Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 7

The intercom buzzed.I went to answer it, my heart pounding in my ears. I pressed a button. “Hello?”

“Linden, it’s Jerry. I have a…Boxer here to see you.”

I swallowed my nerves. “Yes, I’ve been expecting him. Send him up. Thanks.”

I released the button and then rushed to the bedroom. I quickly slid into a pair of tight dark jeans and a loose weave emerald–green sweater. I’d fishtail braided my hair, letting it fall across my shoulder and then added dainty diamond studs to my ears.

When there was a knock on my front door, I went to let Boxer in.

He was leaning against the door jamb, dressed casually in jeans, a flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows, and his leather vest. Ink snaked up his arms to disappear beneath his shirt, and he wore a devastating grin.

My heart surged into my throat, and I was suddenly aware that I had no idea what I was doing with a man like him. A man like him couldn’t be contained or brushed off. He was nothing like Jeff or any other man I’d dated.

It was intimidating as hell.

He marched through the door and crowded my space as he forced me to take a few steps back. Boxer reached up to gently cradle my face in his hands, tilting my head back so I stared him in the eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied.

“Something changed.”

I glared at him and wrenched out of his grasp. “Nothing has changed.”

He sighed. “Damn it, you’ve been thinking and now you’re having doubts.”

“I haven’t been thinking,” I protested.

“You’re a doctor. When do you ever stop thinking?”

“Good point.”

“Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

I nibbled my lip. “You’re a biker.”

“Yeah.”

“We live in two different cities.”

“So?”

“Who can afford the commute time? How is that going to work?”

“You think too much. Did you have fun the other night?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to get to know me better?”

I sighed and then reluctantly nodded.

“Then come out with me and have some food and don’t worry about the other stuff.”

“Says the guy who ignored me for a week because he was trying to talk himself out of asking me on a date.”

“I had to weigh the pros and cons,” he said with a casual shrug.

“The pros and cons of what?”

“Getting involved with a woman who’s high maintenance, darlin’. I just had to decide if I wanted to put up with that shit.”

“High maintenance? I’m not high maintenance.”

He raised his brows and looked me up and down, smirking. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m not!” I insisted.

“So, a part of you isn’t worried about the fact that you’re slumming it?”

“Slumming it? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Boxer shrugged. “Can’t say one way or the other, but it seems to me like you’re a little rich girl slumming it with a biker as a sort of test drive for rebellion.”

I glared at him. “For the record, if I was going to rebel, I would’ve done it in my teens like a normal person. Furthermore, I never once thought of you and slumming it in the same thought. I want to go out with you because you make me laugh, and you kiss like a prisoner on death row.”

He shot me a lopsided grin. “Fine, you don’t have to beg me, Doc. I’ll date you.”

“Shut up, Boxer.”

With a laugh, he dipped his head. His lips brushed mine as if saying hello. I opened to him and let his taste and smell overwhelm me.

I’d never met a man like him. He had such confidence and assurance, and I knew he was toying with me, but I wanted him to.

When he pulled back, he looked down at me and smiled. “You want to get out of here?”

I nodded. “Let me just get my boots. Come in for a minute.”

He came farther into the condo and closed the door. Boxer looked around. “Nice place you got here.”

“Rental,” I explained.

Boxer nodded but didn’t seem inclined to ask questions.

“I need a pair of socks. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” he assured me.

I went to my bedroom and grabbed my black leather ankle boots and returned to the living room. Boxer was wandering around the open floor condo, his expression showing curiosity. He trekked into the kitchen and pointed to the Italian espresso machine. “What the ever-loving fuck is that?”

I laughed and slipped on my other boot. “An espresso maker.”

“Whatever happened to good old Mr. Coffee?”

I stood up. “I get enough of the dishwater-flavored coffee at the hospital. But at home, I only drink the good stuff.”

“It looks like it could fly us to the moon.” Boxer shook his head. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” I went to the counter to gather my belongings. I checked my brown shoulder bag to make sure I had my keys, cell phone, and wallet. “Where are we going?”

He flashed a grin. “I’m not telling you.”

“No sex dungeon, though, right?”

“Uh, sure.”

I rolled my eyes. We headed to the door and Boxer got there first, opening it for me. I looked at him in surprise, which only made his grin deepen. “Just because I have tattoos and wear a leather cut doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.”

“A leather cut?” I asked, brushing past him, close enough to smell his cologne. I suddenly wanted to bury my nose in his chest and inhale deeply, taking all of him in.

“The vest. It’s called a cut.”

I quickly locked the condo and after I stuck my keys in my purse, Boxer grasped my hand.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him.

“Pretty damn good.” He looked at me and winked.

“Would you even bother telling me if you were in any pain?” I asked him.

“So you can poke and prod me and think of me as your patient again instead of the hot guy you’re going out with?” He shook his head. “No way in hell. But you don’t need to worry. I’m not on any painkillers. Not even Tylenol. I’m clearheaded to drive.”

“I believe you,” I said.

“Yeah?”

I nodded.

“The pain is nothing more than a dull throb. Inconvenient.”

“So, no pus or oozing—”

Boxer’s crack of laughter echoed across the hallway. “For the love of all that is holy, please stop.”

I chuckled and let my question go. I breathed in the moment, enjoying the feel of my hand in his.

When we got to the elevator, Boxer pushed the button and the doors opened immediately. He tugged me inside and pressed the lobby button. And when we had privacy, he gently maneuvered me against a wall.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Kissing you in an elevator.” He flashed an arrogant grin, and then his lips found mine. His hand was at my waist, and his tongue slid into my mouth.

My hands wandered up his body to slip beneath the fabric of his flannel shirt. His skin was warm. I wanted to strip him down and examine every single piece of his body art.

The doors opened.

Boxer ended our kiss—far sooner than I was ready for him to—and stared down at me. He didn’t say anything, he just quirked his lips into a knowing smile and brushed a thumb across my cheek.

I was sure my face was beet red as we walked hand in hand across the lobby. Jerry’s eyes darted between us.

“Have a good night, Jerry,” I called to him.

“You too,” he murmured.

We stepped out into the brisk evening and walked through the waning sunlight a few feet to Boxer’s truck. He opened the passenger door for me.

“Thank you,” I said, climbing into the seat.

He shut the door and then went around to the driver’s side.

“So, Adderly McLintock Ford,” I began. “That’s an unusual name.”

“You’re one to talk.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. Where did Adderly come from? Family name?”

He turned on the truck. “You like jazz?”

“I don’t listen to it much.”

Boxer looked at me and grinned. He pressed a button on his steering wheel, and the warbling notes of jazz began to filter through the speakers. After a few moments of getting situated, he put the truck into gear, and we were on our way.

“My pops was a bass player in a jazz band. Loved Count Basie, Charles Mingus, and some other greats of their time. But he was really into this saxophone player from the ’60s named Cannonball Adderly.”

“Is that who we’re listening to now?”

“Yeah,” he said with a roguish grin.

“Ah, and it all becomes clear.” I smiled. “Your mom went along with it.”

He smirked. “Yeah, she went along with it. She was the one who saddled me with the middle name McLintock. John Wayne fan. They humored each other that way.”

“Sweet.”

“Sweet,” he repeated. “Yeah.”

I looked at him in confusion. His expression was suddenly closed off. I wondered if I’d accidentally unearthed something that he had wished to remain buried.

“When did you get your first tattoo?” I asked, wanting to lighten the conversation.

“Sixteen. I was trying to impress a girl.”

“Did it work?”

“Fuck yeah, it worked. I don’t kiss and tell, but let me just say, I was a rock star my junior year of high school.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with a guy like you back in high school.”

“Darlin’,” he drawled. “You don’t know what to do with a man like me now.”

No truer statement had been uttered between us.

“Are you still not going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked.

“Slow your roll. You’re gonna enjoy yourself, I promise.”

We drove to the outskirts of town and passed a lot of abandoned brick buildings and old storefronts that were empty.

Boxer turned down a side street that looked like an alleyway of sorts. A bright neon sign flashed the name “Pinky’s.”

“It’s not a biker bar, is it? I’m not really dressed for a biker bar.”

“It’s not a biker bar,” he said with a chuckle.

“What? What did I say?”

“Nothing. I just had this vision of you walking into a biker bar and your eyes bugging out of your head.”

“Why would my eyes bug out of my head?”

Boxer paused for a moment and then rubbed a thumb across his chin stubble. “I don’t know, maybe all the leather, women with teased hair and tats, and a bunch of people who give no fucks might be a shock to someone used to boat shoes and bow ties. What do you really know about bikers, Linden?” His tone was serious, and he’d used my name. He wanted me to pay attention.

“I don’t know a lot really. Just what I learned from pop culture.”

Boxer nodded thoughtfully. “We’re not like normal people.”

“Bikers?”

“Yeah, but in particular the Blue Angels,” he corrected. “We live by our own rules. We value loyalty, family, and our community. We choose to make our own reality in a world that would rather put us in a box. We prefer the open road under blue skies. We live free, Linden.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Not everything we do is lawful.”

And there it is.

“So, you’re an outlaw?”

“Yeah.” He stared at me. “Darlin’?”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” I asked in annoyance. I didn’t want to be confronted with the truth. I wanted fun and light, and this was anything but fun and light.

“So there’s no confusion about who I am or what I do. I am who I am. I’m a biker with a high school diploma. You’re a doctor. We live very different lives.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because women have this habit of saying they understand and then when their bodies get involved, so do their emotions. Don’t think you can change me.”

“Change you?” I repeated. “Why would I try and change you?”

“Because that’s what women do.”

“Not me,” I assured him.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” I insisted. “Don’t you go trying to change me.”

“What? How would I do that?” he demanded.

“I work eighty-hour weeks. I love my career, and I’m incredibly good at what I do. I’m not giving it up to sit on the sidelines of life waiting for a man to pay attention to me.”

He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I took a deep breath. “I ended a relationship a few months ago. Before I moved out here. He had this idea of what he thought I should be. He wasn’t happy when he discovered that reality and his expectations didn’t match.”

“Well, here we are,” he muttered. “Look, let’s just agree that I won’t try and change you, and you won’t try and change me. We’ll have fun and good times. We’ll have some laughs, and we won’t put any pressure on each other, and we’ll keep this easy. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said quickly.

I unlatched my seat belt and was out of the truck before Boxer was able to come around and help me. He draped an arm across my shoulder and pulled me into his side. I liked his casual, relaxed affection, and I liked that we’d set our expectations. This thing with Boxer had no future. It wouldn’t go anywhere. There was no danger of falling in love with each other because we were both clear on what we wanted.

Easy and light.

We walked down the alley to a thick, heavy wood door that he pulled open. There were red vinyl booths and a counter with red vinyl covered stools. Retro diner signs covered almost every inch of the walls. It was like stepping back in time.

“Are those pinball machines?” I asked in excitement.

“Yup. They’re vintage and they’ve been restored.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “You brought me here to play pinball?”

“Partly. Pinky’s also serves the best chili dogs I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a good chili dog,” I admitted.

“Well, tonight we fix that.”

I didn’t give him any grief about his after-surgery diet. It had been a couple of weeks. Boxer was moving around with relative ease and at some point, he had to get back to normal life. And that included his regular diet. I was just glad he’d laid off the booze the night I hung out with him at The Rex.

Pinky’s was nearly empty, but I had a feeling it would get busy later on. Boxer still had his arm around me as he guided me to a table.

“Shouldn’t we wait to be seated?” I asked, shooting a glance at the buxom, platinum blonde behind the counter who was wiping down liquor bottles and not paying any attention to us.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He gestured to the booth.

I slid into one side and Boxer took the other.

“How did you find this place?” I asked.

“It’s a secret.” He winked and then removed a red vinyl menu from between the vintage mustard and ketchup squeeze bottles.

“Why is it a secret?” I asked.

“You haven’t earned the truth yet, darlin’.”

“The truth about Pinky’s?” I leaned forward. “Is this a place that houses your nefarious activities? Is there some secret door in the back or something?”

He let out a laugh. “You’re cute when you’re curious.” He shoved the menu in front of me. “Decide what you want.”

“I thought we were getting chili dogs.”

“You want onion rings, fries, or tots?”

“Fries.”

“Shoestring, wedge, or waffle?”

“Shoestring.”

“Spicy, savory, or salty?”

“Salty.” I smiled. “Any other questions?”

He leaned forward. “What color is your underwear?”

“Nice try but no dice,” I said in mock admonishment. “You haven’t earned the privilege of knowing.”

“Damn. This is what I get for trying to seduce a smart dame.”

The platinum blonde came out from around the counter and approached our table. She wore a pair of tight jeans and a white tank top that showed off the cherry blossom tattoo winding up her right arm.

“Hi, Boxer,” she greeted.

“Hey, Freddy.” He reached across the table and took my hand, linking his fingers through mine. “Meet Dr. Linden Ward, the woman who saved my life.”

Freddy’s blue eyes lit up and she smiled, and before I knew it, she was leaning down and enveloping me in a side embrace. “Thank you so much.”

I shot Boxer a confused look, but said to Freddy, “Oh, yeah. Sure thing.”

Freddy pulled back and hastily turned her head, but she couldn’t completely hide that she was swiping a hand across her eyes.

A moment later, she faced us again. Her lashes sparkled with tears she’d failed to rein in.

What the heck?

“We’ll have three chili dogs, one order of salty shoestring fries, and two grape sodas,” Boxer said.

“Grape soda?” I asked.

“Trust me. It’s the best.”

“Nah, orange is the best,” Freddy countered.

“One of each,” Boxer relented. “Then Linden can choose.”

“You got it.” Freddy left to put in our order.

“You know her,” I said to him when we were alone. “You come here a lot, then?”

He skimmed the back of my hand with his thumb, causing tingles to erupt along my skin.

“I got her a job here,” he said. “About three months ago. I pop in every now and again to make sure she’s doing okay. She’s a nice kid. A good kid.”

Freddy returned with two glass bottles of soda and two straws. She set them down in front of us, then reached into the short green apron tied around her waist and pulled out a small plastic cup and placed it on the table.

“Food should be up shortly,” Freddy said. “Holler if you need anything.” She left again and then went to check on the only other occupied table in the place.

“You called her a kid,” I said, picking up our thread of conversation.

“She is a kid. She’s twenty-two.”

She doesn’t look like a kid to me.

Boxer’s eyes didn’t stray from my face. “What are you really trying to ask me, darlin’?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do,” he insisted. “So, own it and ask, or stop pussy-footing around.”

“Have you slept with her?”

He looked amused. “No.”

“Do you want to sleep with her?”

“No.”

His gray eyes darkened with emotion, and his hand tightened on mine.

Freddy appeared at our table with a red tray. “Here we go,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, forcing a smile.

She looked down at me and grinned. “Which soda did you choose?”

“I haven’t yet.” I reached for the grape soda and took a healthy swallow. It was like a fizzy grape popsicle. “Sold. I don’t even need to try the orange.”

Boxer grinned at Freddy. “Told ya.”

Freddy glanced at Boxer. “Need anything else?”

“I’m good. Thanks, darlin’.”

She smiled and then left our table.

He grabbed a dog, and a glob of chili landed on his plate.

I gingerly lifted mine and brought it to my mouth. I hesitated for a moment and then went for it. The chili was the perfect blend of spice and heat and I chomped away, not looking up until it was halfway gone, to find Boxer staring at me.

A slow smile of appreciation crossed his lips, and then he went back to eating.

All conversation was put on hold while we devoured our chili dogs. When I had one bite left, Boxer nudged the plate of shoestring fries toward me. “Try one.”

I snatched a fry and stuck it into my mouth, moaning at the salty potato taste on my tongue. “That’s one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” he said with amusement, eyes flashing with heat.

I polished off the last of my chili dog and then reached for another fry. Boxer grabbed for the same one, and our fingers collided.

“Fight you for it,” I teased.

“Nah, you have it, babe. I like watching you enjoy yourself.”

The underlying sensual connotation was unmistakable, and my nipples hardened against my sweater.

“You got any more questions for me?” he asked.

“The questions can keep,” I stated. “Let’s play pinball.”

“You ready for me to whip your ass at pinball?”

“Whip my ass? I play a mean pinball.”

“Like you play jacks?” he teased. He grabbed the container on the table and shook it. Coins rattled against plastic. “Loser buys a slice of banana cream pie.”

“You’re on.”

There were three vintage pinball machines in the back corner of the room, all lit up, and waiting to be played.

“Lady’s choice,” Boxer said.

“This one,” I said immediately, placing my hands on the glass.

He held out the container of coins to me. I moved into position. “What do you say? Best two out of three wins?”

Boxer grinned. “Yup.”

I slipped the token into the slot, and the machine flashed in expectation. I grasped the plunger to pull it back and then released it. A silver ball shot up, hit a bunch of bumpers on the way down, and then zoomed past the flippers before I could even attempt to save it.

“Rotten luck,” Boxer drawled.

I glared at him.

“You’ve got a competitive streak, don’t you, Doc?”

I slid the sleeves of my sweater up to my elbows. “Stand back. I need room to work.”

Laughing, he moved.

I released the plunger again—but this time I was ready. I played for a good three minutes before I lost the ball. One more chance to score some points, and then it would be Boxer’s turn. When I lost my final ball, I stepped to the side.

Boxer sauntered up with an arrogant swagger to the machine and then handed me the container of coins. He took one and slid it into the slot.

“Ready to be impressed?” he asked.

“Ready,” I said in amusement.

He pulled back the plunger. The steel ball pinged and ponged, lighting up the machine. I watched in astonishment as his score kept going up. Finally, the ball dropped down and he flung it up again. It took him ten minutes to lose the first ball.

“You really are a pinball wizard,” I said in amazement. “How did you get so good?”

“When I was a kid, I spent most of my free time in the mall arcade. Had to learn how to make a dollar last.” His smile was wry.

We’d had such different childhoods, I realized. Mine had been spent learning how to ride horses, sailing on yachts, tennis lessons, and dinners at fancy restaurants. His had been full of mall arcades and who knew what else?

“Come here,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“What about our bet?” I asked.

He laughed. “I’ll buy you a slice of pie no matter who wins.” He took my hand and gently tugged me toward him, positioning me at the machine. Boxer stood at my back and pressed even closer.

He was a wall of heat, and then I ever so slightly brushed against him to feel his erection.

Boxer sucked in a breath. “You don’t fight fair, darlin’.”

“No, I don’t. Do you?” I said, turning my head to look up at him over my shoulder.

He gazed down at me, his steely gray eyes like liquid mercury. “Not even a little bit.”

Our eyes locked, and I drowned in the moment. He looked at my lips before he closed the space between us. Boxer kissed me. He kissed me with feeling and purpose. He made my head spin, taking me to some other time and place. Only when he pulled back and smiled at me—that charming, knowing smile—did I come back to the present.

I turned around fully so my butt was pressed against the pinball machine. My hands went to his belt loops so I could pull him toward me.

“Boxer?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Earlier, you asked what color underwear I was wearing.”

“I remember.”

I leaned toward him so I could gently nip the side of his chin. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

His hand came up to grasp my neck so he could tilt my head back. “Yeah, babe. You definitely don’t fight fair.”

Just when he was about to kiss me again, his cell phone rang. With an aggrieved sigh, he let me go and reached into his jeans pocket to retrieve it.

“I’ve got to take this.”

I nodded, and then Boxer answered the phone and strode toward the exit. He took his warmth and my attention with him. As I watched him walk away, I studied his body for signs that he was in pain from his appendectomy, but there were none. He moved with a fluid grace, a man confident in his own skin.

He disappeared through the door, and I was alone in the restaurant. The other couple had paid and left sometime during our pinball playoff, but no one else had come in yet.

I waited a few minutes to see if Boxer would return, but when it was clear his phone call would take a little more time, I quickly played the last two balls, not putting that much effort into it. When I lost, I grabbed the container of tokens and went back to the table.

Freddy was clearing away our plates and had replaced our two sodas with fresh ones.

“How was the food?” she asked.

“Perfect comfort food. Loved it.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments to the chef.”

“You want to sit for a minute?” I asked.

Her eyes lit up. “Sure.” She plopped down in Boxer’s side of the booth across from me.

“Are you from Texas?” I asked.

“Yeah. From Fort Worth. I went to college at A&M.”

“What did you study?”

“Engineering. I dropped out last semester.” She paused. “Life stuff.”

“Life stuff. Yeah, I get that.”

I so get that.

She looked at the door, but it remained shut. Freddy’s gaze darted back to mine. “Okay, listen. Boxer would kill me if he knew I told you this, but I want to say it anyway. He’s a good guy. A great guy. Don’t take him at face value.”

“Face value?” I repeated.

She nodded. “He got me this job. He went out on a limb for me when he didn’t have to. He might come across…like he’s only out for a good time, but that’s just not true.”

“It’s not?”

Freddy shook her head. “Like I said, I haven’t worked here long, but he comes in every now and then and he’s never, not once, brought a woman.”

“You care about him,” I said with a genuine smile.

She nodded. “Like a brother.”

I chuckled. “You must’ve heard us talking about you.”

“I might have.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “He’s a flirt. I’m sure you’ve noticed that by now?”

“Uh, little bit.”

She chuckled but then sobered. “There’s much more to him than that. Women just see a hot face, a guy willing to have a good time, a guy who’s in a biker club so he’s got that dangerous thing going on, and they never get to know him. They never stick around.”

“How do you know so much about him?” I asked, my curiosity spiking to new levels.

“I’ve gone to a few of the Blue Angels’ parties…at the clubhouse in Waco. I’ve seen him with other women. I see how they are with him.”

I wasn’t about to tell her that I wasn’t going to stick around. Even if what she said was true, I wasn’t the woman for Boxer. We were from two different worlds. I wasn’t slumming it, no matter what he thought, but neither did I expect to be picking out china patterns with him.

“You go all the way to Waco to party?” I asked in surprise.

She grinned. “Some parties are worth the drive.”

The door to Pinky’s opened and an elderly couple walked in, Boxer trailing behind them. Boxer said something to the older man who wore a navy–blue baseball hat with yellow writing that I couldn’t read from where I was sitting.

The couple went to a table on the other side of the room, and Freddy hopped up. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Thanks, Freddy,” I said. “For your insight.”

She beamed.

“We’ll take a slice of the banana cream pie,” I said to her. “Two forks.”

“You got it.”

Boxer was at the table talking to the older couple when Freddy joined him. A few moments later, Boxer had the elderly woman giggling like a teenager and the older gentleman shaking his hand.

I watched him interact with them and realized that he had a gift for making people feel comfortable.

He came back to the table and slid into the booth. “Sorry about that.”

I waved my hand in dismissal. “Not a problem.”

“You lost interest in pinball?”

“I wanted pie more. I ordered us a slice.”

“Thanks,” he said. My hand rested on the table in front of me, and he took it.

“What was that about?” I asked, gesturing with my chin to the couple. “Do you know them?”

Boxer shook his head. “Nah. Met them just now when I was holding the door open for them. Nice couple.”

Freddy arrived with our banana cream pie, and she set it down between us, along with another plate. “Lemon icebox,” she explained. “This one’s on the house. You’re gonna love it. Anything else?”

“Put Jed and Sylvie’s dinner on my tab,” Boxer said.

“Will do.” She swept away and headed back to the bar.

“That’s kind of you,” I said to Boxer. “Buying total strangers dinner.”

“Jed served in Vietnam,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Face value,” I murmured.

“Hmm?” He took the fork resting on the lemon icebox pie plate and cut a bite.

“Nothing,” I said with a small smile. “Nothing at all.”