvantage: ‘Laughlin’ was not a town at all. They’d started off thinking that would be a net positive—no local police to pay off—but it had turned out to be a snarl. The area considered Laughlin covered three different states: Nevada, Arizona, and California. They intended to keep their business in Nevada, but it wasn’t entirely possible because Nevada was just a sliver down the center of the area. Hell, Zach had gone and bought property in Arizona; he meant to live over there. So they’d had to get the LEOs of Mohave County in Arizona and San Bernardino County in California on board, too.
Such a pain in the ass.
With a glance out the front window, Cooper saw Ben and Zach pull onto his driveway. Geri had all her papers collected, and he was ready to go, so he ushered her to the front, snagging his kutte off the arm of the sofa before he opened the door.
Ben and Zach were both in the process of cutting their engines and dismounting, but seeing Cooper, they stayed in their saddles and gave him a wave.
He waved back and turned to lock up. Geri headed to her little SUV with the Bright ‘n Fresh wrap. As he turned to head to his bike, he saw that Siena had pulled her decrepit little Pontiac onto her driveway and was climbing out from behind the wheel. She was dressed in her skimpy work uniform, with the usual substantial improvement of her cup size.
Zach smiled and gave her a friendly salute. She flipped him off before she turned and stomped toward the house, making sure to avoid any further eye contact.
Idly, Cooper noted that it was early for her to be home from work and wondered if there was some kind of trouble. Didn’t matter; not his problem. She wouldn’t be glad for any offer of help from him, anyway. Unless she was on the verge of getting her face rearranged, of course.
Days had passed since that weird scene in his kitchen, but she hadn’t cooled off at all. Instead, she’d redoubled her commitment to treating him like dog shit.
Cooper knew he’d said something shitty; he’d meant to. Things had gotten weirdly intense between them during that talk. At some point, he’d gotten it into his head that he liked her, and once that had happened his lizard brain had engaged, and he’d come damn close to kissing her. He’d felt and seen that she’d been on the same page. If he’d pulled her to him, she’d have come willingly. Eagerly, even.
But that was not a good idea at all. He wasn’t a settling-down type, and he damn sure couldn’t bang his next-door neighbor. Far too many possible problems arose in that scenario. So he’d said something to chill the heat that had risen suddenly between them.
He’d meant to piss her off, but holyfuck, she’d about lost her mind. He’d been going for irritation, maybe a little light feminist offense, but she’d reacted like he’dthreatenedher—more than that, even. Like he’d physically hurt her. She was a lot more sensitive about having tiny tits than he’d expected; she didn’t come off as a particularly vain or self-conscious woman. Considering the conversation they’d been having, he’d thought asking about her tits was an on-point kind of obnoxious question; he’d been right, but he’d really flubbed the magnitude of her reaction.
So ... yeah. Keeping their distance was a good thing. They’d be a terrible match for a hundred reasons, chief among them that he didn’t want to be ‘matched’ with anyone. Some guys liked to get locked into one relationship with one woman till death finally did them, but that was not for Cooper. He’d couldn’t imagine feeling for years that good, hot rush he felt with a new chick, and he’d seen firsthand what marriage was like when the rush wore off. That was not for him.
But fuck if it didn’t drive him right up to the edge of batshit to see Siena’s sneer when she accidentally made eye contact with him. Maybe he wasn’t the best guy ever, but he was not a guy who deserved hate like that. Contempt. Disgust.
Jesusfuck, he hated getting heat he had not earned.
“Wow,” Zach said as Cooper grabbed his helmet off his Softail. “I know I didn’t do shit to a chick I’ve never laid eyes on before, so she either hates bikers on principle, or she hates you and everybody who knows you.”
“Yeah, that’s backwash from me,” Cooper said and fastened his chinstrap. Reason number nine hundred and something why he should have stayed in Tulsa: Nevada’s fucking helmet law.
“Not a good idea to make an enemy of your next-door neighbor,” Ben pointed out, managing to be heard over the idling Harley engines without actually raising his voice.
His point was sound, of course; a pissed-off Karen dialing 911 could potentially hurt the club just about as badly as a war with a rival crew might, when that Karen lived right next door to the club president. But Cooper wasn’t in the mood to hear critique.
“Thanks there, Captain Obvious. She’s not an enemy, she’s just pissed. I’ll figure it out.”
Ben nodded and said no more.
But Zach grinned. “Immune to the patented Calderon charm, I guess?”
“Fuck off, kid.” Cooper said and mounted up. “Let’s ride.”
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~oOo~
