Page 38 of Baker

“It is.”

“Short?”

I squinted. “Her ass?”

“No, motherfucker. The chick with the magic twat. Is she short?”

“I don’t know. Kind of. Maybe five foot three or something.”

He sat up straight and widened his eyes. “Twat the size of a dime, and deeper’n fuck? Clenches your cock no matter how hard you pound or how long you hit it?”

So far, he’d described Andy. I nodded, eager to hear what else he had to say. “Sounds like her, yeah.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Got golden-colored eyes?”

My heart stuttered. The taste of bile tickled the back of my tongue. I hopped off my bike and crossed my arms. “What the fuck, Cash.” I looked him up and down. “You been following me?”

He glared. “You skittish prick. What are you talking about? Why the fuck would I want to follow your dumb ass?”

“If you haven’t been following me, how the fuck do you know so much about her?”

Mimicking me, he got off his bike, puffed his chest, and crossed his arms. “Who’s her?”

“The girl with the voodoo pussy.”

“It ain’t voodoo pussy, dip shit. She’s Brazilian.”

I looked at him as if he were crazy. “What?”

“Brazilian. You know, from Brazil. They’ve all got wolf eyes, small waists, big asses, curly brown hair, tiny pussies, and big tempers. Best sex on the planet is a Brazilian bitch. Looks like you ran into one. What’s her name?”

I was relieved that he had no idea who she was, but I wasn’t about to tell him her name. “Fuck I don’t know,” I snapped back. “I fucked her a few times. That’s it.”

“I fucked a Brazilian bitch once. She lived next door to One-eyed Pete. Stayed with her cousin for the summer in that little white house. Year before last.” He exhaled heavily. “Name was Natalia Silva.”

I remembered her. Other than having a fantastic ass, she looked nothing like Andy. I rolled my eyes. “I remember her. Dark skin. Curly brown hair. Big ass.”

His mouth slowly twisted into a smile as memories of her came to mind. In a moment, his eyes widened as if telling the tale of a battle he’d fought in and narrowly escaped death. “Bitch had a twat so tight it felt like I was trying to butt fuck a bird when I screwed her. When I came, it was like a fuckin’ geyser. Made me dizzy for about ten minutes after, too.”

I couldn’t help but wonder why Cash stopped fucking her if her pussy even came close to resembling Andy’s. “Why’d you quit fucking her?”

“Didn’t want to. She found out I was fucking that stripper, and she clocked me in the head with a skillet while I was sleeping.” He chuckled as he touched a z-shaped scar on the side of his forehead. “Then, the crazy motherfucker pulled out a knife and tried to cut me. Left my best pair of jeans and my favorite boots on the floor at the foot of her bed. Ended up leaving in my wife beater and boxers. Rode the ‘Glide home half naked. Brazilian bitches are good pussy, but they’re crazy.”

“I thought you got that scar in a fight?”

“I did,” he said. “A fight with Natalia about that stripper.”

I laughed. “Getting the truth out of you is damned near impossible.”

“You want the truth? All you gotta do is ask.”

Having a woman in my life would put the club at risk. It was my duty to protect the men, not put them in harm’s way. Therefore, I didn’t do relationships. I never had, and I never would. Not having Andy’s pussy to fuck wasn’t something I wanted to think about, though. Nevertheless, ridding myself of her was a requirement, not a recommendation.

“Ever miss fucking her?” I asked. “Now that she’s gone?”

“All the time. Fucking her was like riding one of those Panigales.” He sat down on his motorcycle and gazed blankly at the sea of motorcycles parked beside us. “If I took yours and sold it, do you think you’d ever find another bike that’d perform like it?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. There was nothing on earth that could perform like the Panigale. “Nope.”