Thirteen
I did attempt to chill in my room for the rest of the afternoon and evening, because I was shattered, just like Lissa had told Reacher. Damn… every time I thought back to her interaction with him, I was stunned.
She literally gave no fucks. She talked to Reacher like he was nobody, and I mean, to her, I guess that’s true, but he’s my Club President. He’d earned the respect of every damn member of this club, but then, she wasn’t a member, not even a partner of a member. But she was becoming a friend, or at least that was my hope. If I could earn her friendship, then maybe I’d eventually be worthy of more, and I fucking wanted more.
I wanted to spread her out on my bed, and peel those fucking secretary clothes off her, and see every inch of her skin. I wanted to run my hands over her body, no, scratch that, I wanted to run my fucking tongue over her body. I wanted to taste her. I wanted to press those prissy legs apart, and fuck her with my mouth, watching her come undone at last.
Today had taught me two things. Firstly, that she seemed open to it. She wasn’t pushing me away, not really. She was fighting with her ethics versus what her body wanted.
Secondly… this one was really pissing me off… my fucking shoulder was going to be a huge obstacle. How the hell was I supposed to properly fuck her, when I could end up frozen and in agony, instead of deep inside her, feeling her pussy walls squeezing my dick?
However I looked at it, the shoulder injury was going to destroy my life, by taking away everything that mattered.
Finally, I gave up on trying to stay alone in my room, locked in with my thoughts, and desperate fucking desire to fuck a woman I couldn’t have. I headed down to the bar to see if anyone was around to shoot the shit with.
Micro was sitting at the bar, watching something on his phone, and chatting with Tommy.
I sat beside him, and nodded at Tommy to grab me a beer.
“Brother! It’s good to see you out of your pit for a while.” I flipped Micro off, and nodded at his phone.
“Anything good?”
He smirked at me. “Porn. What else?” Ugh. I glanced at his hands, glad to see both up on the bar.
“You get your dick out, and we’re gonna have a problem, man. I just want a damn beer.”
He flipped me off, with one of the hands thankfully not on his junk.
“No rules against watching porn, or jerking off in the bar, you know that.”
I glanced around the mostly empty bar, wishing for someone else to talk to. Has-Been was sitting at one of the small tables, also scrolling through his phone, but porn or not, I’d never pick him to sit with. We just didn’t get on, never had, and if I’m honest, I didn’t even know how it came about.
“Just warn me if you’re gonna start fucking your hand, Micro, and I’ll move.”
He stood up, laughing. “I’m gonna grab a sofa anyway, man. You enjoy your beer, and don’t worry so much about my dick.”
Tommy rolled his eyes as he handed me a bottle of my beer.
“He just likes to prove his name is ironic, or at least that’s what he tells me, but I’ve never looked.”
I made a point to monitor where Micro chose to sit, so I didn’t accidentally look at him at the wrong moment.
“I guess I picked the wrong time to come down here, huh?”
Tommy leaned on the bar.
“Nah, man. You’ve been missed. I mean… not that you came down here much.” He nodded at my beer. “Still been stashing your non-alcoholic beer for you though. I knew you’d be back.”
I smirked. “Well, no other bastard will want to drink it, right?”
Tommy frowned, but didn’t speak.
“I know, I know… I’ll poison my body with drugs, but don’t drink alcohol. I know . More irony. I guess that’s a biker thing. Nobody else about?”
He nodded behind me, at Reacher strolling in with his old lady, their hands linked by their sides. Great.
“They come in here much?”
“Not when Micro’s jerking off, no.”
I saw Reacher mutter something near Micro’s ear, and he nodded, waving a hand. The next moment, all hell broke loose, and it started with Alicia letting out a loud ‘what the fuck!’.
Lissa
L eaving him was so hard, and spending the rest of the day not thinking about him was even harder, especially when he didn’t even message to make an appointment. After everything we’d shared when I visited him, I thought that he’d at least message me. The more hours that passed without any contact with him, the angrier I became, because would it really kill him to message me? Even just once? Especially after the way he teased, and hit on me. He was definitely hitting on me, right?
He definitely let me in on his biggest secret. The reason for his addiction, and the reason for everything bad that had happened to him, and I felt like it hadn’t just been a breakthrough in terms of his therapy, but also that it had brought us closer. Shown his trust in me. Was he now starting to second guess all of that?
I tried to keep busy, doing things around the house that I’d planned to do, before I put it all on the back burner, to prioritise him. Ice. Should his name have been a warning to me that he would go cold on me?
Then the worse thought hit. What if he was in pain again? What if he was suffering in silence with that damn shoulder injury? What if he couldn’t text me, because he was in so much pain that he couldn’t pick up his phone? What if he needed me, and I was sitting here cursing his name for ignoring me?
Dammit. I picked up my phone several times to try messaging him throughout the evening, and each time something held me back from contacting him. I was getting too close. I had to back off.
Instead, I must have worked my way through a whole bottle of red wine, while I argued with myself through the evening. And so, when I finally felt my mind clear, as the alcohol chased away all of my inhibitions and arguments, somehow I suddenly felt that it was desperately urgent. Not to message him, or even call him, but to see him.
Was I sober enough to drive? Did I feel like I’d had too much? Legally, I had, but I didn’t feel drunk. Just desperate to make sure he was okay, and not laying there suffering, and in pain, wishing for someone to rescue him.
And that’s what made me pick up my car keys.