Page 4 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

I clear my throat again. “Gia. My name is Gia Fredricks.” When I was sixteen, I met a man named Tom Fredricks. We met in a dollar store of all places. He was close to thirty and wanted to care for me and my son. It wasn’t a love match, but he was good to us. Unfortunately, after we’d been married for a little over a year, I got a phone call from a private investigator hired by Tom’sactualwife. Our marriage wasn’t legal because he’d already been married. I thought nothing of all the business trips he’d left on. His job required it. We lived in a nice neighborhood. To afford that, he had to work.

Yeah, I felt like an idiot when the PI informed me all those business trips had been trips back home to his real wife and that when he was with me, he was on ‘business trips,’ according to her.

The one good thing to come from my relationship with Tom is that he made sure I got my GED and left us with a little money. We had to move because I couldn’t afford the house he’d moved us into, and I certainly wasn’t going to stay with him. That was the day I decided to never get into this situation again. He’d found me because I was young. Alone. I’d needed a man to take care of me.

At seventeen, I no longer needed a man. I would take care of myself and my son—and I did just that. No matter how hard it got for me and my boy at times. I took care of us.

What I didn’t do in all these years was get involved with a man. It’s been so long since a man touched me there I’m a born-again virgin. Men never factor in my life. For sixteen years, I’ve avoided all entanglements. I swear, the last time I went for my pelvic exam, the gyno had to vacuum up the cobwebs to see in there.

But my son is grown now. And this man… Of course, I’m probably jumping the gun. He only asked to buy me a drink out of gratefulness for trying to come to the aid of his friend.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” he says and I shake my head.

“I’ve lived in Florida for years.”

“It’s always Florida,” he mumbles, which I don’t get, so I pick up my drink, taking a sip so as not to say anything awkward, which I tend to do around people who fluster me for any reason. This guy flusters me so much that I realize I haven’t asked his name yet.

“What’s your name?”

He turns his upper body to point at the small patch on the front of his cut. “Roughneck.”

“Roughneck? Your mother was certainly creative,” I tease, and he smiles, showing me his bright-white teeth. He understands that I’m teasing.

“Used to work the oil rigs in the Gulf—how I got my name.”

“From the rig to a biker club? That’s an interesting transition.”

“It is. One hurricane too many kept me from my pay, and I decided to go a different route. I met a member of the Horde, and he made it sound like a sexy life. Lots of cash and even more women throwing themselves at a brother. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“I can understand the appeal.”

“You can? Most women get irate when you bring up banging other bitches.”

Smiling, I tell him the truth. “I suppose I’m not like most other women. Though I don’t understand how someone can get bent over things that happened before you knew each other.”

His stare grows heated to the point that I’m ready to tear my clothes off and mount him right here.Whoa—I haven’t had a man affect me like this, probably ever. Suddenly, he closes his eyes, looking almost in pain, and asks, “You play pool?”

“I love pool.”

Roughneck picks up his glass with one hand and grabs my hand with his other, pulling me from my stool. I swipe my drink from the bar before we get too far away.

We spend the next several hours drinking, playing pool, and talking. I mean,reallytalking. Not the putting-on-a-show kind of shallow conversation when you’re simply hoping to take a person home for the night. At first, it’s favorite movies, and he’s a reader. A biker who likes books? My mind is completely blown. Then I tell him about my son, and how I had him young. My boy chased a skirt up this way. I miss him so much. It’s not the time to tell him the other reason I’ve landed in Middlesboro. My brother, Daniel. That needs to wait until we’re done with the fun portion of this evening.

Hetellsmeabout his childhood. No dad in the picture. A mother who sleeps around. A brother in lock up. We commiserate on how similar our lives were growing up. Two trailer park kids who ended up doing all right for ourselves despite where we came from. He doesn’t judge me. I certainly don’t judge him. It’s just…good.

About an hour and two more drinks into us getting to know each other, he says, “Went to a funeral today.”

I don’t expect it so I’m not sure how to react. Out of nowhere, I get this overwhelming urge to touch him, though. I set my pool stick down on the felt-lined tabletop and walk around the table to place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. “Someone close?”

“Not really, but I was the closest to go down to identify the body. The image of him and the way they left him just won’t go away.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing to say, and this gorgeous man needs more than a reassuring shoulder squeeze. This calls for a hug. I shift to the front of him and wrap my arms loosely around his neck in what I hope comes off as comforting. I’m not trying to push any advantage, just letting him know he has a friend.

We hold each other for a while and must have looked a sight. A woman like me, plain and frumpy, hugging a man, a biker, who looks like Roughneck.

Finally, Nutty calls something vulgar over to us about not fucking on his pool table—that he doesn’t want to have to disinfect itagain. At the word “again,” both Roughneck and I crack up laughing. I laugh so hard that I have to wipe the tears from my eyes. That thing that passed between us left its mark on my soul even if our moment is now over.

We stay there playing until Nutty kicks us out. I don’t want to let him go. Ireallydon’t want this to be our only time together.

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