Page 9 of Downward Dawg
Dammit, it’s an ambush.
“Wallace, you got something to say to the club?” Tinder turned slightly to look up at the older man. “Now’s your time, my man.”
“Yeah, I do. I’d like to go inactive and can’t do that while I hold an officer patch. Wouldn’t be right to put the club in that kind of position, so I’ve put forward a couple of recommendations to leadership.” Wallace folded his arms across his chest, looking about as dangerous as an overstuffed teddy bear. It was mostly a true image. Wonderful Wallace had been the man’s nickname for a long time, because there wasn’t a truer member in the club. But as Tinder had alluded to, he’d found an old lady who’d stuck, and was right now pregnant with their second child. With two babies in diapers in his near future, everyone knew he’d have to step back sooner or later.
Guess it’s sooner.
Tinder picked up the thread, a rare grin looking awkward on his face. He was much better versed in the universal scowl than he was smiling. “We’ve a nomination for Mad Dawg to step up and accept the nomad president role. I think it’s well timed, because being SAA is good, but he’ll have more authority as a chapter president.” The scowl returned, settling into the creases formed around its steady presence. “I’d like to see those assholes come at him now. All in favor of allowing Wallace to go inactive in good standing, locking up his vest and colors in the club cabinet and promoting Mad Dawg to chapter president say aye, and any naysayers can go get fucked. This one isn’t up for debate.”
A rousing round of “ayes” flooded the air and hands slapped Mad Dawg’s back and shoulders. Just as easy as that, his promotion within the club and chapter was a done deal, without his input or acceptance. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t do the job, but it would have been nice to be asked.
“Hey, Mad Dawg, you okay with this?” As if he’d read his mind, Rocker shouted over the loud crowd of well-wishers.
“Honored,” he answered in the only way he could. And he realized it was the truth.
***
Elodie
She gave the unfamiliar man waiting for her a nod as she slipped from her car. He was the third one in the few days that Mad Dawg had been missing.Not missing. Just not here. Shape up the thoughts and stop wallowing, woman. Man’s got a right to have a life, you know.Balancing the keys and a stainless steel mug of coffee in her hands, Elodie tossed a “Hello,” over her shoulder.
“Mad Dawg told you I’d be here, right?” His gruff voice came from directly behind her and a hand appeared over her shoulder, taking the coffee from her fingers.
She flinched away from him, shaking hands spearing the key at the lock. “Yes,” she offered as she finally got the door unlocked. None of the other men had given her the heebie-jeebies.Get your shit together.Scurrying inside, she dropped the keys on the counter and turned back to see him fiddling with her alarm, closing the door that covered the small keypad. “What are you doing?”
“Makin’ sure you didn’t call the cops.” He turned back to her and lifted the coffee, drinking it down. “Thanks for the joe.” He dropped the mug to the floor with a clatter as he whirled on his heels. The door slammed shut behind him just as the alarm started to beep, letting her know she had fifteen seconds to disarm it.
A bike roared to life behind the store as she speed-walked to the alarm panel and keyed in the number sequence to silence the beeping.
“Not sure why he didn’t just do that. The alarm code is right there.”
She turned back to the studio and sighed. Floor heaters, mats, blocks, and bolsters were waiting to be attended to.
“And all without my cup of coffee. What a jerk. At least the other two men were nicer.”
Wish Dawg was back. He’d doctor me a cup just right. Putting that out there, universe. I’d like Dawg to doctor me.
Elodie smiled as she stripped off her jacket, beginning her morning routine.
***
Mad Dawg
Standing at the kitchen counter, he stared around at his furniture with a sigh. His place wasn’t personalized, being barely filled with rented furniture that a brother’s old lady had picked out. Nothing had been hung on the walls to soften things, and there were no blankets thrown over the back of a chair to indicate anyone spent time here. It was entirely at odds with Elodie’s place, which was welcoming and warm.
Like someone actually likes to live there.
“Yeah, I’m so not bringing her here.” She’d unfortunately get the right idea from seeing his home. He definitely wasn’t domestic; had never developed the gene that caused some men to learn how to make things match. He could grill a mean steak, but someone like Elodie wouldn’t be interested in red meat for every meal.
He could either ensure every date they had ended at her house, or he could tap another old lady for some help.
Or, newsflash, I could ask Elodie for that help instead.
He shook his head at the random thought. “She’s not going to want to help me pick out curtains.” He glared at the window, sporting only a set of mini-blinds. “And she sure won’t want to teach me to cook.”
With previous relationships, if they could be called that, he hadn’t agonized over his inability to cook even a casserole. Those women had been tucked in between deployments. Space fillers, kind of like the furniture here. This thing with Elodie was different, though. Way different. He’d never spent months just getting to know a woman, and now realized everything before her only been hookups, nothing that felt real. He wanted Elodie to look at him with interest, not pity. “Gotta admit, it is kinda pitiful that you can even fuck up scrambled eggs, though.”
It was just once.
