13. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Trix
"What are you doing once you get off tonight, Freckles?" the young, blond idiot asks. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as I top up his drink, then slide it toward him.
I shrug and spin around to place the bottle of vodka back on the shelf, while trying to hide the grimace I can't contain due to the ridiculous nickname he used for me.
"Well, why don't you come find me when you finish, and we can make it a fun night."
A disgusted shiver runs through my body and I scoff.
"No, thanks," I say, turning back around to face him.
He's still smirking, undeterred by my blatant rejection.
Movement over his shoulder pulls my attention away from him, and my pulse spikes when my eyes connect with Reeve's as he makes his way to the bar.
"I could easily change—"
"She said no, Chad," Reeve barks, stepping up to the bar, fire in his eyes as he shoots a scathing glare at the blond kid. "Now, fuck off."
Chad kisses his teeth, winks at me, then grabs his drink and walks away.
"Cocky fucking asshole," Reeve grumbles as he sits on one of the stools, resting his arms on the bar between us.
"I had it handled," I tell him, rolling my eyes.
Heat blazes across my skin as his gaze slowly travels from my face, down to my hips, then back up.
Cocking a brow, he tilts his head to the side.
"You look different with your hair down."
His comment catches me by surprise, and by the way his lips tug up, I think he notices.
"Thanks. I think?" I reply, confused as to whether I should take it as a compliment or not.
He nods, then he just stares at me.
A few moments pass, and when he still doesn't make a move to talk, a laugh bubbles up my throat.
"You're not very good at talking to people, are you?" I ask, dropping my gaze to his hands that are gently tapping against the wooden surface of the bar.
I'm finally able to see the tattoos running along his fingers and the backs of his hands, and when I read the word 'hope' across his left hand, I smile.
"Do any of your tattoos have a meaning?"
I'm aware he never answered my previous question, and he's unlikely to answer this one as well, but that doesn't mean it's not worth a try.
His movements halt, and he sits stock still.
My lips twist, and I nervously play with the edge of my cardigan sleeves.
Maybe that was the wrong question to ask him.
Thankfully, Munch slides up to the bar beside him and asks for a beer.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I take a beer from the fridge, pop the cap off, and hand it over to him.
"Thanks, doll," he says, plodding back to the booth he's been sitting in with Mackie.
"Love and hope are both things I believe everyone deserves to have in life," Reeve mutters, bringing my attention back to him.
He smooths his thumb over the word hope, then trails his fingers up the length of his arm, over the skulls and roses littered across his forearm, then back down.
The move causes my stomach to tighten and my thighs to clamp together as I imagine his fingers gently brushing across my skin in the same way.
"The rest of them I simply got because I like the look of them."
Swallowing, I nod, dragging my eyes away from him, finding him far too enticing.
"Do you want a drink?" I ask, turning to face the shelves behind me so I don't have to look at him.
When he doesn't answer, I peek over my shoulder, thinking he may have left, but he's still sitting there, watching me intently with a smirk playing on his lips.
He shakes his head.
"I'm good," he says, pushing himself off the stool, and standing to his full height, towering above me. "See you later, Red."
He walks away, leaving me flustered and confused.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open up my text thread with Emery.
Trix:
I think I'm turning into a whore for tattooed men
Older, extremely good looking, bearded, tattooed men who are grumpy and seem to dislike me
Jesus, I need help
Placing my hands on my hips, I lean back slightly, stretching out my aching back as my tired eyes brush over the empty room.
Night has settled outside, the warm lights in the bar shining brightly as I wipe down the sticky wooden tables.
A loud yawn breaks free, and I quickly cover my mouth with my arm, even though there's nobody here.
I clean the last of the tables, grab the few dirty glasses I left on the side, then make my way into the kitchen.
Placing the rag in the sink and the glasses in the dishwasher, I turn it on, then flick the light off before walking back out.
The lone figure sitting at the bar causes me to jump, a scream trapped in my throat.
"You scared the shit out of me," I tell him, watching as the auburn haired man frowns, his shoulders slumping.
He glances over his shoulder, then turns back to me.
"I'm sorry."
His whispered words ease the tension inside of me immediately.
"It's okay, no harm done." Moving behind the bar, I grab my bag from the floor. "I was about to leave, but I can get you something if you need?"
He shakes his head, lowering his eyes to the wooden surface between us.
"I'll see you tomorrow then," I say. Placing my hand on the bar, I lightly tap my fingers against it, then move away.
I'm halfway across the room before he speaks again.
"My name's Mouse."
Swiveling on the spot, I see he's now turned around on the stool, his jittery hands in his lap, shoulders furled tight and his cautious brown eyes darting around my face.
The sight of him sends waves of sadness rushing through me, only serving as a reminder of myself many years ago.
Taking a moment to stare at him, it's as if I can see through the hard, grown up exterior, and instead see a glimpse of the lonely, tortured soul he hides.
An ache starts in my chest, as if my own hidden, broken soul is recognizing his.
I smile, and nod.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mouse."
The pale scar that slices through the side of his lips stretches as his mouth twitches, the smallest smile gracing his face.
Making my way out the clubhouse, I trudge down the steps, stopping when a set of headlights turn on, blinding me.
Using my arm to shield my eyes, I move to the side until I'm no longer in front of the car.
Seeing the shiny black Camaro with the tinted windows, I sigh and slowly edge to the driver's side.
Reeve winds the window down, and his piercing blue eyes, framed by dark, thick lashes, rise to meet mine.
My heart stutters in my chest.
He tilts his head to the side, motioning to the passenger seat.
"Get in."
My lips part, a puff of air pushing its way out of my mouth.
His demanding tone may be hot—along with the look currently on his face—but I'm not completely hypnotized by his good looks. I have enough wits about me to know I don't enjoy being ordered around.
Although, with his deep, rough voice, I'm starting to wonder if I'd really be totally against it.
"Don't make me repeat myself, Red. I'm taking you home."
Too tired to argue with him, I nod and walk around the car.
As I reach the other side, the door pops open, and my stomach flips when I see Reeve leaning across the center console, his arm stretched out, pushing the door open for me to climb in.
If I didn't find him attractive before, I definitely would now.