Chapter Four
ITAPPED ON MICRO’S office door, and he called out to come in. He grinned when he looked up from his laptop and saw me.
“Hey, man. You want a coffee?” Fuck me, if I drank any more of it today, I’d never sleep, so I shook my head, and pushed the door closed.
“So, uh… you’re probably wondering why I called you in here?” He sat back, a shit-eating grin on his face, so who the hell knew what he was about to come out with. If Rocket had been gossiping already, I’d kick his ass for him.
“I assumed it’s about the stuff I emailed you to say I wanted to discuss.”
He blinked, glancing down at his laptop, and tapping at the trackpad a few times, before saying ‘huh’.
“Well, look at that. You did email me too. I like these plans for a structure to park up in. We should definitely be protecting our rides from the elements.”
“And theft, although I know Grease and his old lady are now officially in the security consultant biz, so they’ve probably got all kinds of plans.”
Micro snorted. “Mostly they’re just arguing about what to call their new enterprise, but yeah, he’s sent me some shit too. I’ll forward it to you to look over.”
I hesitated as I set my tablet down on his desk, and tapped the screen.
“Wait. Why? Am I on that with him now?”
Micro grinned. “Actually, I was hoping you’ll be in on all the things now. I’m hoping I’m looking at my new VP.”
The fuck. Stitch had mentioned the idea back at the Halloween debacle, but it’d gone out of my mind with all the drugged up craziness. And I guess I hadn’t expected it to actually happen. It was just an offhand comment, or so I’d thought.
“What, really?”
Micro closed his laptop, and leaned on it, all traces of humour gone from his face.
“You’re the one person I can count on here, the one person I’d never hesitate to talk to about anything.
The one person I trust absolutely. You’re smart, you’re methodical, you’re always thinking of ways to improve things here at the club.
Hell, I even heard you’re helping Rocket get his business off the ground here.
I mean, who the fuck else would be anywhere near as perfect as you for VP? ”
I closed my tablet and sat back, wishing we had a drink of something stronger than coffee, because it felt like one of those moments.
As if Micro read my mind, he dug out a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses, pouring two short measures and passing me a glass.
“So? You gonna need time to think about this?”
I gulped down the bourbon, and took a moment to relish the liquid heat as it flowed down my throat.
“Fuck. Definitely not. I’m in!” Micro slammed his palm against the desk surface and hissed a triumphant ‘yes’.
“Thanks. I’m honoured actually. I was always… well, nobody listened to me back in the old club, and you’ve always done me the respect of giving me your ear with all my crazy ideas. You’re already ten times the president Crusher ever was.”
He grimaced at the sound of the bastard’s name, but reached over for a fist bump.
“You’re the first person that came to mind for me, and for Reacher and Stitch, it seems. Even Grease suggested you’d be the best person. Honestly, you were made for this. It’ll mean some extra responsibilities, but not much more, to be honest, because you were kinda taking that shit on already.”
I sighed with relief. “Thank fuck. So you’re not about to hand me a whole pile of shit you don’t wanna do, laugh in my face, and ruin my night?”
He shook his head. “I like to think I’m on top of the whole pile of shit, but come back after work tomorrow, and we’ll put some decisions in place on these ideas you sent over. Plus we’ll discuss the security shit with Grease and Jay.”
“She’s ‘Jay’ now?”
“To me, yeah. You’ll have to earn that. She’ll probably make you call her Mistress or something first.”
“The fuck?”
He smirked at me. “Don’t ask. Just… the thing about me? I know things. I always fucking end up finding out shit I don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah, and I heard this office has been witness to some things others wish they didn’t know…”
Micro grinned widely. “That’ll teach them not to knock…”
“Maybe it should teach you to always check the door’s locked.”
“Noted. Anyway, I’m about ready to head off if you’re cool with us picking this up tomorrow?
I’ll have your patch for you then.” He stood up, so I followed suit, and took his hand when he offered it as he stepped around his desk.
He bro-hugged me, and we both stepped back, but now I was looking at the guy I was second in command to, and that felt really fucking good.
“Yeah, man. Oh. You wanna call Church for after you finish work? We’ll announce it, and then we can go over stuff once that’s done.”
I grinned at him. “My first official VP duty, only we can’t call it that until after the fact.”
Caroline
IALMOST KISSED HARLEY yesterday, beyond the ‘almost’ attempt at least. I mean, I suddenly wanted to, so badly, so intensely, but I chickened out.
I chickened out several times, because it felt like there were multiple moments where the mood was right, where it looked like he wanted me too, but…
well, I overthink, and I convince myself I’m misreading situations, and I do nothing.
I really thought he was into me, but then he acted like it was just a normal business thing, and I left. He refused to charge me though, and that left me feeling weird about it. If he didn’t want money for it, was he expecting something else?
Did he have ‘sexpectations’ about how I’d repay the favour?
Did I want him to? Was I just falling into a pit of bizarreness, based on my weird attempts at perception of normal human behaviour?
Was I just second guessing everything, because I thought a normal woman would have known what to do, and I messed it up?
Did Harley watch me leave with relief? Regret? Frustration? Confusion? Disinterest? I wished I knew the answer, because not knowing was messing with my head.
Every time I visited his shop, I got to know him a little more.
We spoke, we laughed, he showed me that he respected my choice of motorcycle, and the fact that I rode fearlessly.
And I still didn’t know how I did that, when everything else in life terrified me.
Why did just that one thing make me feel free?
He even touched me several times yesterday, something he’d never done before, and for some reason it didn’t freak me out like it did with literally anyone else. I actually really liked it.
I suddenly remembered that he did say I could do something in return.
Something to pay him back. Buy him a coffee.
Did that mean just to bring him one at the shop, or did he mean a date?
If it was a date, was I supposed to contact him to ask him out?
Had he already asked me out? What the hell was I supposed to do here?
I grabbed my phone, and dialled my mum’s number.
“Oh hey, sweetie, you’re up early.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to force my thoughts into less of a spiral so I could actually speak and make sense.
Mum seemed to understand immediately, but then she’d had plenty of practice, hadn’t she?
“Just take a breath, sweetie. I’m not in a rush.
That’s it, just calm down, focus on your breathing.
Do you want me to come over?” No. I couldn’t ask her to do that.
She was probably on her way out to work anyway.
What time was it? I glanced at my watch, and grimaced.
It was only six thirty in the morning. She was more likely trying to get a little more sleep.
“I… I’m sorry. It’s so early,” I finally whispered, and mum laughed softly.
“I was up already. You didn’t wake me. You can tell me anything, love, what’s going on?”
She always knew. She always instantly knew when I was losing it.
“I… there’s a man…”
She took a deep breath. “A man you like, or is there a man giving you trouble?” Haha! Both in some ways, but not the way she meant.
“I… I like him.”
I could almost hear her relaxing at my words, and I curled up on the sofa with the phone, waiting for mum to impart some words of wisdom to untie my brain from the knots I had it in.
“Does he like you?” My breath hitched in my throat.
“I don’t knowwww!” I practically wailed in response, feeling the overwhelming panic and uncertainty crashing down on me again. It took mum several minutes of waiting quietly, and offering supportive shushing sounds, before I calmed again.
“Tell me everything, love. You know I’m a safe place, and you can tell me anything.
” I haltingly explained who Harley was, and how I’d often go to his shop with made up questions and concerns, just to get a chance to see him.
How he always stocked the coffee I liked.
How he always took the time to talk me through everything, and never mocked me, or made me feel less than.
“And he said to ‘buy him a coffee sometime’. I’m guessing he doesn’t know you well enough yet to now that kind of ambiguity can send you into a spiral, but I’m sure he’d be gutted to know it had.”
I opened my mouth to defend him, but then I realised she wasn’t badmouthing or blaming him. She also wasn’t blaming me. Did that mean I hadn’t done anything wrong?
“What should I do?” I whispered anxiously, waiting for mum logic to save the day.
“Do you have his mobile number?”
Oh god. I couldn’t call him! I could almost feel the panic welling up again at the mere idea of calling him, of speaking to anyone on the phone besides mum.
She knew the anxiety it caused. The pressure of being stuck on the phone with someone who couldn’t read any visual cues, or see how their words would affect me.
The uncertainty, the prospect of making a fool of myself. Oh my god, no.
“I was thinking you could text him. We both know you feel more comfortable chatting that way. Send him a message and ask if he wanted you to bring him the coffee, and that’ll open the door for an easier conversation.
I’m sure he didn’t realise it’d upset you like this, but it’s easily clarified via text. ”
“What if he calls me back?” I asked nervously, chewing at the skin around my thumbnail.
“Stop biting your skin,” mum admonished, because damn her, she always knew.
I clenched my thumb inside my fist to stop myself.
When my anxiety was high, peeling and biting at my skin of my thumbs was an outlet I often didn’t even realise I was resorting to.
It didn’t offer comfort or anything. It was almost an unconscious action.
One that often left my thumbs sore, stinging, or temporarily missing anything vaguely resembling a fingerprint.
“You said he offers you reassurance, when you get nervous around him, right?”
“Yes.”
“So why not give him a chance to get this right too?”