“Road Runner” (Johnny Davis x OFC)
Masterlist
SUMMARY — Johnny crosses paths with a fiery redhead who seems to live for chaos. She’s the sister of a recently deceased member of the notorious Vandals. As Johnny gets drawn deeper into her whirlwind life, they find themselves caught in a dangerous game.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Holy moly, haven't felt inspired in a while, but then Tom Hardy graced my screen again and, well. It would be a shame not to play with Johnny some. I can't thank enough the wonderful @zablife for the encouragement to write this! ❤️❤️❤️
WORD COUNT — 5,284
Brucie entered the bar at precisely nine in the morning and put a stack of newspapers at Johnny’s regular table.
“Heard about what happened to Eddie?” Brucie asked before he even sat down, and all it got him was Johnny’s absent stare.
There was a half-lit cigarette hanging out the corner of Johnny’s mouth and he already looked done with the day.
“What are you talkin’ about?” Johnny rasped, then reached for the first newspaper out of the stack to read the front page.
“Freak accident on the road to Skokie. All that horsepower, never had the chance with a truck and a buick ridin’ up against him,” Brucie said and shook his head.
All Johnny did was he looked around and immediately there was someone up and pouring him and Brucie a cup of bourbon. They were out of the nicer glasses.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Johnny rasped and put out his unfinished cigarette. “What the fuck was he thinkin’?”
“Oh, you know Eddie,” Brucie raised his glass and then so did Johnny. “Wilder than the rest of them, that kid.”
“Yeah,” Johnny agreed just because, but his mind was already miles away. Planning, thinking ahead, shifting gears.
“We’ll need to send flowers,” Johnny decided.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” Johnny sighed and looked at the newspaper again. “The kid was too young to end up in a box.”
There weren’t any pictures of the accident, but the description was vivid enough.
“We’ll send it.” Brucie wrote something down in his notebook. “Doubt the family will want us there anyway.”
Johnny answered with a shrug, then lit another cigarette.
“What about the bike?” he asked.
“The bike?”
“Nice bike it was. A racer. Shame for it to be stuck in a barn or somethin’.” Johnny coughed a bit and pointed to the newspaper, then took another sip of his drink.
Brucie sighed at the very suggestion of asking the grieving family a thing like that, but finally he just nodded.
“I’ll try and find out.”
Turned out, finding out was not as much of a chore as it was a weird fucking encounter. First, Benny came by the bar and sat down with Johnny, wordlessly staring at the newspaper. The front page was still there in all its gorey glory.
Eddie and Benny used to ride together sometimes. They often made a bet with each other, then led the police on a wild goose chase just for laughs.
“The bike,” Johnny said to Benny, then tapped the front page. “Know what happened to it?”
Benny, fond of his long pauses, looked down and lit a cigarette. Finally, Johnny raised his brows in annoyance and Brucie perked up his ears to hear the story.
“They lived on that apple farm outside of I24. Eddie and his family.”
Benny often gave up information reluctantly, as if keeping it inside his skull helped to keep him sane.
“They sell apples?” Johnny asked.
“His old man used to make cider, too.” Benny looked to the side pensively. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“Still got a bottle stashed somewhere. We should drink it. You know, for Eddie.”
Johnny frowned some more, then just decided to accept the information at face value.
“I’ll go there tomorrow,” Brucie offered, but Johnny shook his head and that was that.
“If you thinkin’ of makin’ an offer, I’d hurry.” Benny took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked the ash off with his thumb.
“Yeah? Why is that?” Johnny asked.
“His sister rides.”
“Bikes? His sister?” Brucie chuckled, then immediately stopped when Gail shot him an angry look.
“No. Horses.”
Brucie looked at Benny then like he tended to do quite often. A space oddity, that kid. But whether he was pensive or sad, Brucie decided to let him be. Eddie was his friend after all.
“I’ll go there end of the week,” Johnny said. “Offer a good price.”
“Why do you care so much anyway? Your bike’s good.” Benny asked the question nobody dared to up to this point. Johnny never got mad at Benny, though, so Brucie stayed put. Truth be told, he was curious himself.
“Because,” Johnny said. “It’s a good racin’ piece, that thing. I’ve seen you two racin’ way too many times.”
“Yeah, but Eddie always lost,” Benny smirked.
“Not when he didn’t let you win.”
Johnny smirked at Benny and that was as good as saying he still loved him despite Benny being a walking accident. So Benny left it at that and finished his coffee.
The farm was quite far away on the outskirts of Chicago. Johnny had to stop for gas on a remote station where every farmer and hillbilly in sight immediately let him know he wasn’t welcome. Johnny opted to ignore them.
He parked his bike by the front gate of the farm and took a look around. Immediately fed up with good countryside air, he lit a cigarette and squinted at all that sunlight. Feeling like a villain in a western, Johnny let himself in and walked the path leading to the barn. Right away he heard horses neighing, then someone shouting in the distance. Johnny turned that way and saw a woman riding a horse. She wasn’t only riding it, more like galloping straight at him.
He realised it was him she was yelling at then; her fiery red hair a halo around her angry face. Johnny stood there, a little transfixed, his better judgment kicking in only when he realised she wasn’t going to stop the horse. He jumped out of the way at the very last moment, groaning as his side met the thorns of the nearby rose bushes.
The woman stopped the horse abruptly, all the roadside dust blowing up around them and obscuring Johnny’s vision. He coughed and tried to get up, already losing his patience.
But then he saw that angry five foot nothing marching towards him, all that red hair billowing behind her and a sawed off shotgun firmly gripped in her left hand. Thinking himself thoroughly out of bargaining chips, he raised his hands up high.
“Get up!” she shouted at him, her face twisted in a grimace of unholy fury.
“Fuck, I’m tryin’, ain’t I?!” Johnny barked back.
“What were you thinkin’, comin’ here on that fuckin’ bike! Haven’t you done enough?!” The woman kept shouting and Johnny only grimaced in response.
He was now on one knee, hands still up. Against his better judgment, he looked her right in the eye, but quickly realised talking his way out of this one would prove to be tricky.
“Look, alright, I don’t know what you’re so upset about, ‘cause—”
“My brother!” She shrieked.
“Eddie?”
“Yes, Eddie! He died because of you!”
“Now, wait a damn minute…”
“You! You and that fuckin’ gang of good-for-nuthin’ thugs on those fuckin’ machines!”
Johnny winced and looked at that shotgun again, trying to figure out his next move.
“Right.” He looked up at the woman, squinting from the sun and all that dust. Her dark horse, now grazing nearby, snorted like it was insulting Johnny personally. Not particularly fond of farm animals, Johnny wouldn’t put it past it.
“So you’re the sister, huh?”
She snorted not unlike the horse and finally put the safety on that shotgun. Johnny felt himself exhale.
“How observant,” she mocked, but then she extended her hand to help him up and Johnny took it. His knee immediately let him know how old he was.
“Get out of here. I don’t want you here.” She shoved him a little then and Johnny couldn’t help but be thoroughly shocked.
Not that it did anything, she was not very strong, but in all his life Johnny had never been challenged by a woman.
“Look…”
“No, mister, I ain’t lookin’ at nothin’, alright?” She shook her head and pointed that shotgun at the front gate. “Get outta here. We got nuthin’ to say to each other.”
“Alright. Alright. I’m goin’, see?” Johnny raised his hands again for no other reason but to show her she was in charge. He prided himself with never raising a hand at a woman, so he wasn’t about to start now. Not at a grieving one, either.
Even if she was insane.
She watched him turn his back to her and started to walk behind him like a very small guard dog that made up for its size with anger.
“Your parents let you walk around like that?” Johnny asked and dared a smirk since she couldn’t see his face anymore.
They walked a couple steps more along the path before she replied:
“Like what?”
“With that fuckin’ shotgun and all. It’s illegal, ya know? Might try to watch who you pointin’ that at.”
“What, you a cop now, mister?”
Johnny laughed at that and shook his head.
“And what'd you mean by that anyway? I’m supposed to wear frilly skirts on a farm?” she scoffed. “You try wearing a skirt on that ugly bike of yours, we’ll see how far it’ll take you.”
Johnny immediately took offence, since he had just renovated the red paint on it.
“What?” She grinned, watching him pull faces. “I’m supposed to just listen to you ‘cause you’re the boss or somethin’?”
“Yeah, or somethin’,” Johnny sighed, thoroughly regretting his decision to come there in the first place.
“I fuckin’ hate bikes. They’re all ugly.”
“Get outta here.” He waved his hand, letting her know she didn’t have a clue. None.
“Eddie told me all about you, Johnny Davis.”
“Yeah? And what’s that he told ya then?”
She paused and since they reached the gate anyway, Johnny figured what the dead brother had to say didn’t really matter.
“Yeah, you got us all wrong there.” Johnny turned around to look her in the eye. “You got nuthin’ to worry about from us, alright? We are sorry for Eddie. He was a good kid, alright, he… He really was.”
The sister looked at him all inquisitive like, but she didn’t put the shotgun away. It seemed to Johnny he got all compliant for nothing.
“Yeah, right,” she said, though without all that venom now. “I heard you burned down a bar only ‘cause they got in a fight with one of you.”
“That…” Johnny paused, looking for the right words. “That ain’t exactly how it happened.”
“But it did happen?”
They looked at each other for the longest time, before Johnny finally gave her the smallest of nods.
“So,” she smirked, satisfied. “Let me tell you now so that you don’t get any ideas of comin’ here and botherin’ my folks. It’s the bike I’m thinkin’ you’re after and I can tell you now, we will sell it all, but not to you. I will sell it for parts and there’s nuthin’—”
“One thousand.”
“What?”
“One thousand, cash. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
She sputtered, visibly shocked. That suited Johnny just fine.
“You ain’t serious, mister.”
“I am serious, yeah.”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“I am,” he smirked, still a bit amused with her against his will.
When she didn’t answer, Johnny got back on his bike.
“One thousand,” he said again, but this time she turned her back to him in response.
Johnny watched her walk away, then took one last look at that farm; all those apple trees growing in orderly rows like soldiers, the reddish barn that hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years, and that angry woman full of fire inside her, apparently responsible for all of it not going to hell.
They got that in common, Johnny thought, as he rode away.
Johnny came back the next day, one thousand cash in his jacket pocket and a knife in his boot. Not that his plan was to knife the lady necessarily, but last time he came unprepared and he didn’t like it.
She didn’t pull out a shotgun on him again, but there was a knife in her hand and that Johnny liked even less. She was peeling apples; a big basket of them by her side and a bucket of cold water next to it. All that red hair was gathered in a braid so messy it barely held it together. Johnny was reminded of that time Betty went out of town to visit her folks and he got left alone with the girls. Suffice to say, Betty never made that mistake again.
“Thought you wouldn’t show,” the crazy sister greeted Johnny and the apple she peeled landed in the bucket of water with a splash.
“I said I’d come, so…” Johnny said, all in all not too sure how to start the money talk. Men were easy to start that conversation with, at least in his experience. You flash the cash, the deal was struck. Never in his life had he negotiated a deal stranger than this one.
“And what’s that?” She pointed with the knife to the can he was holding.
Johnny felt then that the string of fate which brought him to the goddamn apple farm was not a string at all, but an electric wire.
“Paint,” he replied and placed it at her feet.
She raised an eyebrow.
“What, you gonna throw it at me if I don’t sell the bike?”
“The fuck you talkin’ about, girl?” Horrified by the idea, Johnny didn’t even notice it was sarcasm.
She got up then and crouched by the can, then popped it open with the knife.
“Red.” She looked up at him and for the first time actually smiled.
“Yeah, ‘cause…” Johnny pointed to the barn awkwardly, then shook his head. “Nah, forget it.”
“No!” She popped the lid back on before he could reach for it and nearly got his fingers. Unsure if he did good or not, Johnny decided to keep his hands to himself.
“I know the place is falling apart, alright? I just… Didn’t get the time.” She looked at the barn then finally got up. “Hey, thanks for that, mister. I’ll uh…”
“Johnny.”
“What?”
“Just Johnny. I ain’t no ‘mister’, yeah, you don’t gotta call me that.”
“Sure.” She winked at him then and Johnny didn’t know what to do with that.
“Wanna see the bike?”
She took Johnny to the barn and as soon as he saw the state of that bike he knew he had made a mistake.
“One thousand you said?” the snarky creature dared to ask and she thoroughly enjoyed rubbing it in.
The bike was crushed, there was no doubt about it. There was no moving it from there either. Johnny crouched down to take a look, but it needed no expert to see the huge chunk of the exhaust missing, along with the back wheel. There was a dent on the side of it the size of a boulder, but as far as Johnny could see, the engine was still somehow intact.
“Here.” He extended the money to her as he got up and she looked at it like she expected it to bite her.
“What?” Johnny asked. “A deal’s a deal.”
Finally, she relented.
“I can drive it back to town for ya,” she said then and pointed to the red pickup at the far back of the barn.
“Nah, it’s…” Johnny shook his head before he could think it through.
“What?” she scoffed. “You gonna walk it?”
“Can you drive?”
“Who do you think picked Eddie up from the bar when he got too drunk to stand?”
Johnny took one more look at the dented space where the back wheel of the bike was supposed to be and he relented.
On principle, though, he rode his bike alongside her pickup. They even started a race as they passed the Salt Creek, because why the hell not. She stood no chance, the pickup was too heavy, but Johnny was impressed that she even tried.
She parked outside his house and Johnny left his bike on the lawn. As if summoned by magic, Betty’s face appeared in the kitchen window. She took one pointed look at the lawn and Johnny knew he would hear about it later.
“I’ll, uh, fix it up a bit. Needs work but it’s a good one,” he said as he put the gloves back on to unload the broken bike from the pickup. He still couldn’t tell if the sister gave a shit about it at all.
“Yeah, well. It’s yours. You can blow it up if you like. You bought it.”
She tried to hide her face from him and Johnny decided to let it be. As she drove away, he found himself watching until that damn banged up red pickup disappeared around the corner. Seeing Betty’s face in the kitchen window again, Johnny knew he was cutting it close.
Some time passed, not like Johnny was counting days or anything, but every time he caught a glimpse of red hair at the corner store or anywhere else around town, he felt like a lunatic. One time one of the guys came to the bar with a redhead and Johnny nearly threw him out for no reason other than apparently having lost his mind.
“You fight too much, Johnny,” Brucie said to him then, half-amused. “Got hit on the ol’ noggin’ one too many times.”
“Shut up, Brucie.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
But then she did come to the bar one night, the real her, and Johnny couldn’t believe his very eyes. Granted, neither could any of the Vandals.
It was one of the quieter nights, even with the occasional shouting and rock music. Johnny nursed his drink in the corner and just as he poured himself another one, he heard it—horseshoes rhythmically hitting the pavement, coming closer and closer.
Johnny pushed the bottle away and lit a cigarette instead. He must have had enough and was just hearing things, but then the bar door swung open and someone wolf-whistled. Johnny turned around just in time to see Eddie’s sister standing there, jeans and cowboy boots and all. She looked around and that’s when Corky decided to try his luck.
Johnny watched them like a hawk and he couldn’t tell what exactly was being said, but sure enough, in one practiced swing Corky got punched in the throat.
“Fuck me,” Johnny muttered to himself as he got up and made his way towards what could turn into a rightful mess.
The rest of the guys still couldn’t tell whether they were pissed off or turned on, and apparently neither could Corky, choking on the floor and gasping for air.
“What the fuck?” Johnny hissed and grabbed the crazy redhead by the shoulder.
He didn’t want to read too much into it, but he could swear she looked relieved to see him.
“Got bored of painting my damn barn, didn’t I?” She started to talk like it was rapid fire or something. “Needed myself a drink, heard you got a bar or… somethin’. Fuck, your friends are grabby, though.”
The cheeky thing. Johnny didn’t even know what to say to that. He looked around and noticed the guys giving them an odd sort of look. It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t really name.
“There,” Johnny somehow manoeuvred the crazy girl out of everybody’s grasp and they sat together at his table.
“So,” he muttered as he finally found two damn seconds of peace to light a cigarette. “Whaddya want?”
“That’s how this works or somethin’? I gotta come to you with somethin’ I want?”
Johnny tried his best not to smile.
“Yeah, people usually do.”
“Can’t I just want to buy you a drink?”
“In my own bar?”
She rolled her eyes at him, actually rolled her eyes at him, then helped herself to his bottle and poured them both a drink.
“How’s the bike?” she asked, trying to sound all casual.
Johnny sat there motionless for a good moment, smoking and sizing her up. She had some type of a deal, he was sure of it. Everyone did and everyone wanted something. He just couldn’t really tell what it was she wanted. Yet.
“It’s alright, yeah.”
“You think it will run again?”
“Oh, she’ll run.”
“So it’s a she, is it?”
This time it was her suppressing a smile and Johnny felt easier about it all.
“‘Course it’s a she, what are you talkin’ about?” He finally felt well enough to have that drink and she followed suit.
Then they drank some more and things got more relaxed. And significantly more blurry.
“You know, when Eddie and I were little, he used to never shut up about motorcycles. There was that movie… With Dirk Bogarde. Yeah, you know the one.” She grinned at him, no doubt seeing that spark of fondness in his face that he was unable to suppress.
“Anyway, he must’ve dragged me like five times to see that movie. In the end I got so sick of it, but I still let him quote the lines at me. Eddie loved all that life, man, and these damn bikes…”
Johnny let her be wistful about it. She looked like she needed it. There was an urge there to reassure her that Eddie would be missed, because that was the truth, but then Johnny felt her foot sliding up his leg and his brain short-circuited.
His eyes snapped to hers and that lazy smile she gave him made this whole thing even worse. For a moment he doubted this was even real, but there it was, her foot still intertwined somewhere between his calves, and his brain and dick no longer connected.
“I’m married,” he said there, more to remind himself than to actually break the tension.
But she straightened up in her chair immediately and that was that. Her cheeks grew even redder than the tequila had made them and Johnny sighed a long sigh.
“Sorry,” she murmured and finished the rest of her drink.
“Nah. Don’t be.”
She looked up again and this time it was all look, don’t touch. But still, Johnny felt like it was more. Or maybe he just really wanted it to be.
“Now listen, I’m… What, a good twenty years older than you—”
“Oh, shut up, old man.”
She poured them another drink and leaned forward on the table. Suddenly, her leg was back between his legs and neither of them could so much as breathe. Johnny held her gaze just in case; she reminded him of all them mountain lions his grandfather was so fond of hunting. Difficult to hunt in the first place, silent and deadly. But in the dark… Yeah, they were at their finest. They crept up on you all softly—you blinked and you died.
Truth be told, Johnny very much wouldn’t give two fucks if he did die then and there. But it was a dangerous thing, the old wolf of the pack actually being called old.
“I ain’t that young, by the way,” she said. “But I bet it’s the fumes for ya. They’re bad for your skin or somethin’.”
Johnny scoffed and downed his drink. She did the same and the lines got even blurrier.
When he came to the next morning, he was still in his chair, leaning against the wall, with the unmistakable taste of last night’s cigarettes in his mouth and the heaviness of too much tequila in his temples.
Something stirred in the corner of his eye then and then Brucie spoke:
“John.”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna tell me why there’s a horse in your bar?”
Johnny winced and forced himself to look. Every fibre of his being that was still even able to move groaned in protest.
“Well,” he muttered and rubbed his eyes, but there was indeed a horse—standing by the liquor cabinet, tail twitching nervously and all.
“I don’t know, Brucie, why don’t you go ask it, yeah?” Johnny rasped and then reached for his lighter, but his pack of Marlboros was empty as a tomb. Something stirred again in the corner and Johnny figured it was Brucie finally working up his courage to approach the horse.
“You think it wants a drink?”
Johnny opened his eyes again, suddenly alert. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if Brucie was kidding or not.
“Don’t feed the goddamn horse any liquor, Bruce, fuck’s sake. She’ll kill me.”
“You think it’s a she?”
“I don’t know if it is, yeah, but the horse has an owner and she’s very unstable, alright, let’s just leave it at that.”
“Oh… Your pretty little thing. Gotcha. Yeah, she’s out cold in the back.”
Johnny looked at him, even more annoyed now.
“My what?”
Brucie hesitated before speaking again and finally he pushed a bowl of water towards the horse. With loud, violent slurps, it started to drink.
“She’s sleepin’, Johnny, relax.”
Once again, Johnny felt like he absolutely, categorically wouldn’t relax anytime soon and so he stood up and only then did Brucie finally start making sense:
“Now listen, John, I didn’t let nobody near her, right, but the way you two been polishin’ that tequila bottle was somethin’ else, so… Yeah, she’s out cold.”
Johnny just shook his head and decided any explanation on his part would only make things worse.
“Fuck, I need to get home,” Johnny rasped, but he went to the back instead.
And there she was, fuck him sideways, sleeping on a bench and covered with something that looked suspiciously like Johnny’s Vandal jacket. She didn’t even move when he poked her shoulder and so he shook her as gently as he could.
“What?” She almost shot up when she finally woke and Johnny got a little alarmed by how panicked she looked.
“Yeah, you’re alright there, you’re okay,” he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. “You just had too much to drink, but you’re okay.”
“I seem to remember someone drinking with me,” she snapped and sat up to put her shoes back on. “Fuck, my head…”
Johnny cleared his throat and decided not to comment. His own head was not faring any better.
“Did I say anything stupid last night?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. Lots,” Johnny lied, smirking a bit.
She sized him up, full of suspicion.
“You don’t remember either, do ya?”
“Nope.”
Johnny helped her up and tried to ignore how much he liked seeing her in that jacket. Betty wouldn’t ever wear a Vandal jacket, but then again, he never asked her to do it either.
“My horse?”
“Having a drink with Brucie, don’t worry about him, he’s fine.”
She didn’t find that too amusing.
“Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty!” Brucie hollered at her as soon as they emerged from the backroom. Johnny winced at the noise.
She laughed as she saw her horse by the bar, but at least had the decency to look apologetic about it all.
“Your idea to bring him inside, was it?” Johnny asked, but unlike Brucie, he didn’t dare to come closer.
Brucie, though, that guy had no fear. He was patting the horse on the neck and whispering something to him. Johnny had never seen him affectionate like that.
“There… might have been a discussion last night, how he’d be cold outside, John.”
“That so?”
“It was your idea, actually,” Eddie’s sister interjected, then poured herself whatever was left from the coffee pot.
Johnny felt personally offended by the notion.
“Fuck no, it wasn’t.”
“I say it was and we can’t ask the horse, so…”
“Look, can I just…” Johnny rubbed his face and tried very hard to remain cool. But at the very last moment he changed his mind and what he finally said was:
“Can I get that horse outta my bar now?”
The cheeky little thing had the audacity to grin about it and then marched through the bar, grabbed her horse by the reins and carefully led it outside. Johnny caught Brucie’s amused look and didn’t even have to ask what all of that was about.
She still had his jacket on. Johnny kicked himself for it, but wouldn’t ask for it back.
Not that long after, the rumours around town were in full swing. One evening Gail and Kathy let him know exactly what they thought about his old ass trading someone like Betty for a younger model and how apparently perverted he was. Johnny let them talk, mostly since there was nothing he could have said that would make them believe he was not having an affair.
Then again, maybe he was. Who the fuck knew at this point. Betty believed him when they had that discussion, at least for a time, but finally something in her snapped, too. She took the girls to her folks and hadn’t come back since. Not that Johnny expected she would.
What cemented the rumours was Eddie’s sister coming over one night, entirely out of the blue. Johnny was in the driveway, still working on Eddie’s banged up bike. As soon as he saw that red pickup park straight in front of his house, something stirred in him. But then, he was damn sure all the neighbors saw it park there too, so the time for denial was over.
“Am I interrupting?”
She approached him with a six pack of beers, flaunting her figure in those dark blue Levi’s. She could interrupt him all she wanted.
“Nah.” He got up and took the beers from her. Then she leaned in closer and for a good moment Johnny didn’t know what to do with himself.
But all she did was take his handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and she wiped the motor oil stain from his cheek. He got a whiff of that pink Lux soap and then, entirely on instinct, he held her closer with his free hand. She looked up and it was like her eyes said, “Finally.” Johnny knew then that he wouldn’t let go of her anytime soon.
They kissed out in the open and with a full air of social disapproval. Johnny couldn’t give two shits about anyone’s approval, though, and knew she didn’t either. Although… Fucking in that creaky bed he had shared with another woman would have been bizarre, but fortunately they didn’t even make it to the bed.
She let Johnny push her against the wall and he nearly tore those Levi’s off of her. Kissing her left him dazed, but then she started to bite his neck and that turned him feral instead. It felt alien, being so wanted, and how fucking sad was that.
But she did want him and they fucked twice. The second time on the sofa, with her on top. Johnny couldn’t get enough of the sight of her.
They shared that six pack in the tub. She was sitting between his legs and it felt like she just belonged there. They didn’t even talk about anything in particular, but the water was warm and she was snuggled up against him like she actually wanted to be there.
“Where’s that one from?” she asked about yet another tattoo and Johnny looked down to see better which one caught her attention.
“Marines.”
It was an unfinished head of a rottweiler on his thigh. He got half of it, then a dishonorable discharge for his trouble. Never quite got around to fixing it and now it was half-done on purpose.
“You like to swim, huh?”
“Not so much.”
“But you don’t mind the water now, do ya?”
“Nah,” He grunted and gave her the rest of the beer. “It’s like I’m livin’ again, girl.”
“Good. We’re gonna live some, you and I.”
Johnny felt her chuckle against his chest and he just held her tighter. And even if this wasn’t heaven, then the feeling was pretty damn close.
