Wild Like the Wind (Page 71)

“Oh my freaking God!” I cried softly.

“I know, right?” she agreed.

“I’ve known him for all of about ten seconds and I already know there’s so much more to that man than having a small dick. I’m glad you’re learning it,” I shared.

“Me too. It’s weird to go average, but I’m sure getting used to it. I think he guessed that Boz was packing, and I was missing that, but for Tad, seein’ as I was used to taking as much as I could get of twelve inches down my throat, his seven isn’t an issue whatsoever. So he gets the good part of that kinda training.”

And that got her another slow blink.

Tad’s seven?

Seven?

That wasn’t small. It wasn’t even average!

“Tad doesn’t have a tiny dick?” I asked.

“Well, relative to Boz’s giganto one, he does. And relative to Tad’s giganto size, he does.”

Another slow blink as something else she said sunk in. “Boz has twelve inches?”

“Girl, why you think it took me so long to get over him?” she asked.

Things were beginning to come very clear.

And one of those things was that I might not be able to look Boz in the eye ever again.

“And . . . and . . . you can deep throat seven inches?” I asked.

“Sister, I think Tad nearly took my ring off my finger to return it so he could get a bigger one after I got into the swing of things and took him all the way to the root.”

Well, one thing was for certain, unless my definition of the girl next door was way off, that vision I had about Bev for decades was gone forever.

Though, cheerleaders might have that talent, I wouldn’t know. I was never a cheerleader.

“So Tad . . . he’s . . . he’s just . . . just . . . all-around perfect?” I stammered.

She grinned a small but exceptionally happy grin and whispered, “Yeah.”

“That is so awesome,” I whispered back, grinning my also small but exceptionally happy grin right back at her.

“You know what’s more awesome?” she asked.

I couldn’t think of anything more awesome than Bev having a new biker guy that hot who liked AC/DC, loved her, had a more-than-healthy-sized dick and knew how to give it to her that good in the bedroom.

“What’s more awesome?” I asked.

“He loves me. Not my blowjobs. Not my pussy. Me. He had no doubts we’d get there. He fell in love with the woman I was and the promise of what we could have if I gave all of myself to him. He never gave up on me, and that, babe, that is definitely more awesome.”

I found her hand and squeezed it.

“You’re right, Beverly, that is way more awesome,” I replied. I got closer to her and asked, “So, how you doin’ on that road to happy?”

“Uh, did you see my man?”

I gave her a big smile. “I saw him. Don’t be mad at me because I also had a mini-orgasm when I saw him.”

“I’m not mad, sister, I’m proud. Because that’s my man.”

I giggled so I wouldn’t cry.

She squeezed my hand and giggled with me.

“Men!” Jagger shouted from the doorway. “Warning, the estrogen has been let loose in the kitchen. Enter at your own risk. I’ll get us a good supply of beer so we don’t have to expose ourselves too often.”

“Shut it, Jagger,” I threw over my shoulder at my son.

He shot me a grin but went right up to his aunt.

He then kissed the side of her head before he said, “He’s the shit, Aunt Bev. You have my approval.”

“Thanks, Jag, that seals the deal. I was holding back but I’ll start looking for wedding venues now,” she teased.

He saluted her walking away, heading to the fridge.

“Now,” she rubbed her hands together, “Keely’s Buttermilk Goodness Chicken Tenders. I told Tad I hoped that was what you were making. He’s gonna love ’em. Now I just gotta hope you made your potato salad too.”

I did.

It was Hound’s favorite.

“I wish you women wouldn’t call Ma’s chicken that. It makes me think I’ll turn into a girl if I eat it,” Jag put in, heading back out of the kitchen with four beers, even though Tad’s was just opened so they only maybe needed three.

“You might wanna check your junk, sweetheart, since you’ve had your share already,” I called to his back.

He walked out, shaking his head.

I turned to my girl.

She had that hot guy.

At long last, Brick had some woman who did him right.

High and Millie found their way back to each other.

Little Tabby Allen was all grown up and making babies with a man who loved her so much, he’d pick her over his Club.

Tack finally had a woman in his life that he wanted right there.

And I had Hound.

So Chew was back.

The likes of Chew couldn’t bring down this goodness.

No way.

No how.

It burned bright and it was going to burn him right up.

Men like Chew didn’t win.

Men like Hound and High and Tack and Hop and Dog and Brick . . .

They were winners.

“You wore a purple bandanna.”

“I didn’t wear a purple bandanna.”

“You totally wore a purple bandanna. Ma’s purple bandanna.”

“I didn’t wear a purple bandanna.”

“You wore your mother’s purple bandanna, son.”

We were at the dining room table. We’d pulled away the chairs we weren’t using and there was a lot of room but it still felt nice and intimate and I loved that it wasn’t just Dutch and Jag and me at Christmas or Thanksgiving, most of that long table empty. I loved that instead it was filled with people I adored and the detritus of a meal I’d made them that they’d devoured.

It was after dinner but before dessert. We were giving Jagger shit. It was annoying him but he’d always been a good sport, not one who could dish it out and not take it.

I loved that too.

“Aunt Bev, will you and Tad adopt me?” Jagger asked Beverly.

“Tad’s daughter is sixteen and she’s a knockout and you’re a dawg, so . . . no,” Beverly answered.

Jag looked to Tad. “Your daughter is a knockout?”

“Son,” Hound murmured warningly.

“Yeah, Jag, she’s also gonna remain untouched until she’s thirty-nine so your best bet is to put her outta your mind,” Tad answered.

“I hear you, man,” Jag replied on a knowing nod. “I hope I don’t have girls. With my superior genetics and taste, which means I’m gonna score me a hot babe, I’ll have to buy, like, ten guns.”

Hound caught my eyes across the table and shook his head, his lips twitching.

“Speaking of that,” Tad began, “Thursday good for you boys to go to the range?”

“Good for me,” Hound said.

“I’m in,” Dutch said.

“Totally,” Jagger said.

“Are women not invited to this outing?” Bev asked.

“Baby,” Tad said sweetly, and I felt gooey for Beverly just listening to how he said it. “Bonding over bullets is a brotherhood type of thing. And anyway, last time we went to the range, you got a case down your shirt.”

Spent shells burned like hell.

“Ouch,” I said in sympathy.

“Leave it to me to wear cleavage to the firing range,” Bev replied to me.