16. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Trix
Knowing I left the clubhouse sparkling clean last night, and Honey premade the food for today, I take my time getting ready and find myself adding more steps to my morning routine I'd usually skip over and not bother with.
Applying mascara to my lashes, I spread gloss over my lips, then fluff my hair up and coyly smile at myself in the small circular mirror.
"Are you going to give me any more information on the older, grumpy, tatted man you're clearly trying to impress?" Emery asks through the phone, which is balanced precariously on the edge of the sink.
I scoff, pick up my phone, then make my way out of the bathroom.
"I'm not trying to impress anyone."
"Okay, maybe not, but you're definitely interested, and I have a strong suspicion that it's the hunk from the diner who's caught your eye. If so, I wouldn't blame you. I saw enough of him when he dropped you off at the diner to know he's smoking hot."
Throwing the phone onto the bed, I grab my jeans from the floor and step into them, tugging them up by the belt loops when I reach my thighs. I sigh in relief when they finally slide over my hips.
"I will neither confirm nor deny that. But I will admit there are a few good looking guys there who I may or may not daydream about when I get the chance… but I'm just looking," I tell her. "No touching, barely any talking, strictly just looking."
She groans, and I can picture her rolling her eyes.
"I know everything with Hudson has put you off of men, but you have to get back out there, Trix. Have some fun, enjoy yourself, take advantage of being a hot, sexy, twenty-three-year-old woman."
Chuckling, I pull my little black ankle boots out from under the bed and slide my feet into them.
Standing back up, I grab the cropped denim jacket from my bed and slip it on.
"I'd love to, but unfortunately, that's been ruined for me."
She sighs. "I know it's going to be hard for you to trust someone again, and I understand why, but I think you need to push yourself out of your comfort zone so you—"
"I don't want the same shit to happen again, Em. I couldn't cope with it."
Walking through the trailer, I grab my bag from the kitchen side, snatch a granola bar from the cupboard, then take my phone off loudspeaker and press it against my ear.
"I need to get going, but I'll talk to you later, okay? Love you."
"Love you, bye!"
Ending the call, I turn off the lights, then shove my shoulder against the front door, almost falling out when it swings open with ease.
"Stupid fucking thing," I grumble, jumping over the steps instead of using them and risking an injury to myself.
"Do you always talk to yourself?"
I scream and leap backward, banging my arm against the door and almost dropping my phone.
Reeve chuckles from where he's leaning against his car with his arms crossed, displaying his perfectly sculpted arms which I can vividly imagine being wrapped around my body.
He looks desirable wearing a pair of dark, loose fitting jeans with a simple, but extremely tight, white tank top, and his usual leather cut which showcases the multitude of tattoos covering his warm skin.
A pair of sunglasses shield his eyes from mine, but God, they somehow make him look better. And don't even get me started on the backward cap covering the unkempt waves on the top of his head.
The sight of him has my stomach tightening, and my mouth watering.
My perusal of him lasts far too long, yet not long enough.
His lips stretch into a cocky smirk. "See something you like, Red?"
My cheeks heat in embarrassment at being caught red-handed gawking at him like an idiot.
In an attempt to recover, I lift my phone, swipe onto the camera app, and snap a picture of him before pocketing my phone and shrugging.
He laughs, pushes away from the car, then pops the passenger side door open.
"Should I even dare ask what you plan on doing with that picture?" he asks, the deep timbre of his voice washing over my body and sending a shiver down my spine.
"Not if you want an honest answer," I mutter. Slamming the trailer door closed, I hurry over to the car, and jump inside, keeping my gaze cemented to the floor to avoid his gaze.
Ducking my head, I let my hair drop to—hopefully—hide my red cheeks and wide eyes.
Holy shit. Was I just flirting with him?
He gently closes my door, and as I close my eyes, I release a deep breath, then swallow the mortification I'm currently feeling.
When he climbs into the car, I press my lips together and subtly shift in my seat, unsure of what to do or say after what just happened.
The engine rumbles to life, and after a few moments, the car starts to roll forward, filling me with relief.
It's not until we're out of the trailer park, and driving up the long road leading to the clubhouse that my brain catches up on the events of the last ten minutes, and I question the situation I find myself in.
My brows furrow and I turn to face him.
"Why were you at my trailer?"
He shrugs. "I was driving past."
"Oh…" I glance out the window, watching the fields in a blur. "I guess that makes sense."
We're shrouded in silence for the rest of the drive. His clipped reply rids the previous flirty playfulness between us, as if it never happened.
Every time I interact with this man, I never know what to expect.
When he parks in front of the clubhouse, I mumble a "Thank you," and then rush out of the car and up the porch steps.
Walking into the bar, I'm surprised to see one of the booths already filled this early.
Luxe sits on the end of the leather bench seat next to Chad, and another younger guys sitting opposite them.
"Hey, Trix. Come here for a minute," Luxe shouts, waving me over.
Sighing, I move over to them, choosing to ignore the way the annoying blond one from yesterday is staring at me.
"What's up?"
"I'm the better looking one out of everyone here, right?"
My nose wrinkles as I glance at them.
"Not really much of a competition, is it?"
Luxe whoops and hollers as he jumps to his feet, shouting joyfully as he wags his fingers at the other two. I shake my head and stroll to the bar.
Still feeling flustered and confused by the interaction with Reeve earlier, I decide to clean the living area upstairs. I should, hopefully, be able to get a few moments of peace, to be by myself while I overthink every word we spoke and dissect every look we shared.
Grabbing a spray bottle and a rag from a shelf under the bar, I cross the room and hurry up the stairs, sighing when I reach the top of them and see no one else.
The relief is short-lived when I hear loud footfalls on the steps behind me, but when I glance over my shoulder and see a head of dark auburn hair, and a smooth face coated with freckles, the tension in my body dissipates.
"Morning," I say, stepping aside to let Mouse move past me.
He tips his head in a way of greeting, then makes his way to the loveseat in the corner. Mouse drops his large body onto the plush cushions and opens the book he's carrying.
His silence today doesn't make me feel awkward like it did before, instead, it feels comforting.
I make my way around the room, cleaning everything down and collecting the few empty beer bottles scattered around, all while thinking about this morning with Reeve.
The fact he picked me up from the trailer and saved me from walking to work was sweet. The flirty conversation between us was smooth, and easy, albeit strange. Then when we got into the car, it was as if a switch had flipped, and he returned to being blunt, and grumpy.
Sighing, I shake my head as I trudge over to the trash can and place the bottles inside.
When I move back to the small coffee table in front of the sofa, I can feel Mouse studying my face.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I glance at him, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Are you okay?"
Scanning my face, he nods, his scarred, thin lips parting for a second before he slams them shut again.
Wiping the rag over the table, I scrub at a sticky circular patch where one of the beer bottles had previously been sitting.
"Are you?"
His quiet voice shocks me, and my hand pauses as I drag my eyes to his.
Curiosity lingers, and with the furrowed brows and the intense stare as he waits for an answer, I think he's genuinely concerned I might not be.
I nod. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just have a lot on my mind I guess, but I'm fine."
I scrub at the table again, thinking the conversation is over, since he doesn't seem to talk much, but he surprises me when he shifts in his seat, closes the paperback, then rests it on the edge of the chair.
"When people say they're fine, that usually means they're not."
His whispered words burn through me because I know his words ring true.
Whenever I've been going through shit in life, and people have asked me if I'm okay, I've always responded the same way. Because, in my opinion, people don't want a genuine answer, it's just common courtesy for them to ask.
"Wise words," I say, chuckling.
Picking up the cloth and spray bottle, I stand up straight, then stretch out my back.
"Thank you," he says, and I frown.
"For what?"
His lips quirk, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"For asking me," he clarifies. "Most people don't."
He dips his head forward again as he settles back into his chair. But he doesn't open his book again like I expect him to, instead, he keeps his studious gaze on me.
I shrug. "That's because most people are assholes."
His lips stretch across his face, and a set of dimples appear in the center of both his cheeks.
A sense of achievement sparks inside of me at the sight of his contagious smile, but the sound of a glass smashing from downstairs has his lips falling back into a flat line.
"I better go and see what that's all about," I say as I spin around and walk toward the stairs.