Page 37 of Loving Smoke

“You okay?”

“Yes.” She tipped the bottle to her lips and took a big swig then looked up at the sky. “Perfect day for the beach.”

“When I was in California I surfed all the time. You surf?”

“No. Never tried it.”

“Best feeling ever. Catching the perfect wave and riding it to the end. Nothing better.” I smirked at her. “Well, almost nothing better.”

She motioned to me with the beer bottle. “Somehow I didn’t picture you as a surfer.”

“Started when I was a kid. I worked for a guy in this surf shop in Oceanside.”

“As a kid?”

“Twelve, or thirteen. Instead of getting paid the owner gave me my first board. Old as shit but that’s how I learned. Started hanging out on the beach. Good times.”

“So, you grew up in Oceanside?”

I huffed out a harsh laugh. “I grew up all over Cali.”

“Your family moved a lot?”

“Foster homes. They move you around a lot especially when you’re a wise ass kid who doesn’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh.” Her face clouded over.

“Wasn’t that bad.”

Which was a huge fuckin’ lie, but I didn’t want her pity. Some of those group homes were about as bad as it could get. Daily fights with the bigger kids until I was the bigger kid. Many foster families took the kids in for the check, then used the kids as slaves. The system was so overworked no one ever found out about the abuse and neglect.

“I have a feeling you’re lying.” Her plump lips surrounded the beer bottle for another sip and my dick twitched. When she licked those same lips my dick pulsed against my zipper.

“Long time ago.” The last fuckin’ thing I wanted to think about or talk about were my years in the system. I’d put that shit behind me long ago and that’s where I wanted it to stay.

“So, hanging out on the beach, is that how you got with the Bastards?”

“I worked at this bar on the beach and one night the Bastards came in. All was quiet until a rival club showed up. One of their members started giving the female bartender a hard time. I stepped in, gave the fucker a beatdown, and kicked his ass to the curb.”

“Wow.”

“The president of the Bastards at the time liked the way I handled myself and recruited me as a prospect.”

“Recruited you? Sounds like the army.”

“I was seventeen and living in my tenth foster home so I jumped at the chance. Hung out with them the rest of the night and never went back.”

“You mean you never went back to the foster home? Didn’t someone come looking for you?”

“Ohhhh, babe, you really are naive. They didn’t give a shit about me and since I was usually in trouble and stirring shit up, I’m sure they were happy I never returned.”

“Sad. A system supposed to help children does just the opposite.”

“I’m sure there’s some great families out there, but unfortunately I never found them.”

“Then I’m glad you found the Bastards.”

“Only family I’ve ever known. Only family I want.” I finished off my beer and set the bottle aside. “Enough about me and the fucked up story of my life. Tell me something about you.”

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