9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Trix
Walking around the room, I collect the empty glasses from the tables and wipe them down with a damp rag, actively avoiding the corner booth where Liam's brother is still sitting.
I glance out the window, looking at the darkness taking over the sky, and sigh as I move back behind the bar.
Pulling my phone from my bag, I text the group chat I have with Liam and Emery.
Trix:
Dinner at Mabel's tonight?
Liam:
Wish I could, but I'm at my dads :(
Emery:
I'm down. Need me to pick you up?
Looking around the bar area, I frown.
As much as I hate the idea of walking back to the trailer park, then hailing a cab to the diner, the thought of asking Emery to pick me up from here and dealing with all the questions she'll undoubtedly have, is much worse.
Trix:
No it's okay. I'll meet you there.
Emery:
30mins?
Trix:
Yeah
Dropping my phone back into my bag, I collect all the bottles I'd placed on the side, then put them in the trash before wiping down the bar top.
Checking the surfaces to make sure everything's clean, I take a deep breath, and make my way over to the corner booth.
"Are you done with that?" I ask, pointing at the single glass on the table, next to the tablet Reeve's been focused on for the past couple of hours.
His dark blue eyes lift to meet mine. His thick brows draw down slightly, then he nods.
Swiping the glass away, I hurry into the kitchen and add it to the dishwasher.
Plopping a tablet into the little compartment in the door, I close it, press the button, then wait to hear it turn on.
Once it whirs to life, I make my way out of the kitchen, turning the lights off as I leave, and then grab my bag from under the bar.
My shoulders tense as I walk across the room, sliding my hands into the pockets of my shorts as I debate whether I should say anything to him before I leave.
His gaze travels over to me and I gulp.
"See you tomorrow," I squeak, rushing out the double doors and onto the porch, thankful for the chilly sea breeze that washes over me.
Sighing, I pull the band out of my hair and ruffle my fingers through it, then wrap my cardigan around the front of my body and make my way across the cobbled ground.
Staring at the long road ahead of me, I groan.
I really need to get a car.
I only make it a couple feet before I hear someone shouting my name from behind me.
Whirling around, I find Reeve standing on the porch, the sleeves of his fitted top now pulled down, covering his inked skin, most likely to protect him from the biting cold.
"Where are you going?" he shouts, his deep, gravely voice booming across the open space.
Glancing around, I shrug, confused and slightly worried.
Was I not meant to leave yet?
He moves down the steps, making his way toward me.
My eyes widen in alarm, and I take a subtle pace back.
He stops in his tracks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Are you getting picked up?"
I shake my head, tightening the hold on my cardigan.
His brows furrow, and his eyes scan every inch of my face.
Shifting under his gaze, I blow out a breath.
"I should really get going," I tell him, then turn around and walk away from him, my pace faster than before.
"Hey, Red, wait up!"
Turning around again, I lift my arms in exasperation and raise my brows.
"What?" I snap.
"Let me give you a ride."
My arms drop to my sides, slapping against my thighs, and I tilt my head.
"You want to give me a ride?"
He nods, although he looks as unsure as I sound.
Glancing over his shoulder at the few motorbikes parked up, I shudder, then shake my head.
"There's no way I'm getting on one of those death traps with you."
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through my body and making my stomach clench.
"Wouldn't let you on the back of my bike anyway," he says with a shrug as he takes a key from his pocket and presses a button.
Lights from a car I hadn't spotted before flash as it unlocks, and without waiting for a response, Reeve turns around and makes his way toward it.
Peeking over my shoulder at the dark road I was planning to walk down, I sigh, then follow after him, quickly moving toward the passenger side of the car.
Dropping into the leather seat, I close the door and shuffle toward it, keeping as much space between us as possible.
He starts the ignition, then turns the heat on.
"Where to?" he asks.
"Mabel's diner."
He nods, removes the sleeveless leather jacket, hangs it over the back of his chair, then reverses and starts driving up the road.
The vibrations from the car, and the heat blasting in my face help me relax, but my stomach still quivers as my eyes watch the trees blur outside the window.
We sit in silence, making our way down the winding roads that lead into town.
My gaze occasionally drifts to his hand on the gear stick, marveling at the way the inked skull ripples each time he tightens his grip and changes gear.
As we near the town, I allow my eyes to drift to his other hand on the wheel, trying to catch a glimpse of the tattoos on that hand.
I'm not sure why I'm curious. I've never really found myself interested in tattoos. Since seeing Reeve's, though—and possibly also due to spending time at the clubhouse today with everyone else who seems to have tattoos—I find myself intrigued.
Lights flash through the car as we drive deeper into town, and the black ink on his skin is illuminated for a short moment.
A rose covers the top of his right hand, and the word 'love' is written across the tops of his fingers, one letter on each finger beneath his knuckles.
Dropping my gaze back to his other hand, I spot the letter 'H' on his pointer finger, but I can't see the other three letters. Not without leaning forward in my seat and making it obvious, anyway.
The car slows, and my eyes dart to the window.
We pass by shops and parked cars, the streetlights shining down on the sidewalks.
The red flashing lights of the diner are up ahead, and the thought of seeing my best friend has my muscles loosening immediately.
Reeve pulls into one of the empty parking spots in front of the diner, and as soon as he pulls the handbrake up, I unbuckle my belt, my hand flying to the handle.
"Thank you," I mutter, then open the door and climb out.
Before I shut the door, he leans over the center console, sweeping his hand through his hair as his eyes peer up at me.
"Are you getting a lift home?"
His question has me frozen in place. My hand is on the glass window, my bag slipping halfway off my shoulder while I stare at him, puzzled.
"I, uh, yeah—" I shake my head, looking away from his inquisitive eyes. "Yeah. My friend will drop me home."
He stays quiet, so I chance another look his way, and when our eyes connect, his lips lift the tiniest amount. He finally nods, then leans back in his seat.
Stepping back, I push the door closed, turn away from the car, then walk toward the diner in a bemused state.
I think that was the most confusing encounter I've ever experienced.
When I reach the door of the diner, I glance over my shoulder as I push my way inside, and see Reeve still sitting in his car, his eyes still fixated on me.
He dips his head when he catches me watching him, then starts reversing.
"Emery's already ordered for you, my love," Mabel says from behind the counter, breaking me out of the fogginess clouding my brain.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Uh, thanks."
Moving through the almost empty diner, I slide into the small booth across from Emery, immediately grabbing the shake on the table and slurping half of it down.
"So, you wanna tell me who that hot hunk was? Or are we going to pretend like I didn't see anything and just talk about my boring day at college?"
Sighing, I lean on the table, dropping my chin into my hand.
"That's Reeve," I tell her, trying to find a way to stall while I figure out just how much I should tell her. "I met him at work."
She frowns, then taps her fingers against the table, dragging her eyes over my face.
"So, you got a job?"
I nod. Twisting my lips, I glance down at the table where I'm nervously drawing random shapes with my fingers on the smooth surface.
"That's good," she says. "Where?"
Looking at her, I sit back in my seat, then quietly give her an answer.
"At the Steel Devils clubhouse."
She chokes on the milkshake she was guzzling. I cringe while she pats her chest and tries to get herself under control.
"You're working at the motorcycle club?" she shouts, eyes wide.
"Shh!" I hiss, quickly glancing around the diner. Leaning forward, I hunch over the table. "There's no need to make a scene."
"Are you insane?"
Cocking a brow, I shrug, which causes her to narrow her eyes.
Okay, so she's not in the mood for jokes. Noted.
"Why the hell would you start working there, Trix?"
Frowning, I sigh, and shake my head.
"I needed a job, and after dropping out of college, I knew it wouldn't be easy to find one. Liam said they'd be able to help, and they were."
"How the hell would Liam be able to get you a job there?"
Shit.
"He has a connection, I guess. Look, that's something you'll have to talk to him about.
Anyway, I know on paper this looks bad and potentially dangerous, but it's nice there, and although it's only been a day, I've got a good feeling about this.
I genuinely don't think they're as bad as they're made out to be, and even if they were, I could handle it, Em.
It's not like my life has always been rainbows and butterflies, anyway. "
She rolls her eyes and sighs, slumping back in her seat.
"I'll take your word for it, but if you find yourself in trouble, you promise to tell me?"
I nod.
"Promise."
Mabel walks over with our food, placing it down in front of us. Emery thanks her, then picks up a few fries and dips them into the ketchup on the side of her plate.
My stomach churns with guilt as I think about what I just promised. I slowly nibble on my food, my appetite lost and forgotten about now.
Emery and I usually tell each other everything, and I hate I'm keeping things from her, but I'm doing it for my own sake.
I can't always rely on her to help me with my problems.
I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. Even if it means I have to hold off on telling her about something for a little while. No matter how guilty I may feel, that's what I have to do.
"So, tell me about college," I say, swiping my milkshake from the table and pushing my plate of food to the side.