6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Trix
"I don't think your brother likes me very much," I tell Liam as he walks out onto the small wooden porch where I've been waiting for him.
He tucks me into his side, then leads us down the steps.
"Reeve doesn't seem to like anyone," he mutters. "But he's good people. Most of the guys here are."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then moves away as we reach the car.
"How did things go with Honey?"
A smile tugs at my lips.
"She's really nice," I say, opening the passenger side door and hopping into the car. "She showed me the kitchen, and the communal area upstairs. Pointed out I'd also need to clean the main bar area too."
"So, you'll be cleaning and pouring drinks then?" he asks as he pulls away from the clubhouse.
I nod. "Pretty much. Oh, and making food on occasion if I need to. It doesn't really seem like I'll be doing much at all."
"Did you talk about what they'll be paying you?"
"No, but when she introduced me to Callux, he said someone would discuss it with me tomorrow. So I guess we'll see how it goes."
As he drives down the long, winding road leading back into town, past the trailer park, and through the streets of Blackrock Point, my stomach sinks as I think about the mess my life currently is.
"Want to text Em and tell her we'll be at the diner soon so she can start heading over?" Liam asks. "We won't take too long at the store, will we?"
I shake my head, pull my phone from my pocket, then text Emery.
"I just need to buy some spare bed sheets and cleaning products, then I'll be ready to stuff my face with Mabel's fries."
Liam pulls up outside the diner, its red lights on the sign outside illuminating the now dark street.
I can already see Emery inside, sitting in the booth in the far corner, her head buried in her phone, completely oblivious to the fact we're looking at her through the window.
"Her lack of awareness is going to get her killed one day," Liam mutters, shaking his head as he turns the car off.
Before he opens his door, I grab his arm, drawing his attention my way.
"Promise me you won't tell her I've had to get a job at the clubhouse because of overdue rent?"
He sighs, eyes flicking back to where our best friend is seated.
"I'll be honest with her about working there," I add. "But I don't want her knowing I'm having issues at the trailer park already. She'll try to offer me help, and we both know she won't take no for an answer."
"You're both as stubborn as each other," he says.
"I need to do this for me, Liam. Emery has helped me too much already, and I don't want to have to keep relying on her. I'm old enough to sort my life out on my own now."
Huffing, he nods.
"I won't mention the rent situation, but we're being honest about you getting a job at the clubhouse."
"Deal." I open my door and climb out of the car, waiting for Liam to follow suit. "Just know, you're going to have to explain your little connection to the clubhouse for her as well."
He rolls his eyes as I amble my way past him toward the entrance of the diner.
The smell of fried chicken and oil hits me in the face as soon as I walk through the door, and my stomach growls.
The bell above the door captures Emery's attention, and she looks up from her phone, spotting us both as we head toward her.
"How is everything?" she asks, scooting across the booth so I can slide in next to her as Liam sits opposite us.
I shrug. "The place needed a thorough clean, but apart from that, everything's fine."
Her eyes drag over my face, but I keep my expression neutral as I pluck a menu from the table, open it up and scan the items listed, even though I know exactly what I'm getting.
"I've already ordered for us," Em says, nodding toward Mabel, who's sauntering out of the swinging kitchen door with a tray in her hands.
"Did you remember to ask for—"
"Extra pickles in the burger and nacho cheese on the fries," Emery and I sing, interrupting Liam and giggling when he glares at us.
"You don't have to remind us of your order every time we come here."
He shrugs, reaching for the tray as Mabel sidles up to the table, thanking her for the food.
"I do when you constantly mix it up."
I scoff, plucking a fry from his basket before he can smack my hand away. "Don't be so dramatic. It was a few times, and it was years ago."
"Says the woman who punched me when I ordered her the wrong milkshake one time," he retorts, pushing the tray of chicken tenders toward Emery.
"Completely reasonable," she mutters, nudging me as a smirk tugs at her lips. "No one in their right mind would want a strawberry milkshake."
We each dig into our food, occasionally throwing verbal jabs at each other, and thankfully keeping the topic of conversation away from me and my disaster of a life.
I plan on telling Emery I'm working at the clubhouse at some point, but for now, it can wait.