Talkin' Trash (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 2)

My eyes took everything in, and aside from the flowers planted next to her mailbox, almost everything about it was nearly identical on the outside to my own.

There was a small front porch with three steps leading up to a red door. The house was painted white, and the shutters were red. Then there was the one-car detached garage that had a bright red goddamn door—also exactly like mine.

What the hell?

Was my place and hers by the same builder or something?

This was uncanny how similar our houses were to each other.

Then the blinds flicked again, making my lips twitch.

Getting off the bike, I hung my helmet on the handlebars and started up the well-groomed path, stopping to study the flowers.

Red and blue.

That was so Conleigh.

My girl wasn’t a pink girl. Nor was she a purple girl. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her in anything that even remotely resembled those colors.

Black? Yes. Brown? Double yes. Blue jeans? Hell yeah.

Dresses? Fuck no.

Conleigh was not a girly girl. Conleigh was a functional girl.

That was why, when she opened the door in a goddamn dress, I was so fucking surprised that I almost questioned whether I was at the correct house or not.

When I saw the long, flowing brown hair that was the color of dark chocolate, I knew that it was her.

The makeup and the dress, though? Those both threw me off.

“What the fuck?” I asked. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

Conleigh, who also never had her hair curled like it was right then, looked down at her attire.

“I’m going on a date.” She bit her lip.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Let me guess,” I said sarcastically. “You’re going on a date, knowing I was coming here to take you to lunch.”

She smiled. “How did you know?”

About that time, a car purred to a stop behind me, and I turned my head to study her date.

He wasn’t anything special. About six feet even, he was skinny as a rail and had a fuckin’ pink shirt on that I knew Conleigh secretly hated. He was the epitome of the type of man who would not do it for her. Not even a little bit.

But then she smiled at the little prick as he stepped out of his shitty little eco-friendly car, and acted like I was the interloper here, not him.

“Tyson!” Conleigh called.

Tyson looked at me, glanced at Conleigh, and then smiled. “Uh, hello. Are you ready to go?”

If I would’ve been in his shoes, I would’ve been straight up hostile toward a man who was sharing the same space as my date. This Tyson loser looked like he’d blow over with a stiff wind.

Then he reached his hand out to her, and Conleigh’s hand connected with his, and I started to pay attention to other aspects about the man.

Not only was he skinny and wearing a pink shirt, but his hair was perfectly styled, and he had soft hands.

I looked down at my own hands.

They were big, weathered, and had scars on top of scars.

I had one on my right pinky from a pair of size sixteen feet stepping on it—the spikes that helped with purchase on the grassy field puncturing the skin.

Then the same thing had happened on the other hand, but unfortunately, not only had it punctured the skin, but it’d also nearly crushed my left ring finger.

Wearing a wedding ring would definitely be tough, that was for sure, seeing as it was about twice the size of my other fingers—which were quite big to begin with.

I had calluses from lifting heavy weights without hand protection, and my fingernails were all bruised in some way.

And then there was the fingernail I didn’t have at all on my right ring finger.

Yeah, I didn’t have pretty boy hands like this guy.

I certainly didn’t have hands that were the same size as hers, and probably felt nicer than hers did, either.

So, there was that.

“You ready?” I heard him ask again.

What a pussy.

“Yes!” Conleigh said with false excitement. “Totally.”

Then he led her over to the smart car that was only just a little bit bigger than my bike and stuffed her inside.

When he walked around the car, Conleigh’s eyes connected with mine.

She didn’t read anger in my eyes, though. No, she read the challenge.

And I knew that she was going to understand it, too.

Her lips pursed and she looked away, but she kept glancing surreptitiously at me through her hair, wondering if I was still watching her.

She needn’t have worried.

I was watching every move she made.Chapter 3Me: I need to do a thing. Body: You did a thing yesterday.

-Conleigh’s secret thoughts

Conleigh

“Who was that man on your front porch?”

I wasn’t even halfway through the date before I realized that I’d made a really stupid decision.

I’d finally accepted one of the doctor’s countless offers to go out on a date—doing so only after Linc said he was on his way over—and was learning too late that he was a real piece of work.