Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Two weeks passed, spring slipped into summer, and Nadia slipped into a melancholy only slightly alleviated by work.
So, she worked her ass off, focusing on member needs and wants as though her life depended on it, thankful that the summer wedding season was kicking off, which meant more busyness than she could handle. And sometimes if felt like her life did depend on it…in those moments of quiet and stillness, when her mind would conjure images of him , and the sounds of his voice….the way he’d held her in the aftermath of her step-brother’s vandalism.
He’d been gentle, caring, thoughtful…. He’d gone about protecting her the wrong damn way, but his intentions had been good, and she knew that especially after she’d learned just how much trouble Elijah had been in. Stealing from Italian mobsters? Really? What had the fool been thinking?
Horde had been nice enough to come by and inform her that her step-brother was “handled,” and that he wouldn’t be bothering her again. He’d assured her that Elijah was a little banged up but still alive. She’d been relieved but also… disappointed that Locust hadn’t come to deliver that news himself.
After the fallout at Cool Hands, Locust had left her in the parking lot, sobbing into Vicki’s neck, without saying a single word. Vicki had given her a ride home, telling her she’d pay for the Uber back in the morning for Nadia to pick up her car. Back at her house, the house that had been the epicenter of her emotional upheaval that day, Vicki had held Nadia some more, force fed her oatmeal, honey, and buttered toast—basically not leaving her side until she had to pick up Sylvia from her dad’s. Nadia didn’t remember how long she sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV, her eyes burning from crying, her nose sore from blowing it, and her heart and mind battling it out with one another, but the next day, not much had changed. She was still confused, hurt, angry, frustrated…and she missed James. She couldn’t get the look of devastation on his face out of her mind. She couldn’t stop hearing him say “What happened to you?” And she couldn’t stop the terrifying realization that he’d been right to ask that question, because that hadn’t been her in that bar.
She hated the woman she’d become, the mean, petty, careless, stubborn lunatic who refused to listen when other people talked. And Locust had wanted to talk, he’d been trying to talk to her for weeks, and she’d kept shutting him down. What did that make her? How would she ever get closure if she never faced what happened head on, if she never heard the entire story from beginning to end?
The questions Locust could answer ran through her mind daily, only helping to wind her up more, to make her more and more angry—and she didn’t want to be that woman anymore.
It didn’t help that Locust was out of sight, but she obviously wasn’t out of mind. Nadia didn’t see Locust again, but that didn’t stop the occasional delivery of Sunny Lee’s, or the odd text asking about her day, or telling her good morning. It was almost as if he’d disappeared…but his ghost was still around, haunting her. He’d made it so that the moment she told herself to forget about him, he was there, reminding her he was watching her. Watching over her.
She hated it…and she loved it.
God…she missed him—and it was driving her crazy! She couldn’t count the number of times she went to the text chain in her phone and started writing a message. The desire to reach out, to hear his voice, to hear him tell her that he missed her just as much, was like a throbbing ache between her lungs.
Signing out of her computer, she turned off the monitor and turned to grab her lightweight coat from the back of her desk chair. There was a soft knock on her door, and she sighed. She was that close to getting out of there on time for the first time in days, and she’d so been looking forward to left over sweet and sour pork, and the final two hours of her Lord of the Rings movie marathon. She’d shifted her crush from Matthew Goode to Viggo Mortenson, hoping to fill her nighttime fantasies with a sexy Dúnedain in plate armor instead of a certain panty-melting biker in leather.
This is what you wanted…him gone, out of your life.
True. So why wasn’t she happy? Why did she still yearn for him, desperate for a single glimpse of him on the corner, in a crowd, in the next aisle over at ShopRite?
Another soft knock on her door, pulled her from her thoughts once more.
“Come in,” she called, internally groaning at the hurdle to her getting out of there.
When the door opened, front desk clerk on duty, Shannon, stepped through the door, holding a large bouquet of gerbera daisies in a gorgeous crystal vase.
“Sorry to interrupt, but these were delivered a few minutes ago. The delivery guy said they were for you. There’s a card, too,” she said, holding out the small white envelope.
Surprised, Nadia stood and reached for the envelope and heavy-looking vase. The daisies were beautiful and smelled amazing. Daisies had always been her favorite flower; they looked happy, always bright and joyful, like sunshine on a stem.
“Thank you, Shannon,” Nadia murmured, her face planted in the flowers.
Shannon grinned, then turned and left, closing the office door behind her.
Holding her breath, Nadia carefully placed the vase on her desk, and opened the envelope.
Dinner tonight.
Sabatini’s at 8 PM.
Please.
Her heart racing, her skin heating, she had no doubt who the flowers were from.
But why? What were his intentions?
Had Frost ordered him to invite her to dinner?
Shaking her head, she batted away that thought. Frost had reached out to apologize to her, sending her coupons for car maintenance—at the MC’s garage, of course—free coffee and treats at Dunkin, and a $200 gift certificate for pampering at Lux, a high end and expensive day spa in Waverly. The man knew how to apologize, and she felt that he truly regretted what he’d done. So…why would he order Locust to invite her out to dinner?
He wouldn’t.
So…this was a real invitation to dinner? For a date?
And at Sabatini’s? It was the one place she’d mentioned to James—Locust—during the time they’d been together. They’d been snuggling on the couch, spending another night inside watching TV, and she’d desperately wanted him to take her out. They’d been “dating” for two months by then, and they’d never done anything outside of her house except hit up the fast-food drive thru after vigorous lovemaking, when neither of them had the energy to make dinner. That had been the extent of their “relationship”—fucking and the occasional Mickey D’s run.
How had she not seen that red flag?
He’d been hiding her, hiding their relationship, because it had been a job to him. Had he been embarrassed by her because she wasn’t his usual type? No, because he’d introduced her to his friends and club brothers.
Yeah, but they were all in on the ruse.
Right?
Okay, woman, stop the crazy carousel—these questions will get you nowhere, and they don’t matter, anyway.
Checking the time on the wall clock, she saw that she only had three hours to decide—ignore the invitation and eat day old Chinese food instead, or accept the invitation and actually let the man who broke her heart explain why he’d done it…and risk more heartbreak. Staring down at the card in her trembling hand, she didn’t know what to do.
Old Nadia and New Nadia wrestled in her mind, and she had no idea who she wanted to win.
Two weeks, seven hours, twenty-four minutes—too damn long since he’d seen, touched, and heard his woman, and he was fucking drowning !
He’d texted, sent her take out, and hadn’t spent a single night away from the footage still streaming from the inside of her house. Yes, he was still stalking her like a fucking creep, but how else was he supposed to see her, to know if she was eating right, getting enough sleep…thinking about him…missing him…softening toward him?
If she’d knew that he’d been watching her, jerking his aching cock to images of her doing mundane things like wash dishes and fold laundry, she’d have him committed to the state mental hospital, after she castrated him.
The fucked up part was that Cluster, the asshole who started the dominos toppling that morning a month ago, had caught him staring down at his phone, watching Nadia scrubbing out her fridge.
“Is that a new kind of porn?” Clusterfuck asked, peering over Locust’s shoulder in a move that was totally an invasion of fucking privacy.
Shoving his cell into his kutte pocket, Locust whipped around, and punched the fucker in the face.
Cluster stumbled back, holding his nose. It hadn’t broken, unfortunately, but Locust was pleased with the look of “what the fuck” on the jerk off’s face.
“Shit, man, I didn’t mean it—fuck!” Cluster grumbled, checking his face for blood. “If I had known you were so fucking uptight about your kinks, I would have kept my mouth shut. No shame in voyeurism, brother.”
This fuck….
Locust curled his hands into fists, and growled, “It’s not a fucking kink, you dumbass! And the next time you even think about watching my woman, I’ll rip your goddamn throat out.”
Cluster’s eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open. He shook his head, his expression shocked.
“You were watching Nadia ?” When Locust didn’t respond, Cluster cursed. “Does Frost know that shit?”
Locust growled again; Frost was a little occupied with his marriage falling apart, but the man had no one to blame for it but himself. Getting cozy with club whores young enough to be his daughter wasn’t helping his mission to get back into his own bed. Frost was in over his head with the patch over from the Bone Dogz, the business with Mad Dog, and his angry ol’ lady, he had no time to deal with Locust’s current brand of crazy.
He was definitely crazy—crazy for his woman, because he was sitting in a restaurant, his hair done up like some fucking corporate asshole, his kutte and bandana left in his truck, his ass and legs and balls squeezed into a pair of fucking khakis, and wearing a 100% cotton shirt with a motherfucking collar and a tiny crocodile patch—if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what the fuck else to do to show Nadia he wanted to be a better man for her.
Sabatini’s was a family-owned, generations old restaurant, where the pasta was made fresh every day, the sauce was an old family recipe, and the garlic bread melted in your mouth—at least that’s what the reviews on Google said. He’d never been there, and he knew Nadia hadn’t either; it was one of the places she’d oh so subtly mentioned to him, wanting him to take her. She’d never outright asked him to take her on a date, but there’d been signs, heavy sighs, the odd comment about her favorite foods. He’d known what she was doing, what she was asking, but he’d been so caught up in keeping her to himself—of doing everything he could to keep his “job” a secret, that he’d basically kept his woman a secret.
Then everything had blown up in his face, and his being the selfish boyfriend hadn’t helped when all the awful truths came tumbling out.
So now, he was determined to show Nadia he could be better, that he would take her on dates, showing her off, proving to her how much he cherished her. He’d already started his campaign with the takeout, the texts, and then the daisies and dinner invitation. He was well aware that he had a long way to go to get her to even consider letting him back in, but he was willing to do fucking anything to get her back.
Even sit in a restaurant, dressed like a jackass, hoping and praying the woman he loved didn’t stand him up. And as the time on his cell ticked over to 8:10, his stomach twisted itself into knots as he wondered, “Is she late, or is she rejecting me?” When the time slipped past 8:20, nausea churned in his already twisted guts, and his heart thudded painfully.
She wasn't coming.
Closing his eyes, he ignored the burn of eyes on him, knowing what people were seeing—a tattooed imposter, a loser who’d been stood up.
Her scent hit him first—lemonade and vanilla ice cream, and his body came to life in an instant. His eyes popped open, and immediately found her gaze on him, her expression unsure, wary, uncertain.
Not having seen her in person in two weeks, his hungry, ravenous eyes devoured her. She was wearing a knee length black wrap dress that hugged every single one of her lush curves to perfection. Her hair was up in a loose bun that allowed wisps over her glimmering hair to slip down and frame her face. God, he loved her face. Her eyes were glittering in the candlelight, her lips were shiny with that gloss she always wore, and the flesh of her exposed, delectable cleavage was a creamy rose color that drew the eye and hardened the cock.
Now’s not the time, fucker. Romance. Romance!
He let out a slow, relieved breath. “You came,” he murmured, standing and pulling her into his arms. He embraced her, surprised and exceedingly pleased that she hadn’t stopped him or tensed. She was letting him touch her—one step forward!
Fighting the urge to take her glistening lips in a kiss, because they weren’t quite there yet, he settled for the “friendly” greeting. Pressing a lingering kiss to her head, he pulled back, indicating she take the seat across from his at the small two-seater table he’d reserved in the corner. It was a shadowy corner, only lit by dimmed overhead lights, and a single candle burning in the middle of the table. It looked romantic as fuck, and he hoped she liked it.
Without a word, Nadia took the seat across from him.
“I almost didn’t—come that is,” she said, her voice just as uncertain as her expression. “I got your bouquet…the daisies were beautiful.”
He grinned. “Not as beautiful as you,” he replied, fucking ecstatic at the deep blush that pinkened her cheeks.
She laughed, shaking her head, then her gaze drifted over him, missing nothing. Was that a gleam of appreciation in her eyes? Hot damn, he’d take it! He puffed out his chest, flexing his arms and pecs, and nearly fucking crowed when her gaze caught there. He wasn’t a gym junkie, but he took care of himself, so he knew how good he looked naked, and the brand name shirt he was wearing—he’d admit—did great things to his physique. She licked her lips, and he nearly came in his khakis.
Their conversation was interrupted when a sweet-looking older woman came and took their order. He got the steak and risotto, and Nadia got the chicken alfredo with broccoli. Neither of them wanted an appetizer, so they’d declined, but ordered a beer for him, and a glass of Moscato for her. Once the woman was gone, Nadia settled her attention back on him.
“You look…good,” she remarked, her voice thick. She swallowed, her gaze lifting from his chest to meet his. Her hazel eyes were golden with desire…but there was also fear. She wanted him, but she was scared to want him. He understood that, and he hated it. “I…I never thought I’d see you in anything but your biker uniform.”
He chuckled. “Biker uniform?”
She shrugged, her blush deepening. “You know, the jeans, tight t-shirts, boots, and bandana—I always wondered why you covered your head. All the times your head was bare, I loved seeing your hair.”
“Yeah?” he asked, she nodded. Well, hell. “The bandana started as a way to keep my hair from getting in my face while I was riding, then it just became a thing with me, I guess. Never been one to care too much about products and stylin’, and shit.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “A man’s man, huh? I knew that about you…and now,” her gaze flicked to his hair, gelled to cement, and combed to the side like the douchey guys on men’s wear catalogues, “I don’t know if I like it as much as when it’s just…you. Messy, carelessly sexy….”
“Messy? You mean like when you’ve just had your hands in it, kissing the fuck out of me, or holding my head steady while I have my favorite meal?”
Damn, her cheeks turned so red, they nearly matched the tablecloth.
“Locust,” she hissed, “you can’t say stuff like that here.” She looked over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to them. They weren’t, though her nervousness was adorable, especially after the scene she’d caused at Cool Hands.
She turned her bright red face away when the older woman returned and placed their drinks on the table.
“Your dinners will be right out,” the woman said. “Enjoy.” She walked away, leaving Locust and Nadia in a painfully awkward silence.
It didn’t want to, but he needed to.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he began, carefully observing her facial expressions. She still looked uncertain, but now there was a hint of anger there. Good. Anger was better than hate. Anger, he could work with. “I know you overheard what I said to Cluster…and I want to be honest with you.” He swallowed, his throat getting tight. “Will you give me the chance to explain?”
Silence met his question, but she didn’t drop her eyes from his face. He could see she was considering things, weighing her options—which included just getting up and walking away. Finally, she gave a jerky nod.
“I want—no need, to hear your explanation, Locust,” she replied, her voice packed with sadness. “I need to know why you did what you did, and if…if any of it was real.”
He nodded like a fucking bobble head, thrilled she was willing to hear him out.
“And I will tell you—everything,” he admitted emphatically. He’d tell her every damn thing, including all the dark, dirty, ugly things that would probably drive her away, but he had to take that chance, because the possibility of her hearing him and choosing to stay was worth the risk of her leaving. “But not here.”
She furrowed her brows.
“This is a date. I invited you out to spend time with you, show you that I can do proper date shit, that I’m not hiding you or keeping you a secret.”
Her eyes widened, stunned.
“Tonight is just about you and me, and what I should have given you. If you’re still willing to listen to me tomorrow, we can meet up at my apartment—no pressure—and I’ll tell you everything.”
She pinched her lips together, her expression pensive, and yet, she still hadn’t dropped her gaze from his. His beautiful, strong, kind-hearted woman….
Finally, she nodded, and his relief exploded from his chest in a loud exhale.
Hearing that, she smirked at him, knowing full well he was worried as fuck.
Hopefully, when she came to him tomorrow night, he’d get to put some of his worries to rest.