Kitten (Brian&Leah,1)

7. Savage

Kitten snorts and sings, "I'm in a gang, I have a gun, I bang chicks for pleasure, but you ain't fun."

The way she's mocking me is amusing as all hell. I grin and wink at her. "You like my humor, huh, Kitten?"

"There's not a single thing I like about you, O'Brien. You're not my type."

I smile again. "Yeah? What's your type?"

Kitten scrunches up her nose. "I like smart guys who aren't wasting their lives away doing nothing."

This time, her words sting. "I'm not wasting my life away. For your information, I've been working since I was sixteen. You're quick to judge."

Kitten looks at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Laughter spouts from my mouth. "Wow, Princess. You apologized to the good-for-nothing O'Brien. He must be doing something right."

Kitten's eyes meet mine. "I can admit my mistakes. It doesn't mean I like you."

"What do you like about Ferdinand?"

Kitten sits on the windowsill and hugs her bent knees. "He's smart. He knows a lot of things."

"You've just described an internet search engine, Kitten. I asked you about your boyfriend."

"Intelligence isn't a crime, O'Brien. He's a good student, so what? Are you one of those who make fun of someone with a higher than average IQ?"

I go on smoking and keep quiet at first. What can I say? The chick formed her opinion about me. She has no clue whether I'm smart but assumes I'm a loser based on the very few things she knows.

The words tumble out of my mouth a short while later. "No, Kitten. I judge people by who they are. If someone's a shitty human being, their high IQ does little to remedy that. So, do you like Ferdinand for the kind of person he is?"

Kitten falls quiet, and I stub out my cigarette. "Thought so."

***

It's barbecue day. Our backyard is swarming with guests, and it's not even noon. I suspect many of them came to see Jimmy, but it's beneficial regardless — Dad's new business could use some promotion, even if it comes from his superstar son.

The guy in question is already by the grill, busy setting it up. I glance around before approaching my big brother. Kitten isn't here yet, and I doubt she'll come after our last convo. I should've probably avoided the topic of her boyfriend.

"Need help?" I ask Jimmy.

He shakes his head. "Everything's ready, but I didn't know so many people would come, little fucker."

"I bet they're here for you," I say.

Jimmy rolls his green eyes. "It's Dad's day. I'd hate to steal his thunder."

"It's not up to you." I squeeze his shoulder. "You're helping him. Pops will have clients, thanks to all the attention you're drawing to the shop. Besides, Dad looks happy."

I glance over at where Dad's standing with Mom next to him. In a T-shirt with his business logo and no jacket on despite the cold weather, he's grinning at something as he sips his beer.

Jim scratches the back of his head. "About that—"

The deafening roar of dozens of engines cuts our conversation short. We exchange a glance, and then forget about the grill and rush out of the backyard.

Some passersby stop dead in their tracks as at least twenty bikes approach Pops' house, lifting a cloud of dust in their wake.

A huge, heavily tattooed dude slows down his Kawasaki and yells, "Savage!"

Pops runs toward the road faster than we've thought possible and squeezes the man in a hug as soon as the guy gets off his bike. The rest of the bikers park close to our house and greet Dad in a similar way, hugging the hell out of him and slapping his back.

Mom squeals and joins Pops, chatting with the dudes and a couple of women as if she's known them forever.

Jimmy's eyes register the surprise on my face. "Don't tell me you didn't know Dad was in a Motorcycle Club," he says.

I stare at my brother. "You're shittin' me."

Jim shakes his head. "I'm not. Ask Dad."

I take a mental note to do it and smirk when I imagine Kitten's mother's face if she saw so many tattooed, strong dudes who look intimidating even to me.

Jimmy waves at Pops, and Dad seems to remember something as he rushes toward his son.

Everyone follows Pops and Jimmy to the backyard. I glance around but don't see Kitten anywhere.

A few minutes later, I'm staring at Jimmy and Dad, who are holding guitars in their hands.

Jim plays the first chords of Welcome To The Jungle by Guns 'N' Roses, and the crowd goes wild as soon as he begins to sing.

Mom walks up to me and draws an arm around my shoulders. She sings along as she tries to dance, hugging me. I'm towering over her, but it doesn't stop her.

The multitude erupts in cheers when Pops sings a part of the chorus in a deliberately high-pitched voice. Jimmy laughs and then joins Dad, making Mom grin wider.

Sweaty and content, Jimmy stands next to me while Pops announces the next song he'll perform alone — You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC.

Mom is looking at him with her hands covering her mouth. Her squeal pierces the air, and she dances again.

At this point, few things are logical.

Everyone around me is singing with Pops. I grab a cold beer and hand it to Jimmy, who's laughing at Dad's antics.

As soon as the bottle is in Jimmy's hands, he winks at me. "Thank you, little fucker. So, what I was trying to tell you earlier— did you know Mom and Dad are getting some loving?"

I frown at Jim, but can't help smiling when my eyes snag on Kitten. Dressed in gray pants and a pale pink blouse, she's surveying her surroundings, wide-eyed.

Jim punches my bicep. I rub my arm and look at him.

"Okay, Brian, I'm gonna say this to you in the language you understand: Mom and Dad are fuckin'."