Meara and Oaley

*The following is an original work of fiction. All characters belong to the author and any likenesses to real people or places is purely coincidental. Please do not copy or repose any part or portion of this work to any other website.

Copyrighted by Eris Jade*

*****

My little sister is the Queen of Fucking Shit Up. From the moment my parents brought her whining, crying behind home from the hospital, she has been fucking shit up.

She is currently standing in my kitchen, sipping coffee from a Starbucks cup, eyeing me up and down, no doubt wondering if she can overtake me long enough to slip upstairs and see who is sleeping in my bedroom.

We were supposed to meet the previous morning to go over any last minute details regarding our parents anniversary party this upcoming weekend. However, as per usual, Ella confused the days and is close to ruining my morning.

As much as she annoys me, I love her. When we were growing up, she was my shadow. I'd introduce her as ''My Ella" so often that people actually thought that was her name.

We look a lot alike. We share the smooth brow skin, the same catlike deep brown eyes, and the same playful smile. Yet, that's where the resemblances end. Where Ella is tall and lean, built like a swimmer, I am barely over average height, not skinny, but not fat, either. Ella is quite optimistic, even in the morning, while my moods vary between slightly irritated and overly happy.

"So," Ella is saying now, one thin finger tracing along the bottom edge of her cup. "There's a motorcycle parked in front of your house."

I tighten my robe around my waist and fold my arms over my chest. "I'm aware of this."

"Whose is it?" she asks innocently, her voice taking on a sing song quality.

I bite the inside of my cheek in attempt not to laugh. As much as she annoys me, I find her extremely funny most days.

"None of your damn business."

She releases an exasperated breath as she sets her cup on a nearby counter. "Aw, come on, Meara! You haven't dated anyone in 2 years, and I come over to find you holed up with some guy - some guy who obviously spent the night." She gives my disheveled appearance a pointed once-over. "This is a big deal! Why can't I meet him?"

The aroma of Ella's coffee, sweet and enticing, is on the verge of short-circuiting my brain. Though I'd much rather be curled up against Oakley right now, I move to the coffee pot and set about making my own.

My sister is right, in a certain sense - this is a big deal. I haven't dated anyone in a long time, and I definitely hadn't allowed anyone in my bed during that time, but the situation between Oakley and I is different. Namely, we aren't dating, and I'm not even 100% certain 'Oakley' is his real name. Whatever we have, it's simple, uncomplicated and, save for the blond bimbo I'd seen hanging all over him, there is no stress to it. I'm not averse to keeping it that way.

"Ella," I sigh, watching as the coffee begins to drip into the pot. The sound fills the kitchen, spices the air with its dark aroma, and my mouth begins to water a bit. "It's really not that big of a deal. We're friends." I think.

When Ella speaks, I don't have to turn to know that a frown mars her pretty features.

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a nosey little pest. We're even."

She snatches up her coffee cup and takes a few steps toward me, though she keeps a relatively safe distance between us. She knows better.

"I'm sure mom and dad would be interested to know that you're finally coming out of your shell."

She says it absently, as if the thought hasn't completely formed in her brain, but I know exactly what she's doing.

I turn more fully toward her. "Ella, I swear on everything I love, including you, that if you breathe one word of this to Mom or Dad, I'll come to your house and I'll kill you in your sleep. Then, I'll hire our brother to represent me in court. And he'll get my charges dropped. You know why? Because he likes me better than you."

Ella throws up her hands, groaning in frustration. "You are such a freaking drama queen," she says as I pour my coffee. "You said yourself this isn't such a big deal. I just want to know who's responsible for making my big sister glow!"

I whip around, ready to throw the spoon I'd been using to stir sugar into my coffee at her, but I notice Oakley standing in the doorway, and a staticky sort of panic flits through my system.

Ella follows my gaze and a tiny squeak escapes her.

"Good morning," Oakley says, the remnants of sleep making his already panty-dropping voice even sexier. He's leaning one shoulder against the door frame. He is shirtless, and the tattoos stand out even more starkly over his broad chest and thick arms in the early morning light. His jeans hang tantalizing low on his lean hips. His eyes move slowly between my sister and me.

Ella clears her throat and plasters on a bright smile. His affect is not lost on her.

"Good morning," she chirps. "I'm Meara's sister, Ella."

He offers a slight nod. A hank of hair shifts over his cheek.

"Oakley."

She giggles, her eyes flicking to me momentarily. I, again, consider throwing the spoon at her. It's easy to want to melt under Oakley's gaze; however I don't like that she is.

Silence fills the kitchen, and we stand for a long time merely staring at one another.

I had assumed Oakley would remain upstairs. His appearance while my sister is here, though satisfying for Ella, confuses me. I wonder if this has been done on purpose. I wonder how much of our conversation he's overheard.

He is the first to move, sauntering across the kitchen as if he belongs here, as if our current interaction is the most normal thing in the world. He pours himself a cup of coffee, adding sugar but no cream, and then stands as if waiting to see what will happen next.

"Ella was just leaving," I say, and stare at her pointedly.

She stares right back, narrowing her pretty eyes at me before returning her attention to Oakley.

"Yeah, sorry to interrupt. I'll just be on my way. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Oakley."

"Just Oakley," he responds before taking a sip of coffee.

"Just Oakley," she says a bit too breathily.

"Goodbye, Ella!" I make a shooing motion with my hand and her lip curls menacingly at me.

"Ok, I'm going." She swipes her purse from the kitchen table and slings it over her shoulder. "Meara, I'll call you later so we can take care of those last minute details." She turns to leave, but stops abruptly. When her eyes settle on Oakley again, I know exactly what she's about to do, but I'm too mortified to stop her.

"By the way," she says airily, "We're throwing an anniversary party for our parents. It's on Saturday, at 7, at Meara's bar. If you're not doing anything, we'd love to have you."

Her smile is far too bright, her eyes gleaming in the sunlight. I want to strangle her.

Oakley nods, just a simple tilt of his head, and takes another sip of his coffee.

Ella twirls around and walks out of the kitchen. Her heels click faintly down the hall and when the door shuts behind her, I let out a breath I hadn't been aware of holding.

A long moment passes before I turn my gaze to Oakley. He's still drinking his coffee, humor glinting in his gaze. He's watching me closely, and there's a hint of something in the air, something sharp and electric.

"How much did you hear?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Enough."

He settles back, resting his lean hips against the counter.

I almost expect him to start asking questions, but he doesn't.

"She seems nice."

"She's a pain in my ass, is what she is."

I take a sip of my own coffee and briefly close my eyes, allowing its warmth and the caffeine to work its magic on me. It's relatively quiet, and I realize it's not the uncomfortable kind of quiet. Oakley and I are usually cuddled up at this time of the morning, or engaging in some sort of delicious morning after sex before he slips away... to do God knows what. We have never shared a moment like this, this easy domesticity. It's not unpleasant, but I'm uncertain how to proceed with it. Should I offer him breakfast?

"You threatened to kill her, and told her your brother likes you better."

It's a statement, not a question. His voice is low, and when I look up at him, there is amusement in his eyes again. He quirks one dark eyebrow at me speculatively.

I put on my innocent smile, the one I'd learned to use while growing up and my parents had caught me doing exactly what Oakley had caught me doing - threatening my sister' life.

He laughs, a low grumble of sound that fills my kitchen. A breeze wafts through the open window, causing the curtains to skitter on their mounts and bringing with it the smell of sunshine and freshly cut grass. The distant sound of a car passing on the road beyond the treeline reaches my ears and, despite the coffee, I realize how early it is, how tired I am. I'm very tempted to head back to bed. And drag Oakley with me. We had been quite comfortable before Ella's unexpected intrusion.

A question is out of my mouth before I've had time to even think of the consequences.

"Do you have any siblings?"

Oakley doesn't respond immediately. He looks at me, and the look is one of mild curiosity. His gaze lingers for a few brief seconds. He does this a lot, merely watches me, taking his time to answer, as if he's weighing what he's about to say in his mind.

My heart stutters mildy. This isn't our routine; this isn't our way - having coffee in the kitchen in the bright early morning sunlight, inquiring about the personal life of the other. Perhaps I've overstepped.

"One," he finally answers, turning to pour his coffee down the drain. "Younger. About your age."

My age? Shit! How old is this man?

I watch him rinse out his mug and turn it upside down in the basin. His hands curl around the edge of the counter and he does a sort of push up against it, his back rigid and shoulders taut, as if there is some energy in him that he's wanting to expend.

"It's too early. I want to go back to bed. Are you coming?"

And, just like that, we're back to the familiar. I nod, pour my own coffee down the sink and walk ahead of him out of the kitchen. I can feel him at my back as we move through the house, large and warm. Our relationship, or whatever it is, is definitely unconventional. Yet, one thing is certain, I've always felt safe with this man in my house. He's not an overly large man, but there's something about him that seems to take up a great deal of space. I like that, too.

Nothing more passes between us. We rid ourselves of the small bit of clothing we're wearing and settle into the bed. my body instinctively presses in against his. His hand finds my bare hip and he squeezes lightly. I'm aware of the soft line of tension that goes through him but, as he drifts off to sleep, it melts away, and I'm left with only the warmth and solid feel of him.

His name is Oakley and he has a younger brother. This is more than I've learned about him in the entire 6 months we've been performing this dance. I know there is a great deal more knowledge about him I'm missing, and I'm only slightly curious to find out, to add a few more pieces to the puzzle that makes up my bedmate.

His fingers trail lightly up my spine, then splay across the center of my back, pulling me closer, tighter, as he sleeps. The action is enough to stop me from wondering. If only for now.

Damn Ella and her nosey ass.

_____________________________________________________

**6 Months Ago**

"Come on, Meara. Quit playing hard to get. You know you want me."

Carter Ludlow has been after my ass for almost a year now, and he's beginning to work on my nerves. At first, his mild flirtations had been cute, endearing even - a wink here and there, a lingering look which held the clumsy makings of desire and want. In truth, I had been flattered. Now, I'm annoyed.

He reaches across the bar and curls his thick fingers around my wrist, stopping my hand in mid-motion. His skin is cool and clammy, and my own fingers curl reflexively into the dish towel I'd been using to clean off the bar top.

As politely as I can, I extricate myself from his grasp and he lets out a low, knowing laugh. There's something about the sound that causes me to look up and I'm startled by the darkness I see floating in the depths of his brown eyes. There's something going on with him, I can tell, and I'm in no mood to deal with it tonight.

"Carter, drink your beer, hon. It's getting warm."

I turn to drop the towel in the sink and, even over the music playing from the jukebox, I can hear the poison in his voice when he speaks.

"It's a lot warmer than you are, that's for sure."

I've had it. I turn sharply and narrow my eyes at him.

"Excuse me? What the fuck did you say?"

He's unfazed by my tone, the sharpness of my words. He takes a sip of his beer, then shuffles it between his wide, clumsy palms.

"You know, you're something else, Meara Kincaide. Walking around here like your shit don't stink. Like you're too good for guys like me." His tone is harsh. Hard. I don't know Carter all that well, outside of what I'd known about him in high school, but this trash he's spewing is new to me.

I blink at him, taken aback for only a moment, but the anger quickly rises in me and I take a step toward him.

"So, what, you come in here, drink up half my stock, make a few lewd, ungraceful remarks about getting me into bed, and what? I'm supposed to fall all over myself to get to you."

I shouldn't be this mad, however my 'bullshit' tank is overflowing tonight. My ex had called earlier in the evening. The conversation had started out in its normal fashion - he'd asked for money, demanded it really, feeling as if I owed him something after all the chaos and destruction he'd put me through. After I'd told him 'no' for the fifth time, he'd finally lashed out, calling me every name in the book, as well as a few others I hadn't heard before. I was wound tight, bitter and angry, and now Carter Ludlow was in my bar, behaving as if I owed him something.

"You're a bitch," he hisses, shoving his beer at me across the bar top. It tips over the edge and shatters on the floor, spraying my pant legs with warm, foamy liquid. A few patrons turn at the sound. They are more curious than concerned

Fury flashes through me and, just as I'm about to lunge across the bar at him, a heavy hand comes down on Carter's shoulder. He startles and turns sharply in his seat.

"That's enough. Time for you to go. Now."

The voice alone would have done it for me. It's deep and powerful. Rich. I can easily imagine it whispering dirty things to me, growling with hunger in my ear.

That thought alone gives me pause.

As my eyes take in the guy towering over Carter, I feel my mouth grow dry. He's tall, his dark hair falling in thick waves over his shoulders, shoulders which are encased in leather. A biker jacket, from the looks of it. In the dim light of the bar, his green eyes are stormy, full of promising menace.

Apparently as drunk as he is, Carter can't fathom that his life's in danger.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The guys' hand tightens on Carter's shoulder and he takes a small step forward, effectively invading Carter's personal space, giving him little to no room to move.

"The guy who's gonna throw you out. The lady asked you to leave her alone. She obviously doesn't want to be bothered by you."

Carter laughs again, trying and failing to get up out of his seat. The guys' big hand keeps him in place.

Carter looks over his shoulder at me, and then back at the biker.

"Fuck her, and fuck you, too, pal!" he spits, the alcohol he's already imbibed adding a comical slur to his words.

The biker turns emerald eyes to me, and the question in them is clear.

May I?

I feel my lips curling into a satisfied smile. "If you would be so kind," I say, pouring on the sweetness, throwing Carter a teasing wink just before the biker yanks him out of his seat and shoves him in the direction of the front door.

Catcalls and applause follow them. Apparently, I'm not the only one tired of Carter's shit.

I grab the towel I'd been using to clean up and bend down to gather up the broken pieces of the beer bottle. Evelyn, one of my waitresses, appears next to me with a broom and long-handled dustpan.

"Holy shit! What was that about?" She nudges my side with her knee, urging me out of the way.

I stand up and lift my arms above my head to stretch out a kink which has been forming in my lower back all night. I watch her smooth movements as shoves the remnants of the broken bottle into the dustpan. The lean muscles in her brown arms flex gently as she sweeps.

"I'd had enough of Carter and his bullshit. I told him as much. Guess he didn't like it."

She chuckles, blows a bubble with the piece of gum she's currently chewing, then pops it. She bobs her head in the direction of the front door, where the biker has just re-entered. He stops to say something to a table full of guys dressed in identical leather jackets, then makes his way back to me.

"Guess you owe that hottie a couple rounds on the house."

I'm tempted to tell her to mind her own damn business, that I don't need her to tell me what to do, but I know I'm just being catty and mean. Besides, the so-called hottie is back and, to her credit, Evelyn shuffles off and back to her waitressing duties, her dark ponytail swaying as she moves.

The biker rights Carter's stool, which managed to get knocked over during the minor scuffle, and settles down onto it. He watches me for a long moment, his green eyes unreadable.

I open my mouth to say 'thank you', but he speaks before I can.

"You should have kicked out that asshole a long time ago."

His tone is not chiding or accusing. In fact, he's telling me something of which I'm already aware.

I shift my weight to my hip and rest my fist on it.

"Are you going to be an ass, now, too?"

He doesn't reply, just sits there staring at me as if I'm something he's never seen up close before. The weight of his gaze stirs up a bit of heat in my chest, especially when those sharp green eyes begin to move over my body, cool and assessing.

A blast of laughter sounds from a back corner and it's enough to jolt me out of the hazy cloud of sexual tension rising around me.

"Thank you for taking care of Carter. You and your friends can drink on me tonight."

"My friends? They didn't do anything."

I laugh. And, it feels good.

"You're right. Just you, then. What are you having?"

I can see Evelyn just beyond the bikers shoulder. She gives me a thumbs up sign, wiggling her eyebrows in a suggestive, if not cartoonish, manner. I want to give her the finger. What the hell is wrong with everyone tonight?

"What time are you finished here?"

There is no accounting for the flicker of desire that swirls through my stomach at his question. I don't want to be attracted to this guy. Aside from being utterly not my type, he's a bit too high-handed for my liking. But, shit, if I'm not drawn to the fullness of his lips, even now when they're set in a hard, pensive line. His shoulders are broad, strong, and he's wearing the hell out of that jacket.

I mentally shake myself. I do not need to get involved with this guy. With any guy for that matter.

"Didn't you just throw someone out for hitting on me?" I ask.

Those eyes rake over me again, even more slowly, if that were possible, drinking in every line and slope of my body, and I feel myself getting wet from his perusal.

Without another word, he slides off the barstool and heads back to his friends. I am not ashamed to say I checked out his ass, and it looks as delicious as every other part of him. No harm in looking, right?.