Kickflip Page 2

  Yeah, I was really doing a number on myself, since that day would only come when hell froze over. And even then, Jude would have to be something other than straight.

  After my shift, I waved to Emmy and Jessie on my way out to pick up my grandmother. We had two receptionists up front today because of the full schedule.

  “Hey,” Jessie said, “guess who made an appointment with you for next week?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to be late. Gram always thought I fussed too much, but I insisted she let me drive her to and from her card night with her lady friends. This had become our standing weekly date.

  “Jude York,” Jessie said, and my shoulders instantly stiffened.

  “Jessie says he’s British. Who would’ve thunk?” Emmy waggled her eyebrows.

  I stood there staring off into space, wondering why in the hell Jude would want me of all people to give him ink. What exactly would he want drawn on him?

  Whatever it was, I’d have to be in close proximity to him—to his skin—for however long it took. I was a professional, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like I’d never been attracted to a client before. I knew how to keep it in my pants and get the job done.

  “What’s your deal? Are you freaked about him?” Jessie asked because I hadn’t moved from the doorway and was still gaping at the far wall behind her. “You believe those rumors?”

  When I still didn’t say anything, she added, “You hang out at the motorcycle bar, for God’s sake. Can’t be any rougher than that crowd.”

  “But you gotta admit the Hog’s Den serves good food,” I said, snapping out of it. I had Dex to thank for dragging me to that bar in the first place, all because of some pretty biker.

  “You don’t go for the chicken wings,” she said, laughing. “You like to look at all the tough, muscled dudes. Like I’ve said before, you love your beautiful assholes.”

  Little did Jessie know that Damon had been the polar opposite. He was soft-spoken, lean, and submissive. At least in the bedroom. He liked me to fuck him. But he just didn’t want to show any of that in public. And that was our biggest rift. That he’d remained deep in the closet.

  “Can’t deny that,” I said, a little sharper than I’d intended. “And I’m not freaked at all about Skater Boy. Just got plenty of other things on my mind.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened briefly, and she stole a quick look at Emmy, who got busy cleaning the large window up front. Jessie was used to my energetic, playful side. They both were because that’s what I showed everyone. But her news had unnerved me. I got my legs moving before I did something else to throw her. “My grandma’s waiting. Catch you later.”

  Later that evening, I picked Gram up from Rose’s house and got away before the ladies could ply me with questions and food. They had known each other for decades, had all survived their husbands, and were a lively bunch.

  “The gutters need cleaning,” Gram said, looking up at the tiny bungalow she and my grandfather had raised me in since I was ten years old, after my mother died from breast cancer. Gram was a survivor herself, and without even speaking of it, I knew she would’ve taken my mother’s place in a heartbeat.

  I’d overheard her talking to Grandpa once, her anguished voice confessing that outlasting her own child was a hell all its own. But without Gram’s love and encouragement, especially after Grandpa passed from a heart attack when I was fifteen, I didn’t know how I’d have made it to adulthood. I’d thrived under her care.

  “I’ll do it this weekend,” I said, pulling into her driveway. She was getting up there in age, and I cast the scary thought from my brain that she would die soon, and then I’d have no one. But I was good at staving off dark thoughts. I didn’t allow them to penetrate the protective shield I’d built around myself these past years.

  Jessie always joked that between me and Emmy, our workplace had become a regular Pleasantville. That we were passing out happy pills at the door. Little did she know, I all but popped a capsule when I woke each morning, keeping myself intentionally busy throughout the day, until I crashed into my sheets at night.

  “Did everything check out at your doctor’s appointment?” I asked after I followed Gram inside. I accepted the peach iced tea she offered me, and we sat down at her well-worn kitchen table to catch up properly.

  “Yes, darling.” She placed her hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze. The same comforting thing she’d done countless times over the years. “It was only a routine checkup. You worry too much.”

  She was the only person on the planet who ever saw this side of me. Well, Damon had too. Before everything went to shit. Pretty much everyone else thought I was easygoing and dicked around a lot in between long and busy days of appointments. I liked the people I worked with, and when I hung out with the crew from Raw Ink, Dex and I were usually goofing off, if he wasn’t too busy trying to drink everyone under the table.

  “Did you have dinner?” she asked.

  I nodded because Jessie had ordered something in for the staff tonight. My meals pretty much consisted of takeout, and that kind of food was sure to catch up with me fast. Good thing I made it to the gym and took the dogs for a walk or run most mornings.

  All the artists at Raw Ink kept fit, so luckily, nobody ever brought in any donuts or muffins, and we never made it a habit to snack around the clock—there was never any time anyway. Our hands were always occupied.

  Gram smiled. “How are Chopper and Ace?”

  “Chopper is still a pain in my butt,” I said, and she chuckled. “He never listens. So darn hyper.”

  “He’ll be a sweet dog once he settles. You’ll see.” She sipped from her glass.

  “I hope you’re right,” I said, grimacing. I was just thankful she hadn’t pressed me about why I’d chosen to date that asshole Joe in the first place. I actually thought we had some things in common besides our sex drive. What the hell had I been thinking?

  “What’s new at the shop?” Gram always asked about the gang at Raw Ink and had been most inquisitive about Bennett. I could swear she wished he were gay so that he and I could date. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t even my type, but I’d admit he was pretty to look at. As was his smoking-hot fiancée, Avery.

  “Just busy as usual,” I said.

  “Will you be helping Emmy at the shelter this week?” Gram loved hearing about Emmy’s volunteer work.

  “Not sure she’d let me say no,” I said, shaking my head.

  Emmy was a huge animal-rights advocate, and she was working on her veterinary degree at the university. Before I inherited Chopper, I considered fostering a dog from her shelter. Afterward, I felt bad for not taking one of those abandoned animals, so I volunteered with her a couple of times a month to alleviate the guilt.

  Emmy also lived with a grandparent, in a building that didn’t allow dogs, which was why she loved that shelter so much. Once I started volunteering there, it drove home even more how crucial it was to do everything in one’s power not to desert pets—there were already enough lonely and abused animals in the world.

  “Meet any nice boys lately?” There it was. I knew she couldn’t resist. Gram was almost too involved in my love life. She had adored Damon. And I haven’t loved another man since.

  “Now who’s worrying too much?”

  “Honey, I know you’ve experienced a lot of loss in your life, and what happened with Damon really tore apart your heart…”

  I held up my hand. “Can we please not go there?”

  “Okay, darling. I’ll just say one thing. Love is hard to find, but I know you’ll have it again.”

  The problem was, I didn’t think I wanted a do-over. It’d hurt too damned much.

  After Gram’s, I went home, fed the dogs, and attempted to watch a movie, but got restless like I usually did. It was hard for me to be alone with my thoughts, which was what always kept me out late or on the move.

  And that’s how I found myself sitting on a barstool at the Hog’s Den. The first time I came here was with Dex,
and I immediately took to the place. Dex had been hot on one of the bikers, but got his drunk self kicked out that night and told to never return. If he stepped foot anywhere near it, he was sure to be thrown out on his ass again. Since then, it amused him and everyone else that I’d become a regular. I rode a motorcycle, so at least I had that in common with their clientele.

  I kept coming back because there was enough absorbing talk about riding and motorcycles to keep my brain occupied, since I was sort of an aficionado myself. Plus, nobody gave two shits about me. There was something refreshing about that, which might sound ridiculous. But this was a small college town, and I was beyond done with the gay bars. So lately, my nights were divided between here and Zach’s, where I hung out with the other tattoo artists after work.

  It was no secret that the Disciples of the Road, the local motorcycle club, owned the Hog’s Den, so you didn’t mess around in here. Rumor had it that they dealt in illegal activity, whatever the hell that meant, but I never saw anything beyond biker dudes playing pool, drinking shots, and filing in and out of some back meeting room.

  Who knew, maybe I had a death wish or something. But I found the bar interesting and refreshingly different. It was a rougher crowd for sure, and they didn’t put up with any bullshit, which was why Dex found himself out on his ass that night after getting too flirty with a female biker.

  The Hog’s Den had a big-screen TV, a couple of pool tables and dartboards, and their hot wings were a favorite in this town. They also had roomy spaces to park out back, and I never struggled to find a spot for my Triumph street rider.

  The bar shared a parking lot with the Board Room, which was the local skate and snowboard shop next door. The same shop where Jude worked.

  I didn’t take the Hog’s Den for Jude’s kind of scene, so when he walked through the door, strode to the bar, and tipped his chin at the bartender, I could only stare. His fingers braced the edge of the smooth wood, and as his eyes scanned down the bar, they landed on mine. I schooled my reaction and sipped my beer to keep my mouth from betraying me again.

  I studied the line of his jaw in my side view before averting my gaze completely. I’d be out on my ass faster than Jude’s aerial tricks if these guys thought I was checking out another dude.

  The thing about this place was, as soon as you became a regular, nobody questioned you. But I had to prove my chops first. I’d done some of the club members’ ink, but that still didn’t buy me a free pass. I had some skeptical eyes on me that first month until I proved I simply wanted to hang out, watch a game on the big screen, or play a round of darts.

  But as soon as Jude stepped into this space tonight, it seemed as if all the air had gotten sucked out of the room. I kept my breathing in check and stared at the TV over the bartender’s head as if mesmerized by the most interesting basketball game, despite the twenty-point lead.

  “Order’s up.” Vaughn, the bartender, motioned to Jude. He turned his back to reach for a large brown bag, and I felt Jude’s intense gaze pressing in like a wall of heat before he turned away.

  Vaughn leaned over the bar to whisper something to Jude, and he nodded slowly. As he grabbed his takeout, I tipped my glass in his direction, and then he was out the door.

  “You know Jude?” Vaughn asked, his beefy forearms bracing on the bar. His tone was laced with a sharp edge, and I bristled in response. Shit.

  “Sure, from the ink shop.”

  Vaughn stared hard at me, and my mind flitted through a catalog of reasons why he could be asking. He and I had come to an understanding over the past few months. It happened one night after I noticed how he’d been checking out one of the new recruits from the Disciples of the Road, nicknamed Smoke. I knew that look, couldn’t miss it: when a gay or bi man longed after somebody unattainable.

  Vaughn’s gaze had met mine, and he was about to spout off at me or maybe kick me out of his bar, when I gave him a slight headshake. That, along with a look that said his secret was safe with me, and we’d sealed our agreement. It wasn’t like we’d become best friends since then, but we got each other now. He didn’t want the Disciples to know about him, and I didn’t want them to know about me either.

  Did he also have a thing for Jude, or was Jude somehow involved with the Disciples?

  I held his gaze and forced myself to remain neutral. I wasn’t going to give myself away.

  Apparently satisfied, he nodded and grabbed a clean glass to pour some brew.

  But the message was clear: don’t bring your shit to my bar.

  3

  Each morning, after lifting, I took the dogs for a walk. Some days I stopped at the park, but mostly I went a different route because I didn’t want to give Jude the wrong impression.

  The day before, we’d walked past the Little League ball field on Briar Avenue, and I couldn’t help but be riveted by some skaters gliding down the metal railing in the stands. It ended up being Jude and another dude I regularly saw at the bowl, practicing their daredevil antics. Like many skateboarders I’d come across over the years, they took unnecessary chances, probably for the fun of it, which made me wonder if Jude’s risk-taking was the thing that had gotten him in trouble.

  But that would mean I bought into the rumors. Or read more into what I’d seen at the motorcycle bar.

  The sun was beating down and the dogs were tired, so I’d steered them under a large tree and took some pulls from my water bottle. Ace rolled onto his back, panting openly, while Chopper lay near him, chill for the first time in a while.

  What was that saying? A good dog is a tired dog? Hell yeah. When Chopper was worn out, he didn’t struggle or challenge me, at least not as much. Problem was, it took a lot to peter him out.

  The dogs needed water too, so I wrapped the leashes around the leg of a nearby bench and strode to the fountain about a hundred yards away. I filled the container and headed back to the dogs, where I replenished their thirst from the bottle. It wasn’t an easy feat because half of it spilled on their fur, but they were so hot, they didn’t seem to mind at all.

  As I got the dogs ready to roll again, I noticed that Jude and the guy he was riding with had already vacated the bleachers. Good. Though I’d hate to think we couldn’t both take up space in this town and not be casual about it. We crossed each other’s paths all the time, and I didn’t want him or anyone else to think I was watching or following him. Guess Vaughn’s question at the bar the other night had really spooked me.

  I trudged through the baseball field and then out of the park, past some antique stores. When I heard Chopper whimper and then tug on the line, my head snapped up.

  Jude and his friend from the bleachers had met up with a couple of skaters who were performing stunts using a park bench and some concrete steps, and I heard the familiar lingo the skaters used—pivot, deck, hand plant, hang up. I wasn’t sure if the sound of fast-rolling wheels on pavement would always remind me of the straight British guy I had a crush on. But for now, it did the trick.

  I didn’t know how these daredevils didn’t break their bones. But maybe they did, and the danger of that impending doom was the thrill of it. I remembered working on a dude from the Board Room last year, who told me that the bowl became a little monotonous for a skater. He said the excitement came from figuring out how to master other obstacles, bonus stunts. Noticing the look on these skaters’ faces now, how they high-fived each other after a particularly daring trick, made even my cheeks stretch in a smile.

  And that knowledge helped chip away at some of the mystique surrounding Jude. He liked a challenge, thrived on skating, had maybe done this his entire life. He seemed alive when he was in the zone, almost blissful. Maybe it held his demons at bay, much like keeping myself busy kept away mine.

  “Chopper,” I said in warning as he strained against the leash again. The stunts were fascinating to watch from a distance, but I continued on as I normally would, heading toward the light to cross the street. I pushed the crosswalk button as Chopper rotated and whined, wa
tching Jude. “Goddamn it, dog.”

  Once we got to the other side, I turned the corner and continued down the street past the Smoothie King shop, considering whether to tie these two up to the empty bike rack and get myself a decent shake. When I saw that the line was only one person deep, that’s exactly what I did.

  I dug out my wallet as I walked to the counter, placed my order, and then waited as a guy I’d hooked up with a few weeks back made my drink. He was definitely cute and had a nice body, but now he just seemed too young and naive. Not that I was that much more mature at twenty-five. Besides, I had only been looking for a quickie, and it had worked out perfectly.

  “Here you go, Cory,” he said, handing me my strawberry-banana smoothie. My one-time hookup winked, then blushed, which told me he remembered exactly how I’d topped him that night. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

  He meant at Racers, the gay bar in town. I’d been a fixture there every weekend night all winter, before I grew tired of it. Hookups were fun but always left me feeling empty, which was tough when you craved someone more permanent in your bed. And the only permanent thing I’d gotten from my last semi-steady lover was a damned unruly dog.

  When I smiled back, the guy’s blush intensified, which was kind of sweet. “You headed there tonight?”

  “Are you hoping I am?” There was an encouraging gleam in his eye, but it felt kind of suffocating. I didn’t want to lead the guy on, and that’s exactly what I’d be doing.

  I shrugged. “Whatever happens, happens.”

  I walked out of the shop, and my legs nearly faltered when I saw Jude crouched down in front of my dogs, giving them attention. His board lay upside down next to him, and Chopper was practically on his lap. His tail was wagging a mile a minute, as if he’d just gotten his rocks off or something. That’s how happy that stinking dog was to see him.