The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (2 page)

“Here.” He pointed
into a dimly lit kennel, where a lonesome dog lay curled into himself. His head
lifted just slightly once he noticed people standing outside of his door, and
as soon as those adorable eyes of his, one blue and one brown, gazed up into
mine, I was a goner.

“I’ll take him,” I
whispered. And two weeks later, Pretzel, the only male I’ve ever loved other
than my daddy and the brothers, came home to live with me.

Glancing down at the corner of my computer screen I
check the time…it’s shower time. Then I’m off to work.

I kiss Pretzel goodbye before I leave; he can come and
go as he pleases all day. I have a doggy door that goes out to my back patio
and a small fenced-in yard. My apartment may be small but it does come with a
killer outdoor space, great for cookouts and sunbathing. Not that I do either
of those things. The sight of me in a bathing suit is disgusting.

It’s week two here at work, sitting at the main desk
at the front of RJD Specialists, who are Pulmonologist and Thoracic
Oncologists. In layman’s terms, lung doctors or in this case, ones who work
with cancer patients, too. It’s a quaint office - three nurses, three doctors,
and me. Did I mention that all three doctors are gorgeous hotties? Not that I’d
tell anyone but you that little fact. But they are, and they seem fairly nice.
None of them are married; I think one has a girlfriend, not sure though, and
all three of them are best friends. They met in college or working at a
hospital or something like that. I’m new. I don’t know much, other than Kelsie,
the young 20-something nurse, is also the office gossip queen. There is also
Johanna, the sweet, rotund, mid-30’s nurse who dislikes Kelsie. And Kendrick,
our only male nurse, who is gayer than Richard Simmons doing a duet with Elton
John in a bathhouse, and I love him! He’s hilarious and flirty and being around
a group of big nasty bikers all the time, makes Kendrick the breath of fresh
rosy air in my life.

“How’s my favorite blonde?” Kendrick asked me as soon
as I strolled into the office this morning, clad in my business casual clothes,
headed to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. I rode Black Betty this
morning, and it’s impossible to stay pristine when riding on a Harley and
having two orgasms on my way to work. When I say I burst at the seams and even
moan when I’m straddling my beautiful bike, it’s not a joke. I orgasm, hard,
every damn time, and I love it.

“Great.” I smiled at him once I hit the bathroom. He
stood, leaning in the doorway watching me reapply my lip-gloss and give myself
the once over in the mirror above the sink.

“You do know that working here doesn’t mean you have
to come in so early,” he said.

“I want to make a good impression.”

Kendrick shrugged, pushing himself off the doorframe.
“Alright, but if you get to fuck any of our bosses, I better be the first to
know.”

I about had a heart attack at his bluntness.

I coughed, choking on my spit. “What?” I croaked.

“Oh… Puh-lease” his eyes rolled exaggeratedly into the
back of his skull. “As if you didn’t know.”

Know what? Huh?

“What?” I turned around and headed for the door.

Just then my cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I
tugged it from my black dress pants.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He left me to my phone, and
provided me with a too-da-loo, prissy finger wave, as he walked away in his
scrubs and bright white crocs.

Jizz: Steel, Brew, me, and some of the boys are headed
on a run for two weeks. You gonna be chill? Need you to stop by club, family
gatherin’ coming up this weeken’. Do your bro a solid and do what you best. Oh…
And follow the rules, Steel said.

Uh!!!!!
I screamed in my head.

Could my brother be any more of a barbaric moron? And
to think he’s three years younger than me. Follow the rules? Please. I always
follow the rules. Have since I was a kid. I’ve never had sex with a brother.
Not even once. Loser wannabe bikers? Yes, lots of them actually. But brothers in
the club? Nope. My daddy, Gunz, or Big Dick would murder them on site. Since I
was little, my daddy always told me he wanted more for me and my sisters. Well,
those bitches I call sisters, they got out. I, however, wanted to stay and be a
part the club that I grew up running around in. Where the man Big Dick carried
me on his shoulders like a prized doll at all the family gatherings since he’s
never had any children himself. Or where Gunz would always have a special
sucker stashed away in his cut for me. Sure, there was sex, drugs, alcohol,
bitches, and all that in between. It was my life, and I loved it. Even the big
gaping flaws.

“How’s your second week coming along?” Doctor Jagger
asks, tugging me from my thoughts, with his calculated, proper voice, standing
opposite the counter in his usual pressed Dockers and long sleeved dress shirt.
It’s September and it’s hot outside, and still he’s in a long sleeved shirt.
Odd…

“It’s going well.” I try to appear as refined as I
can.

“I saw you reformatted the scheduling system and
files.”

“Is that okay?” I raise an apprehensive brow.

A smirk is all he offers me in retort.

“Hello, Ms. Cummings,” Doc Dane says, coming into my
line of sight and standing beside his business partner and friend.

I curtly nod in his direction. “Afternoon, Doctor
Dane.”

“Please call me Lawrence.”

When you spend your entire life calling people, Big
Dick, Jizz, Brew, or Gunz, calling someone Lawrence, a normal name, becomes a
foreign concept. But one I willingly take in, accepting this crisp, fresh air
of normalcy.

“Thank you, Lawrence, and please call me Bink or Eva.
Whichever you prefer.”

The dazzling, toothy smile he produces warms my skin,
as a shot of pleasure shoots straight to my loins. “Which do you like better?” he
asks.

I can’t look at him any longer without the slight
flush of my cheeks becoming apparent. I look down. I’ve never allowed anyone to
willingly call me Eva before. I don’t even like the name.

“Bink, I prefer Bink,” I express, speaking to my
hands, not his face.

“Well, Bink it is then.” I hear the slightest fraction
of amusement cloaking his tone.

My phone sitting next to me on the desk buzzes again,
and I ignore it as I look up to see both of my bosses blatantly staring at me.

Do I have something
on my face?

Swiping my hand across my mouth and cheeks, I feel
nothing but the burn on them, as both of my boss’s stare, one set of deep ocean
blue eyes wrapped in thick black lashes and the other set a honey tawny color.
Not knowing what to say or do, I stare right back at them and sink my teeth
into my bottom lip, nervousness taking up residency in my stomach. My foot
starts to shake.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” The hardened tone from
the only other male doctor in the office echoes. I see him once he enters into
my line of sight, openly sneering at his colleagues.

“She is our bookkeeper, receptionist, and all of that.
You can’t—” He continues walking toward the exit.

Can’t what?

“Says the man who hired her.” Doctor Jagger squints in
frustration at Doctor Roman, the tallest of the three of them, who’s also the
thinnest.

Doctor Roman shrugs. “She was the most qualified.”

Grunts and grumbles from all three of them permeate
the air as they turn their attention away from me and head toward the exit.
They stop at the door and all three simultaneously turn around, locking eyes
with me from across the room.

“Lock up when you leave, and don’t come in until ten
tomorrow,” Doc Jagger states, running his hand across the side of his neatly
gelled hair.

“Ten, got it.” I jerk my head in an awkward nodding
motion.

It’s not even closing time, and they are leaving for
the day. What am I supposed to do?

They all offer me a wave and handsome smiles as they
depart. As soon as the office door comes to a full close, I let out the breath
I was holding. Could that have been any more awkward?

“And so it begins.” Kendrick makes a sudden appearance
next to me with a sly smile.

“Meaning?”

“You’re in deep.”

“Deep with what?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion,
pleading with my eyes for him to give up the goods and just tell me what he
means.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he pats my shoulder
and walks away.

Deep with what? What is he talking about? I’m not
stupid; they probably want to bang me. You can’t be a biker chick and not have
men tryin’ to bang your brains out around every damn corner.

Having completed my tasks for the day, I retrieve my
phone and check my messages.

Jizz: You didn’t text back. You gonna be chill or not,
Bink?

Me: I’m always chill, do what you gotta do. I’ll do my
job.

My job meaning I’ll cook. I always cook. What does it
matter if they are home or not? Who else is going to do it? Them? Not even my
mother cooks for the club’s family gatherings. It’s me, Dixie, and Niki. Both
of which are lifer club whores with zero need to be old ladies to any man. They
are only allowed to help when children aren’t present. Then you’ve got Candy
Cane and Debbie, who are old ladies, and both of them help too. We all pile
into the giant restaurant-equipped kitchen inside the clubhouse and cook up a
shit storm to feed our giant family of hungry bikers and their women and
children. What do I get out of it? Nothing. It’s just part of the job
description. I’m glad to do it. Plus, most of the club regulars respect me.
Note: I said most.

My phone buzzes again.

Big: Hey, little shit, somebody found Pretzel makin’ a
break for it. Got a call and he’s at the club now. If you want him, come and
claim him. If not, I’m keeping the cute fucker.

Cute.
That word and Big still don’t mesh. I chuckle, shaking my head, amused.

Me: Thanks, Big, I’ll be right over. Getting off work
now. Is that alright? Or am I not allowed over because it’s not visiting hours.

Big: Are you fuckin with me?

Me: Is that a trick question?

Is it bad that I’m texting him and the whole time that
I am, I’m picturing that big dick of his? That’s awful, isn’t it? How awful? It
seems downright dirty. I’ve only seen it once, and it’s forever imprinted in my
brain. This is the same man who, when I was a tiny kid of like five and my dad,
his VP, was out on a run, would sit on the couch in the common room and read me
Rainbow Brite
and
Care Bear
stories. The same man who knows
how much I love Italian Ices, which he keeps the clubhouse fridge permanently
stocked with. Okay, he doesn’t, but he has someone do it.

Big: Visiting hours is to limit club whores and old
ladies from bein’ here. You either of those?

Me: No. Couldn’t be if I wanted.

Big: Damn fuckin’ straight you ain’t. You’re too good
for this shit. Now come get ‘em, or I’m going to lock the doors and your ass is
shit outta luck.

Me: The club? Not your house… Right?

Big: Shut your trap and get on that hog I know you’ve
got parked out front of your new job. Then get your ass here.

Me: How’s he gonna get home on my bike?

Big: I’ll worry about it. Just get your fuckin’ dog.

Sheesh! Alright!

Already walking out of the office
building, I lock up, walk outside, and there standing next to Black Betty is
that giant motherfucker and Pretzel, on a leash, sprawled out on the pavement
next to him.

I toss my arms over my chest and give him the stink
eye.

Come to the club? He’s already here.

“So this is the club now?” I sarcastically raise a
brow in question.

“Do you want the fucker or not?” He flicks his gaze
down to my pup and back up to me.

“What happened?” I ask, walking toward them and my
bike. Upon closer inspection, I see Big is dirty as hell; his hands are caked
with mud, his face dusted in dirt and sweat. The white t-shirt under his cut is
one hot mess, as are the worn jeans hugging his thick thighs and the
shit-kickers he’s sportin’ on his feet.

“I got a call from your neighbor that he’d dug under
that damn fence, which I kept tellin’ Steel to fix so this didn’t happen. Now,
this little shit…” He glares down at Pretzel, and I almost feel sorry for him.
Big Dick is frightening; I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that menacing
ice-blue glare. “He was on his way under the fence when I got there. Got to him
before he could run.”

“Why are you so dirty?” I rake my gaze the length of
his massive stature, skipping over the crotch portion of his pants. God knows
it has its own zip code.

“I got tired of waitin’ on your fuckin’ old man to do
this job, so I took care of it. There won’t be any problems with this little
runt diggin’ out again.”

The satisfied look on his face says he’s rather proud
of himself. If he was at my house, why didn’t he just leave my dog at home?
That makes zero sense. But I’m not asking any more questions.