The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) (12 page)

See,
now I’m frustrated. Guess it’s better than anxiety-laden.

“Listen,” I bark, “you’re not to blame. Stop this bullshit about feelin’ guilty. So what if you were horny. So what if you didn’t fix what Big did. So the hell what.” I take a deep breath. “It’s not the end of my world, your world, or anybody’s world. I am gonna live to breathe another day. You’re alive, Big’s still alive, thanks to his groveling, and our lives are gonna keep on truckin’. There is no damn reason to beat yourself up over this. I can’t tell you how to feel about me or how
not
to feel. That’s up to you. I can tell you though, you are one of my best friends. You’re an amazing man. And you take on way too much responsibility for other people’s actions when you should only be worrying about your own,” I expel it all in one fast paced breath and suck in another lungful of air.

My brash speech must click because Deke pulls away from the window and walks out of the kitchen to me. He doesn’t wait for permission when he grabs me and hugs me like he’s never going to let go. I turn just enough to slide my hands around his torso and hug him back with just as much ferocity.

Minutes pass as we hug in silence. I know he needs this, and if this will help fix whatever demons are battling on the inside, then I will help. Sometimes Deke is his own worst enemy.

Deke kisses the top of my head before he pulls away and my arms break from around his muscled trunk.

I look up, and he peers down, holding eye contact. “I think you need some sleep,” I state.

He nods, “You’re probably right. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.” Deke runs a tired hand through his hair, and as if on cue, he loudly yawns. It’s adorable when his hand covers his mouth, and his eyes become heavy, as he lazily blinks from lack of sleep.

I slide off the stool and grab hold of his hand. Tugging him forward, I drag him through the house to his bedroom. I pull him forward until he bumps the edge of his bed; then I push his chest to make him sit. Without having to think twice, I push at his chest again, and he falls flat onto his back. I kneel on the floor by his feet and reach for his boots. Unlacing them one at a time I throw them to the side. They make a loud thump as they hit the ground beside his dresser.

Finished, I smack the sides of his calves, “Alright mister, climb in. It’s time to rest.”

Deke groans tiredly and sluggishly slides up further on his queen sized mattress. I throw the edges of the comforter over his clothed body, and lean over the edge to lay a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, stop thinkin’, and get some rest,” I kiss his forehead once more just because.

“Thanks,” Deke whispers, emotionally drained, and closes his eyes. Worrying all night had to have taken its toll, not to mention the shit he just confessed. I have to figure out a way to talk to Big about this without actually telling him what was said. I have to know if he has an inkling about Deke’s affections.

I exit his room and go to the kitchen where I put the cap back on my apple cider and place it back into the fridge. Knowing Deke won’t drink stale beer, I empty his half-finished bottle down the kitchen sink and toss the bottle into the recycling receptacle beside his fridge, next to the trash.

I head home to let my pups out, check my cell for possible texts from Big, and take a much needed nap. Maybe you should go take a nap too. After the emotional day we’ve had, I think you deserve one as well. Don’t cha think?

Peace.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

I check my fourth text that Big has sent since he left on Monday.

Big: Talked to Gunz. He says you’re doin good. But I’d really like it if you’d fuckin text me back, Sugar Tits. I really don’t like havin to find out about my old lady from Gunz.

Yes, it’s Thursday, and I’ve only gotten four texts. None on Monday. None on Tuesday. Even after I sent him one checking in to make sure he’s doing well. Wednesday night at eleven, I got my first text. It was a drunken one. When someone fucks up and they sort of fix it, then leave, you’re under the assumption they will keep in touch to keep things copasetic. Did Big do that? No, of course not. Respectfully, I tried giving him space by not checking in till Tuesday. However, I honestly thought he was going to contact me sooner. Guess I had too high of hopes. What can I say? I’m an idiot.

First text from Big: Show me some titties, Baby

Second text came shortly after the first: What? No Sugary Tits? I wanna suck ‘em, Baby. I wanna rub my face all over those tits. Don’t ya want me to? I’m gonna cum tonight just thinkin about those big juicy tits.

Needless to say, I was already pissed he hadn’t texted sooner. I brushed his dumbass off. Other than him being a jerk and not getting a hold of me sooner, my week has flown by rather pleasantly. Deke was in a much better mood when I saw him Monday night at Debbie’s for a spaghetti dinner. Best thing about that night was that I didn’t even have to cook. Deke, of course, apologized about his behavior, and I assured him there wasn’t anything to apologize for. We are back to where we were before he confessed his alleged feelings.
Thank the Lord.

Wednesday, I stayed in for the majority of the day and read a book with Pretzel curled next to me on the couch in the basement. I asked Gunz about groceries later that day, and like I suspected, I wasn’t allowed to go without an escort. Gunz was busy. I didn’t think grocery shopping with Deke would be good, since it’s a domestic thing you do with your partner. So I opted out of groceries altogether and ate canned chicken noodle soup for dinner. I even went the entire day without talking to anyone except the occasional text. It was all fine and dandy until jackass’s texts woke me up at eleven asking for tit pics. I never replied.

Now it’s Thursday, and I’ve already packed for this weekend’s spa getaway. I ignored Big’s first text of the day: “
What’s goin’ on? Why aren’t you texting me back?
” I secured a babysitter for Pretzel; Deke’s agreed to watch him while I’m gone. So now I’m all set, if only Big would stop texting. It’s almost better with radio silence than the rude shit he texted last night. Not sure what happened to the romantic man who left saying he was going to miss me. Pretty sure that fucker is long gone, along with the forgiveness I was willing to impart. That shit has poofed into thin air and has been replaced with a pissed off pregnant woman, ready to play soccer with a certain someone’s balls.

I pat Pretzel’s head as he lies beside me on the couch. I’m just finishing up another book, and I promised the sisters I would meet them at the clubhouse for a little girl time. Not sure why we need that when we are going to be together all weekend. I like my own personal time. I guess I’m just used to it. Since I grew up and moved out of the clubhouse, I’ve lived alone except for my brief time in Chicago. When I was younger, I was surrounded by people day in and day out, never catching much down time. Since I’ve become an adult and gotten away from the constant flurry of busybodies, I’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet. Big is kind of the same. It’s nice because we can be in the same house together and be content, even though we’re not constantly talking. From what I hear, that’s the mark of a true relationship. But hey, what do I know?

I readjust my legs on the couch and lean back. The phone at my side vibrates. I pick it up.

Big: How many fuckin times do you have to read my texts without replying? I know you’re gettin them, Sugar Tits. How’s my daughter? How are you? How’s Pretz? Answer me.

Should I reply?

I chew on my inner cheek and contemplate my choices. It’s not like he can make me reply. On the other hand I could be a total bitch and give him a round of sass by asking him for a dick pic. Maybe that would serve his ass right. Although I might just get one. Not that I’d mind, but I’m not really into the whole nude selfies. Porn, sure. But my old man taking a dick pic? No. It would make me wonder who the hell else might see it. Not that there hasn’t been a million different women who’ve gotten up close and personal with the monster anyhow. I shiver at the thought.
Ick.

Just as I go to lay my phone down, it vibrates again.

Gunz: Prez is barking at me to have you contact him. Please don’t make me play the middle man.

Gunz wouldn’t have to play anything if he was smart like me and ignored him too. That’s not going to happen, unfortunately.

I hit reply.

Me: He thinks he can get away with asking for tit pics after silence from him for a few days. I don’t want to talk to him. Join my club and put him on ignore. Then we can gossip like stupid girls about it later, while we giggle, paint each other’s toenails, and braid each other’s hair. You game?

Gunz: The only hair I’ve got is on my chin. But I’ll paint your nails and braid your hair if that’s what ya want. If not, just text him back and stop bein a pain in his balls.

I tried having Gunz paint my nails a couple times when I was a kid— bad idea. Debbie had to clean up his disaster, and she banned him from using nail polish ever again. I’ll pass, unless he wants some pink polished toes. That would look pretty fuckin’ snazzy on him.

Me: Is that what he just said to you? Pain. In. His. Balls? If so, I’m definitely not texting his ass back.

Gunz: Yes, he did, and do it. He just called twenty minutes ago complaining about you not talking to him. I’m not playing relationship gopher. Get over your shit, and text him back. I don’t care what you say to him, just reply.

Me: So if I tell him to shove it up his ass, you’re not gonna care?

Gunz: If he stops texting and calling me like a lovesick puppy, then yup, have at it.

Lovesick puppy?
What?
Big is the furthest from a lovesick anything.

Harley kicks, as if she knows I’m thinking about her daddy, and I reach down to rub her. I can’t believe how big I’m getting. You think you’re done growing, then a week later your shirts seem even tighter, and your boobs swell into massive balloons that secrete this wet stuff they call colostrum. It makes breast pads your new best friend. You grossed out yet?

I don’t text Gunz back, and I bring up Big’s number to text. Here goes nothing. Gunz is lucky I love him as much as I do, or I wouldn’t be doing this. I’d rather make the bastard suffer.

Me: What do you want?

Big: It’s about fuckin time. What are you doing?

Me: Spending time with the love of my life.

Ha, eat that asshole. I grin at the text as I reach out to rub the top of Pretzel’s head.

Big: What the fuck are you talkin about? Are you tryin to piss me off?

Me: Nope.

Big: Nope, what? I can’t call right now, or I would. Fill in the blanks for me, will ya?

He would but can’t? Didn’t he just call Gunz? How’s that okay, but calling me isn’t? I’m not even going to ask. And he wants me to fill in the blanks? Puh-lease, that’s not gonna happen. I listened to Gunz and texted like I promised. I think it’s about time to meet my Sacred Sisters anyhow.

I slide off the couch, and Pretzel climbs off after me. My phone buzzes in my hand. Walking around the side of the couch, I glance at the screen.

Big: Stop fuckin ignoring me. I know you’re not busy. Gunz said you’re at home reading alone.

Of course he had to know all of that, including that I’m alone. If I had to guess he’s been wanting tabs kept on me since he rode off on his high horse, or in this case, Onyx, his Hog…. Asshole.

Me: It’s none of your business what I’m doing. Just talk to me when you get home. I will not be sending tit pics. And what I do, and if I’m ALONE or not, is none of your goddamn business.

I make my way up the hallway to Big’s bedroom to change out my pj’s and into something more appropriate.

Discarding my pj’s, I set my vibrating phone down on the freshly made bed and go to the closet. I take out a pair of black maternity pants with matching belly panel, and the black maternity shirt that Pixie bought me a few weeks ago that says,
Future Biker On Board
in hot pink lettering with a motorcycle emblem underneath. It’s comfy and cute.

Strolling back into the bedroom, I grab a pair of fuzzy pink and black socks from the dresser and slide them on, standing up. That is kind of a feat in itself, but I don’t fall over. Kudos to me.

I finish by sliding on my skull slippers that I can’t seem to stop running around in, and grab my phone from the bed to check Big’s messages. I already know I have more than one.

Big: Everything you do is my business.

Big: Alright, I don’t have time for you to act this way. I have shit to do. Now I want to talk with my nice old lady. Tell my bitchy old lady to take a nap.

Big: Is the bitchy old lady sleeping yet? I miss you. I couldn’t sleep the other night because you weren’t in bed next to me. We’ve been ridin hard, weather’s been shit, and all I can seem to do is think about you as the miles roll on.

Fuck!
He can’t play the sweet card now, not after how he’s acted. Come hell or high water, the sweet old lady ain’t coming out. Bitchy Bink is all he’s gonna get. Now all I can do is hope I can keep her at bay since I really do hate being a bitch. It’s exhausting.

Big: Listen, I know you’re probably pissed about the tit text. I’m sorry. I know I shoulda texted sooner but shit came up, and I didn’t have the time or the energy.

No energy to send a simple text? What. The. Fuck. Ever. He had plenty of time to call and check in with Gunz. Okay, I know I’m being petty and stupid. I shouldn’t really care this much. I’m really trying to put perspective on this; if I did what he did to me to him, he would be furious. Maybe it’s payback for Chicago? I dunno. What I do know is he is full of it.

I don’t wait around. I head out of the bedroom, phone in hand, and I go upstairs. I pat Pretzel on the head before leaving the house and heading out to the clubhouse.

My phone vibrates once more on the way. I don’t check it.

The backdoor to the clubhouse is unlocked, so I see myself inside and head down the hall toward the common room, where music is playing.

Inside the common room, I take it in. Seems as though everyone is already here, and the women have pushed two of the high top tables together. They’re seated around them drinking. Gunz and Deke are also part of the group. The only sister who seems to be MIA is Debbie. She’s on child duty, I guess.

There is an empty seat at the end of the table, so I don’t even ask as I hike my leg up and slide on the stool.

“Hey, Bink,” Deke smiles, sitting to my right. Pixie is seated directly to my left, and Jez is next to her, followed by Candy Cane. Gunz is at the head of the table, opposite me. Beth sits next to Deke, and then Dixie. We’ve got ourselves a full table.

The liquor bottles situated in the middle, with the shot glasses in front of everyone, tells me we are in for some drinking games.
Oh goody
, a sober party for me. It’s like lockdown deja vu except I’m the sober one, not Jez.

I set my phone on the tabletop just as it buzzes again.

Gunz raises a brow at me, eyeing my phone. I fake an innocent grin. Then both of his eyebrows draw upward, as he sternly regards me. My fake grin falters.

“Bink,” he warns lightly.

I shrug, “What? I talked to him.”

“Is he still texting?” Gunz asks, scolding me like an insolent child.

I scowl at his tone, “I don’t want to talk to him. I texted, that’s it. You’re no longer in the middle. I’ve taken care of it.”

My phone vibrates again.

Gunz and the rest of the table eye the phone.
Fine, fine, fine,
I’ll take care of it but not here. With a frustrated huff, I climb off the barstool and take my phone with me as I head to the kitchen. I’m hungry anyhow. They’ve got to have something to eat in here.