Chapter Seven #2
I fucking hate him for bringing this shit up. The dick is astute enough to realize he hit a nerve. Maybe that was his intention? But why? I’m doing him a favor. I press down on the gas to go faster. The sooner I get him out of my car the better.
“Look, I call it like I see it,” Mace says after a mile or two. “I’m not trying to offend you.”
“I’m done with that conversation.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” he replies. “Obligation and loyalty sometimes override what we really want. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You don’t strike me as the philosophical kind.”
“Because I’m in a motorcycle club?”
“Yes.”
His brow lifts. Okay, point taken. Although I resent his insinuation we’re in any way alike.
Deep down, I know that isn’t true.
We ride in silence for a while, each lost in thought. He’s nothing like I thought he would be. It’s wrong of me to judge, but based on what I’ve grown up around, it’s hard to disassociate the asshole vibe from a biker.
I guess there are some exceptions. I’d never tell Waverley so, but Hudson is a decent guy who cares about the club, but he loves her more.
“What will happen with your bike?” I ask.
He seems happy enough to change the subject, even if it’s no lighter in his mind.
“I could get it picked up and taken to a garage but there is no one better with bikes than Handlebar.”
He doesn’t miss the brief tension in my hands around the steering wheel. If he asks me about that, I’ll stop the car and leave him on the side of the road.
“I’ll give him a couple of days max.”
“That’s a little rude. Surely it’s fixed when it’s fixed.” My curiosity is peaked again.
“Last time he fixed it, he kept it for a week when he damn well could have fixed it in a day.”
“Why did he do that?”
“A lot of reasons,” he says.
“The most prominent being that he doesn’t like you.”
“Thanks,” he says.
“What?” I let out a small laugh. “You’ve pretty much already said it tonight, no one would help you out back there.”
“Handlebar wasn’t like that when I first showed up in Sussex.”
I probably know more about that than Mace. Hell, the way he was watching us as we drove away tells me everything.
“What do you think made him change?” I ask, without looking at him.
“I have a few ideas.”
I bite the tip of my tongue because the way he says that means he knows something I don’t want him to be thinking about.
“Is it because you’re a standoffish ass?” I decide to insult him instead of acknowledging what he might mean by that statement.
“We’re never gonna be best friends.”
“I thought you integrated into the club? King seems to like you, for some reason,” I add on giving him a quick look.
“King has a begrudging respect for me.”
That was a rare moment of honesty. “I’ve known King Curtis my whole life, he doesn’t do anything halfway and he certainly wouldn’t have someone around his club and family if he didn’t trust them.”
He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes go distant, like he’s thinking that through. If there is no trust between them, things aren’t going to get any easier any time soon.
It’s not my place to tell Mace to sort his shit out and make friends. If anything, I’d rather Mace and Eli didn’t start hanging out together.
“You should integrate better.”
His brow arches. “What makes you think I need anyone’s advice?”
“Someone needs to tell you to get your head out of your ass.”
“Is that so?”
“If I hadn’t been there tonight, you’d be screwed.”
“The night is still young.”
“You wish,” I give him a dirty look, while my stomach swoops at the same time.
I practically feel the burn of his eyes as they do a slow sweep of my body. Clearing my throat, I try to think of something to change the subject, but don’t trust my voice.
Instead, I take the turn off the interstate and act like I’m concentrating on my driving, even though there are hardly any other cars to be concerned about.
The next time he speaks I almost jump out of my skin, and he doesn’t disguise his amusement as he gives me directions. It’s past my apartment, on the other side of town which I consider bringing up to show him how much I’m going out of my way, but I keep quiet.
We’ve come this far, I can’t complain now, except my bladder is starting to protest. I might not have drank much at Waverley’s, but haven’t used the bathroom all night.
I have a sudden thought that I might be taking him to a woman’s place. He said it was a ‘buddy,’ and he has business here but that doesn’t mean he didn’t lie.
Mace is exceptionally hot with the most beautiful green eyes I’ve seen on a real-life person. The thick, wavy blond hair makes him look more like a cover model than a biker. He roughs it up with that unruly style and few days growth of stubble, the old, dusty boots and his cut.
Stop fantasizing about another sexy biker. In a rare moment of self-reflection and brutal honestly, I admit, it’s bad enough I do it for one, never mind two.
“This friend of yours, is he a brother?”
He’s quiet long enough I almost, almost give in and check his reaction. “No,” he answers.
I bite my cheek so hard I’m going to end up gnawing through it. I guess our friendly, somewhat veiled flirty interaction is over.
He doesn’t say anymore so I don’t ask. Not even when we turn onto the street with a row of eight houses. It’s the kind of place that has a Homeowners Association. All the lawns are manicured, the cars in the driveways look expensive. It dead ends at a wooded area.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What?” I glance at Mace.
He waves his hand towards my thighs. “You’ve been squirming for the last five miles. I’m asking if there is something wrong.”
As if I am going to tell him I need the bathroom so bad, I may have to pull over as soon as he’s gone and find a decent enough bush.
“I’m fine. Which one of these Pleasantville homes belongs to your friend?”
“Last one on the right.”
Steering towards the house, I swing onto the empty driveway and press the brakes, not turning off the engine because I need to get out of here asap.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.”
“How far away is your place from here?”
“Why?” I turn to look at him and he arches a brow. I’m not giving this guy my address.
“Come on.” He gets out of the car without a word.
Come on, what? I need to go. The situation is getting desperate. I’m about to tell him to shut the damn door so I can leave when he leans back in, one elbow on the roof. His shirt lifts, showing the tanned, very toned planes of his stomach.
“Could you close the door?”
“Cassie, get out of the car and come inside.”
“No. Close the door.”
“It will take you five minutes to come in and use the bathroom. Or would you prefer to use the bushes behind the house?”
My expression must show what I’m thinking. Like, ‘how the fuck did he know that?’
“Your choice.” He straightens up and closes the door, sauntering up the driveway towards the front door like the cocky bastard he is.
Ugh, this is so embarrassing. He’s shut the car door at least, I could peel out of here and ignore his invitation. And pee my pants or in a bush? Hell no. Like he says, it won’t take me five minutes to have a more comfortable ride home.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I set the parking brake and turn off the engine.
Mace hasn’t bothered to wait, although he left the front door open. I follow him inside and close the door then turn to check the place out. It’s homey, decorated in soft pastel greens with plush patterned rugs, pretty paintings on the walls and a vase of flowers beside the couch.
This is a woman’s house.
“Bathroom is down the hall, first door on the right.”
His voice makes me jump, I don’t see him anywhere, but instead of answering, I follow his directions and head down the hall. It’s even more feminine in here and I can’t help but wonder where the owner is. Or what she looks like, and what her relationship is to Mace.
Fuck that, I’m about to have an accident when there is a perfectly good toilet right in front of me.
When I’m done, and feeling a hell of a lot better, I head back out, ready to get on the road. It’s another fifteen minute drive to my place from here.
Around the corner, Mace is standing in between me and the front door, leaning one shoulder against the wall with his arms folded.
My steps slow, then stop altogether. He will need to move if I want to get around him and leave.
Is it right that a man should look this good just…
leaning? He’s taken off his cut which is surprising because don’t they have to be surgically removed?
His biceps are bulging against the t-shirt where his arms are folded.
I’ve always had a thing for biceps. I’m squirming for a whole other reason now.
“Better?” he asks with a smirk.
“Just be grateful I gave you a ride, how about that?” I smirk right back.
His brow lifts, taking a second for me to connect the dots. I should be giving him shit for the innuendo, I mean, it’s not like anything happened of that nature. I draw my bottom lip in as our eyes remain holding fast on each other. He dips his and watches as I slowly release my lip from my teeth.
He pushes off the wall and walks toward me. I’m rooted to the spot, held captive by those green eyes as they search my face. Holy shit, my body is betraying me, I’m swaying toward him like some kind of damsel in a regency romance. I don’t do this shit.
“Put your number in my phone.”
It takes me a second to compute he wasn’t offering to slam me against the wall.
“You can let me know you get home okay.”
Heat burns up my chest and into my cheeks. Making eye contact with him right now is not happening. “I’ll be fine,” I go to walk around him.
He sidesteps. “That might be true, but I’d rather not have to answer to anyone.”
“Scared of my dad?” I snip.
He lets out a laugh. “No. Your mother.”
I can’t help but snort a laugh at that. Scared of my mom…
Honestly, most of the brothers are. Rosa knows I can take care of myself, and what is he going to do if I do call and say I need help.
He will be too far away to do anything. These men, they think they’re protecting us but I don’t need anyone protecting me. I have a can of… mace in my purse.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I wipe the smile off my face at the stupid internal joke.
“You look different when you smile.”
I tilt my head back to look up at him, only now realizing he is standing even closer. I might not have my dad’s full height but I’m a lot bigger than my mother. Mace is about six, two and towers over me.
“More approachable,” he adds.
“Maybe I don’t like being approached, so don’t do it often.”
His lip twitches and a dimple appears in his left cheek. I have no idea what is happening right now. I should be in the car backing out of the driveway by now yet I’m standing here, locked in some kind of weird battle with this guy.
“And why is that?” He takes another step closer.
“I prefer being on my own.” It’s the first thought that comes to my mind.
“For everything?” He rasps out in a gravelly voice.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
In my head it was going to be authoritative. My lawyers voice, the one that makes people shake in their boots. One that says back off, we’re practically strangers.
It did not come out like that at all.
It was breathy, and needy, and so damn foolish. I need to run far, and fast right now.
So why don’t my feet move?