Harley’s Achilles(3)

I was happy for my best friend, don’t get me wrong, but I missed him in my life. Jinx called a lot, and we Skyped, but there was a void in my life now. I stepped out into the garage and stopped in front of Holden’s motorcycle. He and my dad had a thing for Harleys, so here I was, Harley James Payne. I’d tried to take the bike out and that was about the only time my father said anything to me. He screamed at me not to touch it.

Holden would have hated it, his bike gathering dust three years after his death. He would want me to ride it, he’d want me to take it on the curves in Camp Verde and Black Canyon. I touched the chrome and smiled. We’d had good times on the bike, he and I. I pushed the memories aside and walked out into the driveway. There, perched on the hood of my truck, was Achilles. I cursed and he jumped off the hood, striding over to me in two steps. Damn, the man was tall.

“Harley.” Achilles stood over me.

“You know, I hate that tone of voice.” I looked up at him. “I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“How did you find me this time?” I folded my arms across my chest and gazed up at him. Achilles was what I would call an Adonis. He belonged in an art museum. His chiseled jawline and straight nose complemented his high cheekbones. His eyes, on the other hand ̶ well, they were hard to describe. They reminded me of blue quartzite, but there was some gray in there with a little …

“I’m former Special Forces, Harley. I can find a needle in a haystack.”

“Well, that would take time, now wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but you seem to think you’re Harry Potter.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Get this through your thick skull, Harley. I’m not leaving your side.”

Why did that thrill me and annoy me?

“Even if I had a pocketful of fucks, I still wouldn’t give you one,” I tossed flippantly over my shoulder as I approached my truck. A strong hand gripped my bicep, and then I was a hair’s breadth from Achilles’ face.

“Don’t ever think you can shake me, Harley Payne. You got that? And drive slower! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Yes, Achilles,” I agreed wryly.

“It’s not funny.” Achilles leaned even closer to me, and my hair stood up on the back of my neck. “I’m responsible for you; do you know what that means?”

“Is it that Chinese proverb thingie?”

“No.” Achilles sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

Jesus, the guy’s biceps were bigger than my thighs. He could probably break a brick with his thighs, come to think of it …

“Harley!”

“Wha?!”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yup.”

I was trying, though. Achilles searched my eyes, and I swear sweat dripped down my back. What was it about this guy that set me on edge? His hand rose and hovered by my face. The wind rustled the trees and Achilles blinked and stepped back from me.

“Go home, Harley,” he instructed as he walked down the driveway.

“Should I set a place for you at the dinner table?” I called out to him jokingly.

Achilles stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Yes. You should.”

I started at that. Achilles didn’t come in my house. At least, I didn’t think he did. What did I know? He’d probably painted himself onto my wall like Rambo did in the movie with mud.

“French fries or tater tots?” I tried to keep it light, even though I was shitting my pants.

“Neither. Baked potato. And don’t worry, I’ll get the groceries.”

“How do you know I have potatoes?”

“In the pantry, bottom shelf.”

“Ah ha!” I pointed. “You have been in my house.”

Achilles walked back to me and leaned into my face. “I am everywhere, Harley. Don’t forget it.”

I stood there and stared as Achilles walked away again. Why did that man infuriate me so much?

And why was I staring at his ass?

I knew why.

I’d had a threesome back in the day with a chick and her boyfriend. I had kissed the guy and we had crossed swords once or twice, but I hadn’t gotten fucked. I did, however, fuck both of them. Too much tequila was to blame for that night. I was still staring at Achilles’ ass as it got further away. Something about that man just made me want to wrestle him. Naked.

I jumped in my truck and drove back to my house with Holden and my parents still on my mind. I’d tried over the last three years to get them out of the house and into the sun, but they were content to sit and wait for Holden. It was as if they didn’t believe he was gone, even though he was buried right here in town and they went to his funeral. I was so grateful the guys had been there with me the day of the funeral. If they hadn’t been, I would have stood there alone.