Made in America by Jamie Deschain Page B

cock stir just thinking about all the things I’d like to do to her.
    But tonight I’m on my best behavior. For my sake and for hers. What she said the other day didn’t fall on deaf ears. She wants more than a pretty face. I get it, I really do, and for the first time in a long time I find myself wanting to be that person for her. The person who isn’t just about sex or money, but the person who’s more than his superficial good looks and materialistic possessions.
    I couldn’t resist making an entrance, though.
    Her friends, the ones I assume are the engaged couple, come up behind Raven and stand on either side like two, overprotective brothers. I don’t blame them. If I had a sister and she was fooling around with a guy like me, I’d want to protect her too.
    “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Rave?”
    She looks back over her shoulder at the taller of the two and nudges him slightly. I look on, amused.
    “Grant, this is Tito,” she says to the one who spoke, and to the other she adds, “this is Frankie.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand like a perfect gentleman.
    Tito takes it, and although he’s tall and lithe, his grip is strong and firm. I’m impressed.
    I shake Frankie’s hand as well, and he says, “You must be Mr. Huffleupagus.”
    Raven’s face falls at the mention of the nickname, and she smacks Frankie in the chest.
    “I’m sorry,” she tells me. “They don’t mean that.”
    “It’s okay,” I chuckle. “I’ve heard it all before.”
    “You have?”
    I nod. “Sure. Huffleupagus, Hufflepuff, Huffington Post. With a last name like Huffman you have to expect it. Besides, it’s just a little harmless fun.”
    She looks on, pleased with my answer.
    “What kind of bike is that?” Tito asks, motioning toward the window.
    “It’s a Harley Davidson Night Rod. I had it custom made. All the bells and whistles of a Harley, but with a little extra thrown in for looks.”
    He whistles, and I laugh, asking, “Do you ride?”
    “No,” he shakes his head. “I’ve always wanted to, but have never been able to afford one. Besides, Frankie here hates the idea of them. Calls them murdercycles .”
    “Well they are.”
    I wave him off. “They’re perfectly safe, trust me, and it beats riding in a stuffy old limo any day of the week.”
    Raven leans into me. “I never would have figured you for a Harley guy.”
    I look down and allow my eyes to search her face for a moment. God she’s beautiful. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
    “I’m figuring that out,” she says, though there’s a slight tonal shift to her voice that tells me she isn’t just talking about motorcycles.
    Tito claps his hands together, interrupting the look Raven and I are locked into. “Well how about we get this party started, huh?”
    Her posture softens, and she takes me by the arm. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”
    “That’s what I’m here for.”
    She winks, and for most of the night we’re attached at the hip, separating only when one of us has to go to the bathroom, or when I sneak away to fetch her some more drinks.
    “So what do you think?” she asks.
    We’re tucked away in a corner at a small table. The party’s in full swing, with Tito and Frankie working the room like two Manhattan socialites, even though they’re both far removed from that world. I watch them together, hand-in-hand, excited to take the next step in their journey.
    “I think it’s great. They obviously care a great deal about one another.”
    “So the whole gay thing doesn’t bother you?”
    “Why would it bother me?” I sip from a bottle of Heineken and look on, curious about her question.
    Raven shrugs. “I don’t know. I just figured you for the conservative type.”
    “Really?” I arch my eyebrows in surprise. “With a mouth like mine and you figured me for a conservative?”
    She laughs, and places a hand on my forearm. “You’re right, and besides,