Virgin (The Henchmen MC 16)

There was no stopping the giant grin that stretched across my face. Because she was insane. Because I was hired. Because I never imagined I could find someone who didn't look at me like I was dog crap on their shoe because of what had happened to me a decade ago.

"I accept the terms," I told her as she got onto her Doc Martin clad feet and came over to go under the counter to reveal a small fridge loaded up with various drinks - including two hard ciders she pulled out, handing one to me.

"Yes, I sometimes drink on the job," she told me, twisting off her top. "I would be a hypocrite to tell you not to. But don't get sloppy. Or I might have to kill you and-"

"Throw me in a river with cement shoes," I finished for her, twisting off the top of mine for a drink.

"Precisely," she agreed, finishing her food before starting in on her orders again.

Not having anything to do, I hung back for my first lesson, leaving later that afternoon covered in about two dozen different substances, my feet aching a bit, my hair sticking to the back of my neck with sweat.

But warm.

Happy.

Excited.

Things I was becoming perhaps a bit too accustomed to. Which was dangerous. Because I might not be able to give them up. And then the past ten years of concocting plans, of cradling my rage to my chest like a baby, might have been for nothing.

But those were thoughts for another day.

"I see you got the job," Thad said as I stepped inside, not even bothering to pretend like he wasn't having an elaborate selfie-taking session, just hamming it up for his camera as he spoke to me, his shutter going off every few seconds.

"I gotta meet her," he decided when I had told him the whole story before going to wash all of the aforementioned substances off of myself. "We should celebrate," he told me as I went through the strict routine he - or more accurately, his friend Benny - had taught me to get that perfect wavy curl look. "What?" he asked when a flash of something crossed my face. I was terrible at keeping secrets. Thad knew this. And he would absolutely use it against me to get what he wanted.

"Nothing. We should celebrate," I tried to cover, plastering on a smile.

"Bitch, that smile is as fake as the tits on that lady in my dance class today. Up to here, they were," he told me, cupping his hands into circles up near his clavicles. "Honey could put her chin down and rest it on the girls."

"Don't be mean," I told him, tossing my towel at his head.

"Not mean. Just honest. Ain't no woman got natural titties for a necklace save for top-heavy gals in inverted positions in yoga class. Could fucking suffocate themselves, I swear. But you don't have to worry about that," he told me, flicking the side of my tank top-clad boob, making me send a scathing look his way even though I had long since gotten over my adolescent insecurity about my small chest. What I lacked in boobs, I made up for in ass. It was fair. "Anyway. Back to my point. Did you have something specific in mind for celebrating?"

I could feel the I've got a secret! look as it crossed my face.

"Spill," he demanded, snatching the light pink lipstick I was reaching for, slapping the bright red in my palm instead.

"Why?"

"It's your signature look, that's why. Now, go on and tell me. You know I'm gonna get it out of you eventually."

"I sort of got invited to a celebratory thing tonight," I told him as I smeared on the lipstick, watching as it slowly went matte, letting me know it would stay on even if I had a heavy make-out session. Which, of course, I had no intentions of having. Not even if I did go to celebrate the way I was invited to.

"By whom?" he asked, making me aware I had completely forgotten to tell him all about the ride, the invite, the counter-pressing thing.

"Virgin," I supplied, watching his reaction out of the corner of my eye.

"And we're the fuck still standing here because?" he demanded, hip-checking me out of the way to grab for a little mattifying powder, swishing it over his T-zone with a brush.

"Um, I don't know if I was allowed to bring anyone."

"Honey, baby... there is no way I am letting you go into that den of Prime USDA Manmeat without me," he told me, waving a hand dismissively as he spritzed on his cologne.

"They're bikers, Thad. I'm pretty sure they're all straight."

"Mhmm," he agreed, half-ignoring me. "So was that boy Adam last night. But he sure sucked my cock like he thought the fountain of youth was in the motherfucker," he told me as he walked through the bathroom then down into my room, grabbing an outfit, tossing it at me.