Chapter 5 #2
I head over to the kitchen in search of something to eat.
After the feast Cyrus gave me for breakfast, I expected the fridge to be full, but I’m surprised to find it mostly empty, apart from some eggs, bread, and a couple of jars of sauce.
The cupboards are similarly barren, with only a few tins of soup, some ramen noodles, and a tin of beans.
I presume they must eat downstairs a lot.
Maybe that’s even where Cyrus got my food from this morning.
With a sigh, I decide to head downstairs to the clubhouse. I’ve got to face Hunter eventually.
I’m surprised when I enter the bar to see several families with children eating there.
Children were not a common sight at the Raging Bulls clubhouse.
Despite many members having kids, it was not a family-friendly establishment.
The men expected their old ladies to stay at home with the kids while they got drunk at the club.
The atmosphere is warm and friendly, with the sounds of children laughing with their parents filling the air.
The smell of hot, fresh fries, and burgers makes my mouth water.
A woman smiles as she passes me, arms laden with delicious, hearty food, and my stomach rumbles.
I spot the guys sitting in the same spot as we were last night.
I hesitate, unsure whether I should join them.
Luckily, Cyrus spots me and smiles, waving me over.
“Hey, we were wondering if you’d come down,” Cyrus says warmly.
Flint watches me warily, and I wonder if it was a test, leaving me unattended. Part of me thinks I should have tested the exit door. Maybe it was locked or monitored all along, my freedom an illusion. But, if this were a test, I passed it by not doing so.
I avoid looking at Hunter, too embarrassed. But I’m forced to when he asks, “You hungry?” His words somehow sound like he’s asking more than if I want to eat. Is everything this man says an innuendo?
“Starving,” I admit.
“Sit. Order whatever you want,” Flint says brusquely.
I nod and obey, grateful that the space is beside Cyrus.
Hunter is far too flirty and Flint too cold.
I hesitate as I wonder what to eat. It’s not as if they have a menu, and I doubt they have salad.
My father always complained about how much I ate, and I don’t want these men to get the wrong impression of me.
“Could I get a salad if you have the ingredients? Maybe some lettuce or tomatoes?” I ask the woman as she comes over.
“You can’t seriously want to eat salad when you’re hungover?” Hunter asks incredulously. “When I’m hungover, all I want is a big juicy burger.”
“Well, that’s all well and good for you, Mr. Six Pack, but I need to watch my weight,” I reply snarkily.
Hunter chuckles, more amused than offended at my nickname for him.
I suppose it is a compliment. No one was ever teased for being too attractive and in shape.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your curves, Tori.
If you want a burger, have one. Life’s too short to deny yourself what you really want.
” Again, I have the feeling he’s talking about more than just food.
“Honey, I can get you a salad if you really want it. But if I had a booty like yours, I’d be shaking my ass all day long, and not eatin’ like a damn rabbit,” the woman says with a grin.
She looks to be in her late forties. I’m not sure if she’s a club girl or one of the old ladies, or whether they hire people to work at the clubhouse. “Candy,” she says, extending her hand.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Tori,” I answer.
“So what’s it gonna be?”
“Fine. I’ll have a bacon burger with fries, please,” I say. “And a root beer.” I glance at the guys who are drinking beer again. “I don’t know how you guys can stomach alcohol again today.”
Cyrus chuckles. “Sometimes it’s the best cure for a hangover.”
I grimace. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not sure I ever want to drink again.”
The guys chuckle, and I feel relieved that there seems to be no awkwardness about last night. Is this what it’s like to be a member of the Ghost Riders? Everything is so relaxed and accepting.
Conversation flows easily as it did last night, though I notice that Flint tries to steer it away from revealing too much about the Ghost Riders that I could report back to my father. It’s clear he doesn’t trust me just yet. That only makes me more determined to prove myself to him.
After we finish eating, a couple come over to chat to us.
The guys introduce them to me as Hank and his old lady, Shelly.
Hank is a giant of a man, at least six feet six and almost as wide, with a barrel chest, a big, round belly, and a bushy beard.
Although he’s intimidating to look at, the term gentle giant comes to mind.
He’s softly spoken with ruddy cheeks and a jolly laugh that makes me think of Santa.
Shelly is a chubby woman with pink cheeks and an ample bosom.
She doesn’t seem at all conscious of her weight, wearing a short skirt and revealing top that I would be too shy to wear.
However, she’s beautiful because of her confidence. I wish I could be like that.
The couple is friendly and welcoming, and the guys invite them to join us. I’m surprised when Flint tells them who I am to them and why I’m here. I cringe inwardly, wondering if they will now act differently around me, but they don’t.
“Oh, you poor thing, living with that piece of shit,” Shelly says. “I suppose you’ve got nothing with you, and these boys won’t have thought of sorting out a wardrobe for you.”
The guys all wear matching expressions of realization and sheepishness that what Shelly has said is true.
“Yes,” I admit.
Shelly beams at me, happy to have something she can help with.
“Well, you’re in luck, doll. I just had a clear-out of some things that no longer fit me, I’ve put on a bit of weight,” she says, patting her belly, seeming totally unbothered by her weight gain.
“And I reckon they would fit you perfectly.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to be rude but worried that they won’t fit. “I don’t know, you and I are probably the same size.”
Shelly chuckles. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. No need to spare my feelings, doll. I’ll nip home and grab the bag for you now.” With that, she gets up and leaves.
However, when Shelly returns with the clothes a short while later, she insists I go try them on and follows me upstairs.
The thought of doing show-and-tell with anyone fills me with dread.
I hate shopping and trying on clothes alone, let alone with an observer.
However, it turns out to be surprisingly good fun.
Even more surprisingly, her old clothes actually fit.
I took one look at them and wasn’t even going to try, thinking they were too small, but Shelly insisted. “They’ll fit, trust me.”
Now, as I stand admiring the way a pair of tight jeans hug my curves and skim over my stomach, I actually feel I look pretty good.
“There, see how much better you look?” Shelly says, standing behind me with a smile.
“No offense, but you were wearing far too big clothes for your frame. I used to do the same when I was your age. I thought big baggy clothes would make me look thinner, hide all the lumps and bumps I didn’t want on display, but I realized a well fitting bra and the right size clothing that show off your curves are the best.”
I have to admit that maybe Shelly is right. All the clothes she’s given me fit me better and are more flattering than anything in my home wardrobe. “Thank you, Shelly,” I say, feeling emotional.
Shelly pulls me into a warm, perfumed hug, and I allow myself the simple comfort of being shown affection and having made a friend.
When we return downstairs, Hank lets out an appreciative whistle. “Well, look at you, my Shelly’s worked her magic. You look as pretty as a peach, Tori.”
I blush, aware of the guys’ appreciative gazes. “Thanks, Hank.”
“Good enough to eat,” Hunter says with a wink, flashing that carnivorous, seductive smile that promises to do just that.
“You look beautiful, Tori,” Cyrus offers kindly.
When Flint doesn’t say anything, Shelly nudges him. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Pres?”
Flint glances up at me before looking away again quickly. “Yes,” he grunts.
I try not to let his dismissal get to me.
What do I care if Flint thinks I look good or not?
Still, I can’t help wishing he’d look at me the way Hunter does, or even how Cyrus does.
His ignoring me hurts. It feels too much like being home.
I push that aside and focus on having fun, flirting back with Hunter.
He might not be serious, but it feels good to bask under his attention, to feel wanted, like a desirable woman.
By the end of the night, I start to feel that maybe I’m not so hideous and unlovable after all.