Outlaw's Vow: Grizzlies MC Romance(25)
His words were strangely comforting. I didn't completely believe that we'd forgotten anything as we headed down to the lodge's small rustic eatery, but food was a good distraction.
We ate in silence, or close enough, making small talk about the forecast and the surprise trip to Tacoma.
“I hope we make it before nightfall. We're getting such a late start, and I still have to pack all our things.”
“You worry too much, Ell-Bell.” He shook his head, swallowing his last bite of bagel and cream cheese. He'd inhaled it after demolishing a plate of eggs and bacon stacked high. “I see some shit never changes. Don't worry about bringing anything besides your clothes and toothbrush. I'll leave all the wedding shit with the staff and a prospect'll be by later to pick it up.”
“So, that means your brothers are okay with us heading up to Washington alone?”
He'd just raised his coffee to his lips and stopped in mid-sip. Slowly, he put the mug down, narrowing those brilliant green eyes on me like search lights.
“The club knows I can handle their shit, the same way I know how to handle my woman. They won't care. This sham marriage is just a damned olive branch. Long as we're together, safe and plastering on our best fake smiles, nothing else matters.”
“Uh, okay.” I rolled my eyes.
The pretend theme started to wear on me. He leaned back, stretched, and cocked his head.
“What?” I said finally, waiting for him to deliver whatever smartass remark he had written on his face, waiting to come out.
“Just remembering how cute you can be when you let that feisty attitude go to your head, princess. It's like I said – some things never change.”
I glared. Much as I didn't want to admit it, the bastard was right. Some things never did.
We rode so hard and long everything below my waist went numb. I'd had some long trips with daddy growing up, back before the MC had to fear for its life, but I hadn't been on a motorcycle for more than four hours in just as many years, probably more.
Five hours put us deep into Oregon, close to Eugene and our halfway mark. We stopped for gas.
I walked away from the bike, desperate to stretch my legs, watching him do the same as he pulled out a cigarette and stuffed it into his mouth. I wrinkled my nose.
Being around men who puffed like chimneys hadn't made it seem like any less of a bad habit in all these years. I kept my distance, staring off at the mountains and trying to enjoy the fresh cedar air sweeping in from the state's pristine forests.
The perfectly crisp air curdled all the more easily when he came close, blowing a long jet of smoke over his shoulder.
“Do you really have to ruin this with your smoke signals? You could talk to me like a normal human being, Asphalt.”
He waited until he was right next to me. For a second, I feared he'd blow smoke right in my face like a total jackass. Then I'd kick him square in the balls.
Instead, he let the cigarette hit the pavement, before he brought his boot down on it. “You're lucky I wanna make this easy on you.”
“Whatever. I'm doing your health a favor. That crap is bad for you.”
He snorted. “You gotta be fucking kidding me, right? I haven't touched this shit for years 'til just recently. I gave it up shortly after I came to NorCal because I saw what it did to the older guys' lungs. Last thing I want is some motherfucker getting the jump on me just because I can't breathe right.”
“Sure, hubby. Whatever you say.” I gave him my biggest, fakest smile, and even batted my eyes.
That did it.
His face darkened. He grabbed me by the shoulders, jerked me close to him so fast I didn't know what happened until I was drowning in his angry green eyes.
“Listen, babe, there are times when that spitfire shit drives me wild. This isn't one of them. You can either turn the sass off, or there will be consequences. You're my old lady, my woman, and my wife. You owe me some respect. I don't give a shit how fake this thing is.”
My cheeks overheated for the second time that day. Maybe challenging him was just my way of venting, or maybe I'd lost my mind.
“Respect is earned, Austin. You're old enough to know that.”
He smiled, sharp as a knife. “You're right. And I'm gonna earn it by pulling your jeans to the ground and spanking the fuck outta you right here if you call me the wrong name again. No bullshit.”
My jaw dropped. My eyes fell with it, a crazy, submissive gesture I'd later regret when we were back on the bike, following the long road to SeaTac.
Regardless, my body language told him I'd gotten the message. He released his iron grip and I followed him to his bike, angrily fixing my helmet without saying a word. He stopped inside to pay for our fuel and picked up a few bottles of water for the road.