Chapter 6 Lana #3
“What?” She chuckles, chewing her lip. “When you do that, I feel like you’re studying me.”
“I’m wondering why you lost your smile when you ordered.” I tell her blankly.
Her lips part before she swallows. “Oh.”
Nervousness.
Fear.
Anticipation of danger.
Nah, swallowing isn’t good.
Marcos brings the plastic platters in front of us, and she digs in with her hands, but puts the tacos back on the paper, light heat smoke coming out of them.
“Wait, it’s hot, think you’ll have to blow on it.
” Don’t want her to get hurt, even from a light burn on the tongue.
Her brown eyes double in size. Did I say something wrong?
Focus, damn it. “Blow on it, sweetness, it’s hot.
Don’t want you to burn your tongue,” I repeat, ‘cause maybe she misheard me.
“Okay,” she whispers and blows on her food with the cutest face ever seen.
“You okay?” I ask, wondering why her pupils are dilated.
“Yes-yes, I am, I….I just don’t want to embarrass you by blowing on my food.” She chuckles coldly. Strange. Why would I ever be embarrassed of her? It’s the other way around.
“I don’t understand. Did I say something wrong?” I ask, frowning, my heart skipping a beat.
“No, you didn’t, it’s…it’s perfect.” She smiles gently, the spark beaming back in her pupils, her chest lifting up and down at a normal rate. “Actually, those are the best tacos I’ve ever eaten, how’s yours?”
“Good,” I grunt like a broken record, eating mine and looking at her.
What happened to her to go from hot to cold in the matter of seconds?
“Do you have family around?” she asks, and I’m taken aback by her question. Family. I used to. I lost it. Found another. It’s complicated.
“Yeah,” I nod, whipping my mouth with the back of my hand, “my brothers at the club. They’re my family.
” The realization hits me when I say the words out loud.
I may not display affection to them, but that’s what they are.
My family. I’d take a bullet for each of them and the people they care about.
“I see, not the people you were born with but…the one you chose.”
“Somethin’ like that.” I don’t like talking about my past, my parents, my sisters… It’s better off hidden under my rib cage.
“What about you?”
“Well, I have my son and my sister here. She has two girls, and her husband is really nice. I’m lucky to have them around.
Other than that, not much. Lost my parents years ago.
I’ve got an aunt in Missouri and a few cousins here and there, but I never see them.
It’s mostly Noah and I and my sister’s family.
” Warmth spreads on her face as she talks about the folks she cares about.
“Do you, um, it’s a bit direct, but do you want children?
” she asks me, sitting up straight in her chair, the tacos still in her hand.
Children? No. Never.
My DNA is cursed, and there’s no way I’m making another kid out from these messed-up genes.
And either way, you can’t make a father out of a piece of concrete, and that’s what I am.
Kids need emotions, and well, I don’t have that.
Can’t risk messing someone else's life with my broken mind. I don’t know why she asked me that.
Perhaps she’s looking for a partner to have more children.
“No,” I answer firmly.
“No? Like you don’t want kids or you never thought about it?” Her hand clenches her napkin tighter.
“I’m not having children,” I explain, “I don’t want to.”
She nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit, then goes back to eating.
Did I say the wrong thing? Will she push me away now?
Don’t all women want kids? From the movies I’ve seen, that’s usually what happens at the end.
But she’s still sitting in front of me and hasn’t told me to fuck off, so I guess it’s still okay. Right?
After finishing our meal, we walk back to the club.
I’ve never dreaded something this much. I wish I could just stay near her, smell her honey scent, watch her smile and breathe and talk about whatever.
We’re almost there, I see the signs of the club shining in the night, but I don’t want this to be over.
Brushing the back of her hand, I let her decide if she wants to lace her fingers with mine.
Boom-boom.
Boom-boom.
Boom-boom.
Her index playfully brushes me shyly before she sighs and links her hand with mine as we walk to the parking lot, where my bike is. My heart is pumping in my ears so hard, I’m afraid I won’t hear her if she talks to me.
“Ready?” I ask and she nods in response, looking down at our hands.
I stop myself from cupping her cheek, knowing that would probably be too much.
I let her go reluctantly before giving her gear back.
She puts it on right away over her clothes, and I barely have enough time to turn myself and offer her to change inside.
“All good,” she says with her sweet voice as I turn back to face her, the leather hugging her figure everywhere but on her chest, where my sweater makes it impossible for her to close the jacket completely.
“One more thing,” I say as I watch her lips part.
What was that for?
I put her helmet on and notice her blinking twice in a row.
Strange. Was she expecting me to do something else?
Despite driving slower, the ride back is still too fast, and we’re already on her lawn as I help her get down. She peels her helmet and gear off, then fists the hem of the sweatshirt hesitantly.
“Keep it,” I tell her, hoping she will.
“You’re sure?” I nod, and I wish she could see how this simple gesture lit my chest on fire. “Thank you for tonight, I…I had a really great time,” she says, making me feel like the luckiest guy on earth.
“I had a great time too, Lana,” I tell her, wanting to touch her, kiss her, or do anything that would ease the pain of being away from her.
“So…” She fidgets. Does she want something? Should I say something? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I want to invite her out again, but what if that’s too much too soon? What if she sees right through me and says that I’m weird and—
“If you’re around next week, I’m, um-” she murmurs.
No fucking way.
“Lunch, my place, any day,” I offer in one breath. There's silence before she answers.
“Your place?” She arches her brow. “Is it…far? I’d have to get back to work around two.”
“Fifteen minutes from here, I’d say.” I don’t mention that the distance from her house to mine is exactly thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Depending on the traffic lights. Whatever. That's creepy, I think. And Vox and Ares said no stalking, no creepy behaviors, so...
“Okay, then yes, is Wednesday good for you?” I nod, blood leaving my face. “Can you text me the address? I’ll go there straight from my morning shift.”
“I don’t have your number,” I say.
“Oh, yes, wait. Here.” She gives me her phone, open on a new contact form. I type my number and my name, then save it as if fireworks weren’t knocking at the doors of my chest. “Thank you again, and for the sweater,” she says with a smile before glancing at the house, “goodnight, Carter.”
I remain frozen, stiff as a tower of bricks, managing only an unintelligible grunt as I watch a light blush color her cheeks.
She glances at me, pupils dilated, inhaling deeply, then shakes her head gently and heads to her door.
I stay there for a minute, making sure she’s safe in her house, before mounting my bike and heading off to the highway for a much-needed ride to clear my thoughts from the breathtaking woman who just filled every corner of my mind.
Lana.
Will I stand a chance with you?
LANA
2 years ago
“Don’t react, baby, but my boss is sitting behind you,” whispers Ben excitedly.
“Oh.” I’m unsure whether this is a good thing or not.
He insisted on us dining in this fancy over-the-top restaurant downtown with crystal chandeliers and waiters pouring wine and giving you mini pieces of bread each time you finish them.
Classical music fills the room with abstract paintings and weirdly shaped plates.
I don’t even know which fork to use. Should I take the first one on my left?
Or maybe the third. Damn it, why couldn’t we go to a steakhouse?
I’m underdressed in my navy boho dress with balloon sleeves, large flowers, and my wavy brown hair falling on my shoulders.
I should have gone for a straight black dress with an updo.
Something classier. To look more put together, as Ben calls it.
“He’s coming. Fuck, that’s so good,” he mutters like an excited child, and the sight of it makes me want to vomit.
What is it that I’ve found attractive in this man to marry him three years ago?
I’m searching, but I can’t find the answer.
Everything that he does repulses me. A fake, bright smile spreads on his lips as he stands from his chair, his hand already ready to shake his boss’s.
“Mr. Miller, what a wonderful surprise,” he yaps loudly for everyone to hear.
“Ben! I didn’t know you came here, it’s my wife’s favorite place,” he says, his voice equally as fake as Ben’s.
I wonder if his wife is sitting at his table next to an empty chair and waiting patiently for him.
Should I stand too? The man is behind me, and I don’t know the etiquette in these kinds of places.
Standing up, I turn to shake his hand, choosing politeness over a little mistake.
“Lana, what are…” Ben faces turns livid as if I had stolen his fifteen minutes of fame. “That’s my wife.”
The man smiles at me with warmth and shakes my hand. “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Matterson. You’re a lucky woman, your husband won a large public offer for us this year.”
I nod, not knowing if Ben will chide me for speaking.
“I am, sir. Ben is the best.” I cringe at my own words.
Ben is the best.
The best abusive husband of the year, sir.
No one gives punches like he does, that’s for sure.