Emily
DERYK WAS AN eater, as in, he ate all the things. And since I didn’t want to be seen as a rude host who allowed him to chow down alone, I stuffed my face right alongside him. We polished off the salad, the ravioli, some left over wonton soup from the restaurant by my work, chips and salsa, and then I whipped us up some gooey chocolate chip cookies, which we munched on in front of the television. He wouldn’t tell me what kind of shows he liked to watch—insisting that it was up to me—so I loaded up the first episode of my favorite series, Jessica Jones.
“How long have you been a Dead President?” I asked, settling back on the sofa with a cookie.
“Since Monday.”
I choked on my cookie.
“Sorry.” Eyes full of concern, he watched until my airway cleared and I could breathe again. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I said, taking one more deep breath. Five days? Sure, I didn’t want a bodyguard, but if Link was going to saddle me with one, it seemed like he’d at least choose somebody with a little more experience. Then again, maybe he figured the kid was safer for me as a woman than any of the flirtatious bikers I’d met at his station. Maybe he’d be jealous if anyone older and more experienced was with me. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated by the thought. “Just surprised me. How long have you been guarding me?”
“Since Wednesday. Link left me at the office after your meeting.”
That answer sent goosebumps up my arms. Maybe he wasn’t as inexperienced with guard duty as I thought. Still, the idea of him following me for two full days before I spotted him didn’t exactly fill me with confidence in my self-defense skills. “Okay. I’m gonna let that slide, but now that we’re friends, if Link ever sics you on me again, you need to come clean and let me know.”
He chuckled. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks, Deryk.”
“Bull,” he muttered.
“What?”
“The name’s Bull now.”
Of all the ridiculous nonsense. “Link might make you call yourself that when you’re with him, but you can be Deryk here.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” he replied. “Everyone at the club has a road name. I want this.”
Grown men calling themselves silly names. I didn’t get it. “Why? What’s up with road names.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I cocked my head at him. “That’s a bullshit answer.”
“I reallydon’t know.I also don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you and what I’m not. Lots of sh-stuff is considered “club business” and we’re not supposed to talk about it.”
“Nicknames?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Hardly confidential information.”
“All I know is that last night I was playing pool with some guys and they were talking about it like having a road name is a big deal. Like an honor.”
“But, Bull?” I asked. “Don’t you want something cooler?”
“There are worse names within the club. Frog. Rabbit. Zombie. Brick. Bull’s not a half-bad name.”
“Rabbit?” I giggled, wondering which of the bearded scary guys I’d met went by Rabbit. Since I’d been taking their official statements, I’d only gotten their legal names. “Aren’t road names supposed to make the guys sound tough? Scary even? If I got in trouble, I sure as heck wouldn’t be calling some guy named Rabbit to come save me. Who names a biker Rabbit?”
He chuckled. Or, at least, I think that’s what he did. His laugh sounded rusty, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “I hear what you’re saying, but you should see this guy. He’s all over the place. Constantly moving and doing something. Swears he got the name because he fu—” Color flooded Bull’s cheeks, reminding me he was still pretty young.
“Because he fucks like a rabbit?” I provided.
More blushing. He nodded. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk like that in front of you.”
“Says who?” I asked.
“I don’t know. People? My parents? It’s not right to talk like that in front of a lady.”
