18. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Trix
Thumping footsteps sound through the room as all the guys charge down the stairs, some of them walking straight into the kitchen, others moving to the booths, and a couple of them taking a seat at the bar.
Warren walks over with a cocky smirk, then winks as he sits down.
"A glass of whiskey please, doll."
Pulling a tumbler from the shelf, I plop a cube of ice in it, then fill it with the brown liquid before sliding it across the bar top.
It's unusual for me to find a blond guy attractive, but there's something about War that makes me think I'd make an exception. Although I do think he's a little too old for my liking.
Dodger asks for a soda, and while I'm pouring it into a glass for him, Luxe makes his way out of the kitchen, a plate filled with sandwiches in his hand.
"Morning, Trix," he says as he slides behind the bar and sets the plate in front of the guys. "You look nice today."
Smiling, I glance down at myself before mumbling a "Thank you."
His comment has me glancing around the room, looking for Reeve, but he's nowhere to be seen.
I didn't dress up for him on purpose, but I will admit that when I applied a little bit of make-up this morning, and chose the matching denim set to wear, I did wonder if he'd like it.
After our interaction this morning, though, I'm wishing I didn't consider him at all.
Once all of the guys have a drink, I hand out bottles of beer to the few in the booths, then move behind the bar, leaning against the small surface as I pull my phone out.
As soon as I unlock it, the photo I snapped of Reeve this morning appears, and my eyes roam over every inch of him. I quickly swipe away, not wanting to be caught drooling over him.
Shouting and laughter spill through the room and I glance up to the few guys crowded around one of the pool tables who are nudging each other as they play.
Movement from the corner of my eye draws my attention away and I see Milo and Reeve walking toward the two empty stools beside Warren.
"You do realize your job is kind of pointless, don't you?" Milo asks as he sits down.
Confused by the vitriol in his tone and the harsh words, I frown and cross my arms over my chest.
"Why'd you say that?"
"Because he's being a dickhead and he doesn't know when to keep his fucking mouth shut," Reeve concludes, glaring at the man beside him.
"Classic Milo," Warren grumbles, then tosses back the remainder of his drink. "Boy needs to learn some manners."
"I have manners," Milo argues, eyes slicing over to the older man. "I just don't see the need to be nice right now."
Scoffing, I push away from the side. "Doesn't cost you anything."
Shaking my head, I walk away from the bar and head upstairs, annoyed by the stupid remarks made.
He was the one who vouched for me to get this job, and although I'd agree with it being somewhat pointless, Honey used to be here every day before I did, doing exactly what I do, so it's not like they made up a role for me just because I needed it.
God knows what's crawled up his ass today.
Callux passes by me on the stairs, and I don't have it in me to muster up a smile when he nods.
I pause at the top of the stairs when I spot Mouse sitting on the love seat he seems to always be occupying.
He glances at me, tips his head in acknowledgement before his eyes dart back to the TV.
Patting my hands against my thighs, I twist my lips, throwing a look over my shoulder at the stairs, wondering if it's best for me to just go back down there, but knowing Milo and Reeve are both likely still sitting at the bar. I huff and make my way to the sofa.
I'd like to avoid the pair of them until the end of the night if I can.
Curling my legs up beside me, I lean on the arm of the sofa and let my eyes stray to the screen currently playing my favorite show.
We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the TV and the guys downstairs.
One of the characters in the show says a funny line, and my lips quirk.
"He's your favorite," Mouse says.
I turn to him with raised brows. "Huh?"
He gestures toward the screen. "The broody one who rarely smiles and seems like an ass sometimes, but is actually nice, and cares about everyone else more than himself."
My smile breaks free, not only because he's got it spot on, but because that's the most I've ever heard him speak.
"Yeah, you're right," I tell him. "When I first watched the show, I was unsure of him, but after season one, I really liked him. He's misunderstood, and I feel like he's relatable."
He frowns, eyes studying my face.
"Relatable because he silently battled his demons in his mind but seemed like he was fine on the outside? And because he always felt alone, even though he was surrounded by people?"
My heart stutters in my chest, and my gaze darts away.
"Sorry," he adds quickly. "I didn't mean—"
"No, it's okay," I say, shaking my head and turning back toward him. "It's just… that was, unexpected. I shouldn't be surprised, though, I can tell you're good at reading people."
He shrugs.
"Easy to do when you're always silently watching."
He shifts, relaxing back into the chair, his eyes moving back to the TV. I watch him for a few moments, my chest tightening when I spy another faint scar peeking out from beneath the hair on the side of his head.
There's no doubt he has an interesting story, and as much as I want to hear it, I have a feeling it'd gut me.
"What's your real name?" I ask, purposefully keeping my tone soft and gentle.
I've realized the members all have strange names. When I asked Luxe about it, he said when they're initiated, they get given a name that resembles them, and until they progress to one of the higher positions in the club, that's the name they're known as.
He'd told me Munch got his name because he constantly eats. Ever since he gave up smoking, he's had to keep his hands and mouth busy with something else.
Dodger got his name by being good at dodging hits whenever he finds himself in a fight.
Luxe didn't mention the reasoning behind anyone else's names though.
Mouse's shoulders instantly tense, and his eyes slowly drop away from the TV until he's staring at the floor, brows drawn deep, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
Ah, shit. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.
Guilt gnaws in my gut as he remains silent, body coiled tight, and eyes unblinking as he stares at the floorboards, seemingly lost in his head.
Music filters up the stairs, along with faint, mumbled shouts, and I use that as my excuse to leave.
"I'm sorry, Mouse," I mutter, then stand and quietly exit the room.
When I make my way back downstairs, Warren and Milo are no longer sitting at the bar, but Reeve remains on the stool.
"What were you doing?" he asks when I round the bar, grab a water bottle from the fridge, then crack it open.
I shrug. "Cleaned upstairs and was just having a conversation with Mouse for a little while."
His brows raise, and he drops the glass bottle he was holding.
"You were talking to Mouse?"
I nod, frowning.
"Is there an issue with that?"
His mouth gapes open and he stares at me as if I have two heads.
"When you say you were talking to him, you mean that literally, right? Like, it was just you who was speaking?"
Huffing in annoyance, I roll my eyes and shake my head.
"No. I mean, I was having a conversation with him. As in, I was saying words to him, and he said words back to me. I know you clearly struggle to communicate with people, but I'm sure you still know what having a conversation entails."
A puff of air pushes its way through his parted lips.
"That's impossible," he mutters, eyes dropping to the bottle in front of him. "Mouse doesn't talk."
I scoff. "That's quite rude. Sure, he's a quiet guy, but he does talk. Maybe you just haven't bothered to try."
"No," he says quietly, his troubled gaze moving back up to mine as he leans over the wooden surface between us. "I'm serious, Red. He doesn't talk. At all. Not to anyone."
His words settle in my mind, and my brows draw down as my eyes flick between his.
"In the whole five years he's been a part of this club, he's never spoken to a single one of us."
My heart stutters in my chest.
Holy shit.
I'd already known Mouse was a quiet and reserved guy, and that's why I felt a strange sense of pride and gratitude when he'd spoken to me before, but knowing he's never spoken to anyone else here, and yet he chose to speak to me, has my stomach twisting as I go over the way our conversation ended upstairs.
He was already opening up to me, more than he has with anyone, and I pushed for more than what he was willing to give, causing him to completely shut down.
God, why am I always fucking shit up?