Page 48 of Dash

PRK: Not much to say. Lung cancer.

That should shut it down. In his experience, people tended to not want to talk about the big “C.” It wasn’t sexy. He and Gingersnap, they weren’t on that level of depth. They were still on the surface, all flirtiness and sexy.

Gingersnap: For a year or so, I was a hospice nurse. I hope he wasn’t sick for long. I do visit nursing now. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’ll listen if you want.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dash closed his eyes, letting the phone drop to his stomach. She was a nurse. He should have images of her in one of those skimpy white sexy nurse outfits with the red cross on the hat. Maybe in white fishnet thigh-highs and platform heels. Instead, all he could see was her in scrubs, with a stethoscope around her neck, standing beside Bowie’s hospital bed in what’d been his office in the clubhouse.

Reality had just shattered his attempt at keeping her at a distance. He could blame it on the whiskey. He could blame it on Bowie’s death or his own survivor’s guilt. He had a million things he could blame it on, but it didn’t matter. Gingersnap had just broken the barrier, and now he wanted to know everything he could about the redhead who took care of people and liked the type of play he did.

Usually, the type of women into what he was were unstable. It made sense. Mixing pleasure and pain wasn’t exactly considered the picture of sanity. Hell, look at him. He was a goddamn mess. Gingersnap was a respectable woman, living on her own, and a fucking nurse to boot. Did he mention she was hot as all fuck? Yep. He totally did not deserve her. Now, that didn’t mean he would stop playing with her. He wasn’t about to end their game.

However, a new wrinkle had just established itself, and that needed some sorting. His time in Ohio was definitely longer than he’d anticipated. From the looks of it, with this shit with Tut and Jackal, he’d be here a while trying to sort out a turf war with a baby MC. He needed to figure out just how close he wanted Gingersnap to get to him, and how much he’d let her know.

PRK: Impressive. Was a field medic in the Army. Probably could be an EMT or something if I were more motivated. Just sorta do whatever now.

Whatever. That was the best way to describe it. He did what his club needed him to do. Sometimes that translated into club business. Sometimes that translated into security at the bars, the strip clubs, or setting up businesses. Hell, he didn’t know. A jack of all trades, perhaps. He didn’t have a real job. Granted, on his taxes, he was listed as an employee of the club owned bar. That worked. It kept Uncle Sam off his back, and made him look like a productive member of society.

Gingersnap: Wait. Who’s the impressive one?

“Definitely you, darling.” He smirked. He wouldn’t type that. Dash wasn’t about to fall into the trap of expected compliments.

PRK: Me, of course. I was being polite. I suppose what you do is okay too.

He could practically hear the soft chuckle that response would elicit from her. At least, he expected she would laugh. Tone was hard to convey over text. Though his confidence that they had established a flirty one at this point was solid.

Gingersnap: I already did the lotion.

Nodding at his phone, he’d expected as much.

PRK: I know.

He’d learned that she did enjoy obedience. He didn’t envision that she would need to be reminded. The texts about moisturizing her skin were merely excuses to initiate conversation with her.

And fuck him if that realization didn’t sit well. Since when did he need an excuse to text a woman? Again, he allowed the phone to fall to his stomach. This time he scrubbed his face with both his hands. He’d not lost his head over a woman like this before. Shit. It had to be all the stress.

PRK: Viewing is tomorrow. Funeral the day after. I really should get some sleep.

He needed to end this and sort his head out. Either that, or sober up before he said something he wasn’t ready to deal with. Whiskey did that to him. Not his club brother, the alcohol. Whiskey, shit. They needed to get his brother back to Montana.

Gingersnap: Tomorrow? Or today? You know it’s like 2am, right?

PRK: It’s not tomorrow until I go to sleep.

Gingersnap: LOL. Okay, so it’s later today. Let me know if you need anything. I’m always here to listen.

What he needed was a cigarette. That required going downstairs. Was Cajun still up? He’d have to do another shot or two if his brother was still at the bar. It’d be worth it.

Getting out of his bed, he headed to the doorway and sent his last text of the night.

PRK: Lotion in the morning. Sweet dreams, Gingersnap.

Gingersnap: Rest well, Purple Road King, sir.

He didn’t care if it was inappropriate. He went down into the clubhouse with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Chapter 24

Dash

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