A Biker’s Tiny Present (Rebel Vipers MC Christmas Standalone)

CHAPTER SEVEN

RILEY

My alarm starts blaring and I sit up in a blind panic. Why can’t I see anything?

Reaching up, I push the jumbled mess of my hair out of my face, only to have it flop right back in my eyes. I wrestle with the hair tie, and it snaps, so I reach for the nightstand and end up holding a phone that’s not mine. Well, no wonder the alarm was unusually loud . . . and not the ringtone I’m used to being woken up to.

Shit! Tiny!

Not moving, I look all around the room and don’t see him. Where did he go? He couldn’t have left, his phone is still here, and his shirt is hooked over the edge of the mirror on my dresser. Seems he was even less concerned about where his clothes ended up than I did last night.

Speaking of last night, in my head at least, holy guacamole and Christ on a cracker. From his steamy, innuendo filled flirting, I knew it was going to be amazing, but I had no idea a mattress mambo with a biker could be so life altering. I pray to whatever deity will listen first, thank you for creating that man! Amen!

Kicking back the tangled sheet and blanket, there’s no fixing this mess without changing the bedding, and find myself stark naked. I never sleep naked. I’ve never lived alone, so whether it be another nineteen year old roommate who occasionally sleepwalked, or an infant down the hall the hall who likes to randomly wake up at three a.m., screaming loud and wild enough to wake the dead, I can’t sleep in my birthday suit.

Shit . . . again!

Nicky! Tossing on a pair of leggings and hoodie sweatshirt I pluck from the top of the clean but not folded laundry basket, I hustle down the hall to his bedroom.

Well, shoot. There’s a sight for sore, tired eyes. I found Tiny. He’s shirtless, did his tattoos multiply overnight? I swear he didn’t have that many when I was admiring, and touching, his fine form just a couple hours ago. Both boys are passed out cold, Tiny holding Nicky to his chest with one forearm under his tiny tush, and Nicky gripping a fist full of Tiny’s beard. That can’t be comfortable.

I don’t want to wake either of them, but Nicky is going to need to be fed soon, which means a diaper change first, so I need to untangle them.

Brushing one finger to the back of Nicky’s hand, in an attempt of getting him to drop his hold on his father’s beard, I accidentally graze Tiny’s chest. I’m jolted forward, pulled down into his lap, and smushed against his chest. I land with a harumph and shift a bit so my hip isn’t digging into Tiny’s stomach, not that he can feel it due to his rock solid abs, but I’d be more comfortable not half laying-half sprawled out in his lap.

“Good morning,” Tiny’s voices seems to rumble from his chest. “How’d you sleep?”

I try to scoot forward and get up, but the arm around my stomach pulls me in tighter. I quit trying to move, knowing I won’t win unless he’s distracted. “Good. You?”

“Better than I have in a long time.” Tiny presses a kiss to my temple.

“Me too,” I have to agree, “But I can’t lie, I was a little worried when I woke up alone.” I look down at my pink toenails, trying not to sound desperate or needy for validation that what happened last night was as great as I thought it was.

“I heard the little man makin’ noises and didn’t want him to wake you up.” Tiny bounces the knee my behind is parked on. “Hey, look at me.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Nicky’s eyelashes start fluttering, so I want to wrap up this conversation and get moving to what is bound to be an interesting day for both of us.

“Yes, I did. It’s about time I start pullin’ my own weight.” Damn stubborn man loves to pick a fight, even when I’m trying to make his life easier. “Nicky is my son. I want to, need to, help you, Riley. Why are you pushin’ me on this? We talked about this last night and I thought you had agreed to lettin’ me be a part of his and your lives.”

“We did.” He’s not wrong, I just seem to have an issue with self-sabotage and keep trying to push him away before he opens his eyes one day and realize that I’m not all that great.

“Good,” Tiny grunts he’s approval, jostling Nicky a bit. His eyes are open a sliver and his attention is locked on Tiny like he’s a puzzle with one last missing piece that you can’t figure out.

I use the distraction of the eye lock these two have on each other and wiggle myself free and stand. “I suppose we can work out a schedule.”

“I’m gonna ignore the dismissal in that comment and move on with our day.” Tiny stands up too and heads straight for the changing table. He lays Nicky down but doesn’t move the hand that is covering his son’s entire torso.

Nicky really starts squirming, because he knows what time of day it is, but has zero patience for his dad to have a brain fart.

I grab a diaper from the basket, and what is a hopefully jokingly way, hip check Tiny out of the way. He takes a couple steps to the left, but just like last night before bed, he watches every move I make. Once Nicky is dry and changed, I prop his little behind on my hip and head for the kitchen to shake up some breakfast.

“Want to learn how to make a bottle?” I ask while I grab the canister of formula from the cupboard, along with the bottle.

Tiny unscrews the top and sets both parts on the counter. “Now what?” he asks, ready for the next move.

I walk him through the powder measuring, water adding, shaking vigorously, warming, and testing the temperature process. Without spilling one drop, the bottle is made in no time flat. He’s getting this dad thing down so fast and I can’t help but smile.

“Can I feed him?” Tiny reaches for Nicky, but I shoo him to the sink.

“Sure. But wash your hands first, please and thank you.”

After he’s done drying his hands, I pass the bottle to Tiny and point him toward the living room at the front of the house.

“What next?”

“Sit in the recliner. He likes watching the ceiling fan while he eats.”

Tiny gets settled in my favorite chair in the house, and I pass Nicky over, laying him down in his arms. After a few adjustments, mostly arm placement to help keep the bottle angled to avoid Nicky drinking air bubbles, and they’re set. Anyone who has fed a baby knows that air bubbles are a no-no. Babies sneeze and poop and burp enough as it is, it is no fun to have a baby spit up everything it just drank.

“Want some coffee?” I hold up a mug like he needs to see and hear me from across the room.

“Ummm.” Looking flustered with the baby in his arms, Tiny shakes his head. “When he’s done eating.”

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” then I hear him mumbles, “stubborn woman.”

I ignore his ramblings and pour him a fresh cup.

I carry both our mugs in the living room and set his on the end table beside him, out of reach of the soon to be wiggly baby.

Not so gracefully, I plop my ass down on the couch and sink in further than I did yesterday. A spring pokes me in the butt so I scoot to another cushion. Unfortunately for me, this spot isn’t much better.

“That couch looks like it’s seen some better days,” Tiny chuckles.

“Yea,” I can’t help but join him and laugh, “but it’s all we’ve got until I can afford a new one.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

I stand up and cross my arms. I’d like to remain all the way stubborn about this, but my backside couldn’t stand the poking springs anymore. Maybe he’s right. Maybe . . . no, I can’t let him buy me a new couch. Any good brands worth a damn are out of my current budget. If I can’t afford something, I can’t expect someone else to buy it for me.

“You can’t do that,” I gripe, but it sounds more like a whine.

“Why not?”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.” We volley yeses and nos for a bit before he brings out the big guns.

“Yes, it is. Just like it’s not your responsibility to have been raising my kid but you did it anyway. Very selflessly might I add.”

“It’s what family does.” I shrug, to try and brush off the compliment.

“And Nicky is my family.” He points at me with one finger while the others hold the bottle for Nicky. “And so are you now.”

I notice the bottle is halfway gone, so I grab a burp rag, lay it over his shoulder, then show Tiny how to swivel Nicky and burp him.

“Wow.” He sounds surprised as the burps come out and he lays him back down to finish his breakfast. “He didn’t spit up.”

“He’s a good eater.” I smooth down a few wild strands of Nicky’s hair, then sit on the edge of the coffee table and watch the somehow unlikely pair continue to bond.

“Krew, Whiskey and Duchess’s baby, was a puker for a while ‘til they figured out the right formula for him. Doc said it was also why he wasn’t sleepin’ through the night like he should’ve been. Reflux somethin’ or other.”

“That can be a scary situation if a baby has digestion issues or is allergic to a certain brand of formula.” I made the mistake of reading too many mommy vlogs, those things will give you nightmares. “We’ve been lucky with this little guy. He’s been eating and sleeping and pooping like a pro since day one.”

“I hate that I missed it.” Tiny’s face drops and the room feels twenty degrees colder somehow.

Way to go, Riley. Way to bum the guy out when he’s already feeling bad enough about the situation.

“I begged Tay to tell me who the dad was, but she refused. By the time the sixth month of her pregnancy rolled around, any time I’d ask, she’d snap at me and say it was none of my business. After a couple more tries, it wasn’t worth the fight.”

“Still sucks.” His eyes find mine and we lock, neither wanting to be the first to look away. “I would’ve been here and involved if I knew.”

I nod. “I probably should have asked you this yesterday, but do you have any other kids? Any other baby mommas running around I should know about?”

Tiny shakes his head. “Nope. ‘Til the kiddos started poppin’ up at the clubhouse, I’d never even been around a baby more than just passin’ in a store or at a restaurant.”

“That’s crazy. You’re a natural.”

Our gaze finally breaks when Tiny adjusts Nicky back to his shoulder for another burp. After a few good ones, he lays him down on his legs, letting Nicky hold his thumbs and kick his legs against his chest. They’re both smiling and happy—it makes my heart hurt that they’ve both been missing this for so long.

I should have pushed Taylor more to get her to tell me who Tiny was. Her stubbornness hurt two innocent people for no reason. She was selfish and isn’t even around to have to face the questions we have for her. The journals were definitely an eye opener and covered most of the bases, but it would make planning the future easier if she would just come home.

“I’m going to go pack up Nicky’s diaper bag, then we can head to the clubhouse.” Needing to do something, because if I sit here too long I’ll start to cry, I get up and am down the hall before he can reply.

Before we fell asleep the final time, after a third round of being ravished, Tiny told me Whiskey asked us to come to the clubhouse today. I’m not sure why, but after his speech about the importance of the club to him, let’s call agreeing to the trip for curiosities sake. Tiny wants to show Nicky off to his friends, and I want to see what’s so interesting about this place I’ve heard a lot about but have never been.