Free Little Memphis by Bijou Hunter

Crawford?” I ask, remembering the medical report. “Anyone ever call you Crawfish?”
    His dark blue eyes flaring with annoyance, Ford nods. “Yeah until I was in third grade and pounded his ass into the ground.”
    “Third grade?” I balk, shaking my head. “I’d have thought you were born a badass. Except it sounds like you took awhile to grow into it. Kinda disappointing to hear.”
    “Is that right?” he murmurs, grinning. “Would it help to know I’ve made up for my slow start?”
    I share his smile and look over his powerful build again. Summoning all my courage, I slide my fingers over his muscular arm. Ford shifts ever so slightly and I sense he’s surprised by my touch. He recovers quickly.
    Flexing his muscle for me, he gets real serious. “An hour of weights plus another one for cardio. Nature gave me the tools, but I have to mold my body into the amazing specimen you’re feeling up now.”
    My laughter causes him to reach out and cup my cheek. Seeing a need that scares me, I step back.
    “Does your mom live in Blairsville?”
    Ford loses his smile. “You hear something about me?”
    “Yeah, you’re great in bed and you only care abut your brother.”
    “True, but I care about shit other than my brother.”
    “Like the club?”
    “And my dog.”
    I smile. “I hate dogs.”
    Ford shakes his head. “Liar.”
    “Do you have family other than Pax?”
    “I’ll answer if you sit with me on the bench. Talking so close to those kids is making me uneasy. What if I forget my manners and talk about my cock? Jenn will take a carrot shredder to it.”
    The kids giggle nearby and I roll my eyes. Ford places his hand on my back and leads me to the bench. I sit as far away from him as possible. When he shakes his head, I grin at his irritation.
    “You weren’t tested for cooties, so I’m playing it safe.”
    He laughs then instantly hates himself for doing so. I see it written all over his face.
    “Tell me something good about your childhood and I’ll move closer,” I say. “Like a reward system.”
    “What do you know?”
    “Someone told me you were a wuss until third grade.”
    Ford laughs. “You’re a tough broad to impress.”
    Smiling, I pat his hand. “I know you and Pax spent time in foster care.”
    “Does that make you pity me?”
    “Do you want me to pity you?”
    “If pity leads to you under me with your legs wrapped around my hips then, yeah, I’m a sad sack and want pity.”
    I laugh and scoot farther away until my ass is mostly off the bench. “Start spilling.”
    “Nothing to tell. Dad was a dumb fuck with an addiction to cheap booze. Mom suffered from depression and was also looking for something to fix that for her. When Pax and I were five and seven, she left us in a car for a week. A couple of hookers brought us stuff to drink and eat at first. Eventually, they figured Mom wasn’t coming back. They called the cops and we ended up in the system.”
    Ford gives a head nod to an arriving club guy then continues his story, “Sounds bad, but we always stayed together and got decent foster families. The only reason we got moved around was because the state would think Mom could handle doing her job and give us back to her. She’d try, but the woman can barely take care of herself. She’d fuck up and we’d go live somewhere else.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    I expect Ford to make a crack about proving how sorry I am by doing something with his cock. Instead, he smiles.
    “You’re a good kid.”
    “I’m not a kid.”
    “A little bit.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “You act like a virgin. That makes you a kid.”
    “That’s stupid. So if a fourteen year old girl acts like a slut, she’s older than me?”
    “Yeah, pretty much,” he says, scratching at his beard. “Why are you so sensitive?”
    I open my mouth to argue then realize he’s deflecting from sharing about his mom. Scooting closer, I smile.
    “I almost ended up in foster care a few times. I feel like I