Reinventing Mel: A Hellion MC Novel Page 6

  All to ask me about my date with Mel (how had they heard?) and where we'd gone (why were they so interested?) and whether I thought we'd 'hit it off' (whatever that meant). Talk about intrusive! I felt like I was being grilled over something that was, basically, none of their stinking business.

  But it was their advice, the contradictory opinions on how I should 'handle' Mel that had me wiggling in my chair in embarrassment.

  "Since Mel's a quiet guy, you're gonna want to take it as fuckin' slow as possible, beautiful," Bishop counseled in his turn around my area in reception. "Still waters and all that shit."

  "Keep him goddamn guessing, princess. A guy don't like when a woman fuckin' gives it up too easy," Silo explained, leaning a hip on the edge of my desk when he'd oh-so-casually came into my space. Advice which I found pretty funny since I'd already seen that as soon as one of the single Honeys came near the big bald guy, his hands were all over any part of them that carried a curve.

  But it was Dare's guidance which had me out and out laughing. "Not to get all up in your bidness, Lucille, but you and Mel make a pretty good couple. You don't want to lose him by playin' all fuckin' virginal and shit when you're together. Just let things run at their own fuckin' pace when it comes to the physical doings between you, yeah?"

  Were you kidding me? You'd think these guys had something at stake in whether or not Mel and I got something going in the bedroom!

  The good part about being so busy and the floor show the three men had provided was that I didn't have time to worry about what Mrs. Pasternak's note meant. But I planned on stopping at her place right after I got home from my trek to the fabric store.

  I was thinking a new outfit was in order for Saturday night. One that might show a little bit more cleavage than I'd let peek before because sometimes, god knew, a man need a girl to give a silent signal that it'd be okay for him to kick things up a notch and make his move. And I needed something to propel Mel out of bashfulville and into sin city.

  Should I try to talk him into dinner and a movie at my place on Saturday? I knew his house was out of the question unless we wanted an audience of the family kind. In fact, in order for things to move along in the 'physical doings' as Dare had called it, my apartment was really our only choice. Which didn't bother me in the least since I'd have the 'home court' advantage. The only bad part would be that we wouldn't be able to spend the night together.

  And I'd decided a long time ago one of the best things about having an overnight guest was waking up next to him the following morning. Sexy breakfasts which somehow became foreplay and led to seductive showers together culminating in a round of morning fun were my own personal favorites.

  I was so hoping Mel and I would have those kind of opportunities at some point.

  He didn't join me for lunch and I hadn't realized how much I'd looked forward to seeing him. When he was around, the half-hour flew by but on that day it dragged. I was disappointed but, more importantly, I wondered if he was avoiding me. What if Silo and Bishop were right and he wanted to take things slow? Had I moved too fast the night before in initiating the second and deeper, more exciting kiss? Obviously my suggestion of going upstairs hadn't been acceptable but we'd somehow gotten beyond it.

  I felt my face heat as I considered how forward I'd been.

  I didn't usually question myself but the biker's words of advice had me rethinking things and kept my mind engaged throughout the rest of my day. The end of which came pretty quickly.

  My local store had a wonderful selection of both fabric and patterns almost spoiling me for choice. I knew that making clothes was becoming a dying art and was sometimes more expensive than just going out and buying something to wear. But there was something about the meticulousness of designing, working a pattern and then putting the cut pieces together that gave me a sense of satisfaction. Satisfaction in both creating something myself and in not wearing what every other woman wore.

  After my dinner-for-one frozen entrée, I grabbed one of my handmade velvet roses and went to see Mrs. Pasternak.

  "Hey, Mrs. P. I just came by to return your loaf pan and to thank you for your note," I said smiling as cheerily as I could into the lined and sweet face of my neighbor who seemed to love my little gift.

  "Come in, Lulu! It's so nice to see you." The older woman's place was a treasure of antiques and crystal knickknacks. "I have a pot of decaf on and just a couple of brownies left if you want to take a seat. How're you getting on, dear?"

  "Great. Just great. All moved in and except for painting the walls, just about settled."

  "Saw that nice young man at your door last night. Missoula has a pretty good selection of available men, don't you think?"

  Holy cow, Mel hadn't been kidding about the eyes at the peepholes in our apartment building!

  "Yes. He took me to Boots. It was fun!" I tried to keep my shock from both my face and my voice at how she'd just let me know that she was spying on me and my date.

  Mrs. P. brought out a tray that held a carafe of coffee, cups with saucers and a plate piled high with what appeared to be dark chocolate brownies.

  Dark chocolate was my kryptonite.

  "Boot's? Oh yes. That's the new name for what used to be known as 'Dirty Donna's'. A place where I heard women danced with their tops off," Mr. P announced with a frown which I assumed was one of judgment.

  I held back a giggle at the look of disgust on the older woman's face as she sat opposite me. I didn't have an opinion on exotic dancers one way or the other figuring a girl had to make money to survive any way she possibly could.

  "I was hoping you could fill me in on the man who was looking for me last night." I was anxious to hear what information she had, knowing it would lead me in deciding my next move. One I hoped didn't find me loading up my cute little Fiat and high-tailing it out of town.

  "Oh, he wasn't looking for you, dear. He wanted information about you more like."

  "Information?"

  "Yes, what you looked like and where you were working. How long you lived here, et cetera, et cetera." I watched as she waved a flowery clad arm around to indicate the amount of questions the stranger seemed to ask. "Seemed entirely too inquisitive for me."

  "Do you remember what he looked like?" I prodded.

  I watched the halo of her fluffy white hair wave as she nodded. Grandmother Palmer had often said that when a woman's hair changed with age it either became a scouring pad or cotton candy. Mrs. P's had obviously gone to the sweet side of the equation.

  "A tall distinguished fella, maybe late forties, early fifties. Just the beginning of white showing at the temples. Dark blonde hair. Dressed spiffy-like, you know, in a nice suit with a tie. We don't see a lot of ties around here that aren't the string type," she pronounced.

  Shoot!

  "Did you notice anything about his voice, the way he talked?" I pressed.

  "Funny. Now that you mention it, he had a kind of a lisp. A slurring of his ess's much like my Mickey did when he was little. Did I tell you about my children?"

  Aytch-ee-double hockey sticks!

  As she moved to pick out frames from around the room, I knew I was stuck in place for at least another twenty minutes before I could go home and have the conniption fit I knew was on my horizon. Something I knew was forthcoming by my racing heartbeat and the sheen of sweat that was blooming on my palms, forehead and been my shoulder blades.

  I oohed and ahhed over the various family photos, showing gaped tooth smiles of people that somewhat resembled her. Hearing stories of this and that which I could barely take in due to the storm building inside me. With words of thanks for both the snack and her company, I went back to my place. After securing my door, I began to pace. The jitters in my legs left me with no other choice but to move.

  Oh, yeah, I knew exactly who Mrs. Pasternak described.

  Mr. Billings, my dad's lawyer, so deeply entrenched in my family's pocket we were his only clients. For my father to have sent him and not one of the under
lings, I knew that the big guns had been aimed and fired.

  And it flipping scared me to death!

  I ran to my bedroom and pulled out one of the suitcases from beneath my queen-sized bed. Feeling along the left side, I pried the lining away from the side and pulled out my old iPhone. But it wouldn't turn on.

  The battery must've died! I reached for another case and pulled out its charger. Plugging them into one of the few outlets in my bedroom I went back to pacing.

  How stupid was I to think that by turning off my expensive connection to my old world and buying a cheap, pay-as-you-go phone that all of my past was wiped out? I should've known they wouldn't just let me go, least of all my dad. Not after what I'd seen with my own eyes and had stupidly confronted him with. Other than that, though, how had I screwed up in my plan to escape Albuquerque and all the expectations for me there? Between Missoula and my home town was almost the whole country. Well, width-wise anyway.

  How had they found me and so fast?

  I felt almost sick with the knowledge that Mr. Billings was on my trail. I hadn't hidden myself well at all. Not if within three weeks of me leaving he'd come knocking on my neighbor's doors. Did any of the rest of the people in my building tell him anything?

  Wait! Why hadn't he tried to contact me directly? That didn't make any sense. I mean, if I was told to find someone and I knew where they were, I'd just confront them face-to-face.

  But he hadn't.

  The fact that he hadn't scared me even more.

  My dad had a saying he was fond of, one I'd heard so often that it was almost like his own personal motto regarding his dealings with his competitors. "I'll let him hoist himself by his own petard." Which basically meant he'd let whomever do whatever crap they were doing until the competitor screwed up. Then my father would swoop in and get exactly whatever it was that he'd originally wanted.

  Oh, god!

  Was that his game with me?

  I went to check on my old phone and found it had just enough power. Enough so I could see I had one hundred and four missed calls, eighty-nine voicemails and so many emails that my account was no longer accepting incoming messages. I counted it as a blessing there were only sixty-something texts.

  The bad part was they were all from the same three people: my dad, my sister and Jon, my father's hand-picked choice as my fiancé.

  Chapter Seven

  Der was home when Mel arrived albeit in his room with the door shut and locked. Which, in his mind, was a good thing since with what he'd learned from the school'd had his fists itching to connect with his little brother's face.

  Failing every class but Algebra.

  Missed days when Mel knew, damn-well knew, Der had acted like he'd attended.

  Having 'behavioral issues' with both teachers and other students.

  All completely out of character and without justification. Totally unacceptable and sliding into the 'shut this shit down now' portion of the scorecard.

  Maybe getting Der into the Hellion program would be the best thing for him. According to Rinse, otherwise known as Drake, it'd changed him. After citing all the stuff he'd been into before his sister, Dallas, had accepted the club's help. Mel had been surprised at how the young man had turned himself around. To the point Mel had a hard time envisioning someone so confident and sure of himself as a punk. Which is the word Rinse had used to describe himself 'back in the day' even though it was only a few weeks before.

  As their talk had progressed, the younger man asked questions about Derek and gave examples of how the boys had been similar. "Man, if my sis had gotten me here when I was fifteen my life would've been totally different. No legal hassles, no picking the wrong people to hang with and sure as shit no worries about my future."

  Was that really what his brother was headed towards?

  "You're really gonna be a recruit? Man, that is so cool. Trey said they'd take me on but only after I turn eighteen. Which is only in eight months, but still. Seems like a long time to have to wait." Rinse's voice had held awe at Mel's upcoming change in status, giving him the idea it was a much bigger deal and one of more import than he'd originally considered.

  Mel'd called Trey on his way back from the school and had given him the report. "Take tonight to fucking think it all through and then come see me tomorrow. Just know we have your back, son."

  "Thank you. I will," a grateful but still angry Mel had replied.

  The only bright spots in his day had been Jules and the memories of Lulu from the night before. He'd missed having lunch with his bright girl, counting being with her as one of the highlights of his days. Glancing at the clock, he wondered if it was too late to call her. It probably was and then there was the whole three day rule of not appearing too eager.

  But three days would put them at Saturday, which would see them back together again.

  Shit but this stuff was confusing, he thought running a hand over his forehead. And the guys at work weren't helping in the least.

  Speed up, slow down.

  Do what your cock demands versus taking the gentlemanly road.

  While he was grateful for the instructions from men he knew had much more experience than he did, their advice was so contradictory he didn't know what to do.

  Plus, there was his whole financial situation. Even though he got paid on Friday, he had the monthly car insurance due and Jules needed new shoes. Seemed like she grew out of a pair every month. And girl's shoes, at least the ones his sister liked, didn't come cheap.

  He'd hoped to be able to pay for dinner and a movie but didn't know how he was gonna swing it. Especially since he'd taken Brand's advice when he'd first arrived and had been adding ten percent to a savings account with every paycheck.

  But Lulu didn't seem like a girl that needed a lot of expensive attention so maybe he could get by with using one of the two-fer coupons Dee was always pressing on him and making use of the local drive-in which charged by the carload.

  He and Lulu alone in the Cutlass with a couple of hours to kill?

  Oh hell yeah, his dick moaned on a deep note.

  There was no denying the fact he found her physically attractive. Shit, just even the sound of her petticoats rustling as she moved in his general vicinity had his flag fully extended and waving in attention.

  But he'd discovered her to be much more than beautiful. Lulu was smart and funny, too. Not so full of herself that she didn't ask questions about him and his life. In fact, when he thought about it, she didn't give up much of her past but seemed to turn the conversation back to him every time he'd to move the spotlight to her. Maybe she thought he was prying when he'd just been trying to get to know her better.

  Ten thirty wasn't so late, he decided as he pulled up his contact list and pressed the 'call' button.

  "Hey, Lulu. It's Mel. I didn't wake you, did I? Good. Just wanted to talk to you since we didn't get a chance to say much more than 'hi' today," he said, then kicking himself because what came out of his mouth had sounded stupid upon reflection.

  "It's good you called. Lunch was kind of lonely without you." Man, her voice sounded good. Almost like the golden sweetness of syrup that coated your tongue as you bit into pancakes. Warm, hot pancakes. "How'd your day go?"

  "Busy, interesting. Glad it's over. Yours?" He couldn't seem to help the gravel in his voice.

  "Just about the same. So are we still on for Saturday?" He could just imagine her slight grin and baby blues blinking as she voiced her question.

  "Absolutely. Do you have a preference for what we get up to?" Mel recognized his double entendre but hoped she didn't.

  "I was thinking, and I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, but maybe I could cook something and we could watch a movie?"

  Holy shit! Fuckin' miles better than a damn drive-in and the chance to be all up-close and personal with her the entire time? His cock was practically screaming in complete delight behind his zipper.

  "That sounds, ah, great. How about I pick up a movie from one
of those box places? Anything in particular you wanted to see?" Mel recognized his voice had changed, gone deeper but he just couldn't help it since it seemed to be tied to the fire she built every time he was exposed to her.

  "I like anything in the action or comedy category," she said. Did her voice sound more breathy than normal? Or was it just the phone connection?

  "Great. What time is good for you?" He was hoping for noon but knew that'd be impossible due to Dare's plans for him.

  "Six or seven. Or is that too late?"

  "Ah. No. Six would be fine," he hedged almost disappointed she hadn't said five. Five was a reasonable time to eat.

  "Will you be able to get a sitter?"