Chapter 12
Maverick
The house has been more peaceful than any place has a right to be over the past few days.
Scythe has made sure that I’m busy with work at the club.
When Wizard and Dravin aren’t giving me security stuff to do, Raiden’s sat down with me and started Accounting one-oh-fucking-one training.
I’m shit at it, but he’s told me that it doesn’t matter, it’s the willingness to learn that counts.
I don’t know that I truly am willing, but this is one of those fake it ‘til you make it situations. There’s absolutely no way that I’m going to stay in Scythe’s house for free and give fuck-all back.
It’s not just me that he’s been good to.
It’s Loreena as well, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful enough to ram it down and stomach all manner of accounting, no matter how much I actively dislike it.
Loreena’s settled into the basement. She’s busy most of the day with her clients. She comes up so that the three of us can do a fairly late dinner before Scythe usually goes back to the club.
The first night we shared alone together, we watched a movie, but we stayed seated on separate parts of the couch.
Last night she asked me a few questions about the club and my job, and I asked her about the therapist. We kept the conversation light, and it never got uncomfortable.
She invited me down to play with the cats.
I never thought I’d enjoy felines so much.
After an hour of dragging strings around the basement for them, they finally tired out.
Scythe had to stay late at the clubhouse tonight and told me he’d get a ride back.
He let me take his old Bimmer, even though I know the car is his baby.
As much as bikers revile the vehicles they call cages, Scythe babies that silly car.
It’s temperamental and burns oil so bad that the whole thing reeks after just a few miles, but he’ll never give it up.
I’m not a praying man, but I sent up a few pleas to whatever might be out there that I made it back here without damaging the thing, and luckily, I did. Loreena expected to have dinner with us, so I offered to pick up something and surprise her.
I asked her if she might give me a few minutes upstairs to get everything set out and make it a real surprise, and she was a good sport about it. She said I could text her when I was ready.
I wanted this to be special, but now that I survey the table with the tablecloth I bought for the occasion, the pillar candles, the bottle of wine, and all the covered dishes from the Italian place downtown, I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t overdo it.
This doesn’t just look like dinner.
It looks like a date.
Even if I present Loreena with the bag of cat food and box of litter I picked up for her, that’s not going to lessen anything.
I start to really panic when I hear her footsteps on the stairs. The basement door creaks open. She can’t see into the living room because it opens into the hall before the kitchen, but my heart starts beating double time.
“Hey,” she calls. “I just wanted to know if you need some help?”
Fuck, I’m not even cooking and she senses disaster.
Probably because I’ve been ambling about like a dumbass up here for twenty minutes already.
She’s probably half starved. I guess there’s nothing for it.
I’m just going to have to sit here and live it down.
I can’t just whisk the candles away and snap the cloth off the table, hide the wine, or undo the fact that Italian is a decidedly romantic food.
I think?
Idiot.
I should have got something decidedly less… garlicky.
But that would imply that we’d be doing things other than talking. Although, we could be sitting close together. She might think that I stink like garlic toast and spices.
I’m overthinking this.
I walk over to the hall, though with every step my thoughts ping around in my head, giving me shit and hell and whatever else they can manage.
I’m all self-doubt until Loreena sees me and pushes the door open all the way.
She steps out and my heart basically stops.
She’s not wearing anything fancy. Just some jeans and that oversized sweater she often puts on.
Her hair is up in a messy bun and she’s wearing almost no makeup.
My heart resumes, crashing and knocking, only to freeze again when her lips tilt up. The smallest of smiles is enough to bring me to my knees.
Yeah. I definitely have a problem, and I totally fucked up with dinner.
“Help? Uh… no. I don’t think anything can be saved. I just checked and I think I got someone else’s order. I’m going to have to bring it back and get the right one.”
Her smile doesn’t falter. “That’s okay. I’m so hungry that I could eat anything, and if they gave you someone else’s order, they would have had to remake it by now. They’ll just throw that food in the garbage if you bring it back, and that would be a huge waste.”
“Oh.” I’m so screwed. “You’re probably right.”
She rubs her palms together. “Thank you so much for going out and getting dinner. I can start cooking at least some of the time.”
I guess that’s a good leadup to what I’ve been wanting to tell her but haven’t found the right moment. Or the courage. I don’t want things to go from strange to straight up unbearably awkward.
“Scythe and I… we’re really glad that you’re here. I don’t want you to feel like there are any expectations that you need to do things like that, or make any sort of payment, or to just hurry up and get healed so you can walk out and leave. There’s no timeline.”
She studies me with a new intensity. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate you telling me that.”
The air rushes out of my lungs audibly, I’m so relieved. “I guess we should eat?”
“Yes!”
“I got cat food and litter.”
She shocks me by reaching for my hand and giving it a tight squeeze. “Thank you. I didn’t even ask you to do that.”
“I figured you’d need it soon. What you had won’t last forever. Especially not with Pumpkin. He seems to be a champion pooper. Not that I should mention that before dinner.”
She laughs. “Champion pooper. I like that. I’ll tell him you said so. I think he’ll approve.”
“I could get him a trophy.”
She laughs harder. I’m not a funny person. In prison, being funny could get you killed, but likely, you’ll just eat fists or a boot for your troubles. It’s nice to be appreciated like that. It’s just straight up wonderful to hear Loreena’s gorgeous laugh, appreciation be damned.
She follows me to the table. I hold my breath and debate pulling out her chair for her but decide it would be too romantic. She has no trouble slipping into it herself. She glances eagerly at the covered takeout dishes.
“This is beautiful,” she says, but I think her voice is just the slightest bit husky. “I like the tablecloth.”
“I got it at the home store. They sell candles too, so it was an easy stop.” Also, wineglasses, but I don’t want to mention that I had to get them specifically. I don’t know why I said any of that at all.
“Wine is an excellent choice for Italian. No wonder you wanted to keep it a surprise. This is just delightful.”
She helps me uncover the dishes. Everything is still hot despite the wait.
We fill our plates, and when Loreena takes the first bite, she sighs dramatically. “A-plus for this. If we’re going to get Pumpkin a trophy, you deserve one too. Epic dinner chooser. Even if this wasn’t what you picked out.”
“Close enough,” I mutter, hoping she doesn’t notice that my whole face probably went squirrely as fuck.
Speaking of… “Have you noticed that there’s an epic amount of squirrels running around out in the yard?
They’re all over the trees, running on the roof of the house, and sometimes they drop from the windows and go skidding all the way down the glass. ”
“Yes! I saw one when I was talking to Lockwood. It ran right into the window and then flicked its tail at us like we were the reason it conked itself. Poor thing.”
“They’re kind of sassy.”
“Someone must be feeding them.”
“Probably Scythe. I could see him putting up bird feeders and then when the squirrels were being pests, giving them their own place to eat. He probably buys specialty nuts for them.”
“Oh my god!” She has a fork full of spaghetti bolognese but lowers it to her mouth as she bursts into a full, hearty laugh. “Specialty nuts. That’s insane. Like what? Cashews? Walnuts? Do they even like those? Are they palatable or squirrel nutrition table approved?”
“Should I look it up?”
“Later. Let’s just enjoy this.”
Sitting across from Loreena and watching her let loose and be thoroughly amused, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks even pinker, looking so damn alive and gorgeous, it’s a miracle that I can even remember my own name.
That’s what happens when you have issues with blood flowing immediately to all the wrong parts of the body.
She waves her fork in the air. “Tell me about the club. If you can.”
“The building? The bikes? The businesses? Or the guys? The old ladies and wives? I’ve met a few of them too. Oh, and children. I’ve also seen some of them.”
I poured the wine before I started having all that self-doubt.
I thought red went best with this type of thing, but I wouldn’t know a good wine if it kicked me right in the ass.
I take a test sip. It’s disgusting, but only because I’m reminded that I detest wine.
As far as it goes with the food, it’s probably not half bad.
I don’t have to urge Loreena to have juice or water from the fridge because I bought us some toxic version of red.
“Hmm. All of it?”
I don’t know where to start, but something from this afternoon pops into my head. “Have you heard of wabi-sabi.”
“No. What is that?”