26. Chapter Twenty-Six—Carlotta
Chapter Twenty-Six—Carlotta
Ifist the material of his shirt beneath his leather jacket, much to Cassiel’s amusement, and then, in one fluid motion, he pushes off the kickstand and revs the engine, leaving my apartment, and my worries, in the dust.
I yell into the wind with ecstasy, feeling my stomach drop and twist with each sharp corner Cassiel takes. We whip past cars and Ubers, flying past groups of people dawdling on the sidewalk and soaring over the speed cushions without even touching the ground.
I’m grinning from ear to ear when we come to a stop at the set of red lights; flush with happiness and high on the sweet, sugar spun, taste of freedom.
Cass abdomen tenses beneath my fingertips as he places one foot on the concrete tarmac, stopping us and the bike from tipping over.
From where I’ve been resting my chin on his broad shoulder, I see him remove his leather gloved hand from the handlebars, reaching to lift up his visor so I can hear him over the thrum of car engines all around us.
“Having fun?”
I give him a thumbs up, grinning to myself when I feel the bubble a laughter rumble through Cass’s muscular body.
That gloved hand of his wraps around my thigh, as we wait impatiently for the lights to turn green.
I watch a group of giggling girls, dressed in short skirts and tube tops, fumbling across the crossing in their stiletto heels.
Someone idling in the car beside us, rolls down their window and whistles loudly at them, but they pay him no attention.
No, they’re giggling and casting looks at Cassiel instead.
I can’t blame them—he’s fucking hot—but that doesn’t stop the slice of jealously cutting through me. They catch me staring at them from over Cass’s shoulder, but they don’t look away. I guess it’s because with my helmet covering my head, they can’t see the venomous glare I’m sending their way.
Maybe—
I glance down when I feel thick fingers gripping my thigh, gently stroking back and forth against the inner seam of my leather pants.
His helmet covers most of his pretty face, but from the dip in his neck, I can tell Cass is peering down at the place he’s touching me too. He’s hardly noticed the half-dressed girls—if he’s even noticed them at all.
When the light above switches neon green, I have to pat him on the stomach to gain his attention, the noise of the cars around us taking off deafening.
Cass squeezes my hand once and then wraps his fingers around the handlebars, leaning forward, the shoulders in his back bunching, stretching the leather material of his jacket to its stitches.
We zoom forward, the wind stealing the breath from my lungs and ripping the cobwebs from my mind.
I’m still riding the high of freedom that comes with riding Cassiel’s motorcycle, when he pulls off the freeway, turning down a dark street I don’t recognize.
Dilapidated houses line up on either side, some with children’s toys dumped in the front of the browned grass, some with piles of old furniture and weeks old trash sprouting like thorn filled flowers.
Cassiel slows down when a young boy, seventeen I guess, gives us a boyish hoot, pumping his legs as fast as possible on his tired looking bike, to catch up with us.
“Cool bike, bro!”
I watch Cass reach across to meet the boy’s fist bump before he nods once and then leaves him eating our exhaust fumes.
A woman smoking beside her front door, which looks like it’s seen better days if the hinges and the boarded-up hole, are anything to go by, watches us cruise by. She blows a ring of smoke into the dark sky and then continues to watch us, never taking removing her gaze.
I shiver.
I’m not cold, but I wiggle further up Cassiel’s back, regardless, tightening my grip on his waist.
Wherever this place is… it isn’t giving the friendliest of vibes.
I inhale the strong stench of weed as we swerve around a corner, coming to a dead stop outside of a run-down looking building.
A row of motorbikes takes up space out front, each decorated with the same skull sticker on the back—or, as Cassiel would call it, it’s rear fender.
With ease, we park up beside a bike with red flames painted along it’s flanks and I’m about to ask Cass what the sticker means, when the old fashioned saloon door bangs open, revealing a pool of light from inside, laughter and the thick yeasty smell of hops.
A man lights up a cigarette, exhaling raggedly before he raises his head, noticing Cassiel, whose hands are busying unbuckling my helmet.
“Angelo? That you?” calls out the husky voice, taking another drag and blowing the smoke into the air.
A famous ballad begins to pour from the speakers inside, spilling out of the open doorway and down the steps. I glance inside at the sound of a woman’s loud laughter and then back to the man, finding him watching me with interest.
His stare doesn’t strike me as a predatory, sleezy, leer. But still, I keep a hold of Cassiel’s hand when he helps me from the bike, tucking myself safely into his side.
“Yeah, it’s me, Fox,” Cass says, raising a hand. “How you doing?”
Fox lingers on the joining of Cass’s and I’s hands before he straightens up, staggering down the steps to greet us.
“Same old.” He pops his bony shoulders and flicks ash from the end of his cigarette. “It’s good to see, Angelo. It’s been… what… almost a year?”
If I don’t know any better, I would say Cassiel turns sheepish under Fox’s questioning. He wraps the palm of his hand not holding mine, around the nape of his neck, scrubbing.
“I think so. I wanted to come by earlier, but I’ve been busy, so—”
Fox claps a hand on Cass shoulder, stopping him midsentence before taking another drag, lightening up the cherry bright red. “You’re looking good, boy. Healthy. That’s all that matters. And who’s this beauty?”
I don’t back down from Fox’s gaze, but I feel Cass’s hand tighten in my, snaking around to grip my waist. “This is Carlotta.”
“Carlotta.” Fox tastes my name on his tongue, tinged with nicotine. “You two dating?”
I nod at the same time as Cassiel answers, “Yeah.”
“And Rome?”
The hairs on my arms prickle at the sound of Folonari’s name while my stomach flips and my core clenches on thin air. God, I hate the prick, but my body seems to have already forgiven him in favor of how attractive he is.
Ugh.
Cass snorts, brushing a thumb along the waistband of my leather pants in a soothing motion. “You know what he’s like.”
Fox nods slowly, grinning to showcase three missing teeth. “You got that right, boy. Old lady?”
He tips his grey, thinning hair in my direction, so I know he’s talking about me, but I have no fucking clue what ‘old lady’ means. Is he calling me old? Surely, not. I make a mental note to quiz Cass when we’re alone.
“Hope so,” Cassiel answers with a boyish smile. “One day.”
I frown, more confused than ever, but I keep a soft smile on my face for Cass’s sake.
Fox nods once more and then tips the small stub between his short, grimy fingernails towards the door. “Genie’s on the bar.”
I watch, sidelong, as Cassiel’s grin stretches even wider. “I’m gonna show Carlotta around and grab some food. See you in there?”
“I’ll be around the back,” Fox mutters, pressing his thin lips into a straight line until they almost disappear, swallowed up by the wrinkles permeating his face. “Shouldn’t be long.”
Cassiel leads the two of us out of the cold, up the worn, concrete steps and through the door.
Immediately, I’m hit with a delicious waft of warmth, the kinds that thaws the ice from my hands. The air carries with it a smell of homecooked food that makes my stomach growl and a loud noise of different voices talking, laughing, and singing.
The dive bar—at least, I’m pretty certain it’s a dive bar—is larger than it appears on the outside. Leather booths line the left-hand side, some cracked in spots and repaired with duct tape, while the bar, arranged with occupied barstools, sits on the right.
A large floor space, the oak wood stained with age and use, takes up space in the middle, giving away to section at the back where I can spot two velvet pool tables and a set of old slot machines which play the same jingle repeatedly.
“Come on.” Cass gently tugs my wrist to pull me away from the door and to the bar. “There’s someone I want you to meet before we sit down and grab some food.”
An older lady, her salt and pepper hair, styled into a sleek bob, peers down at something beneath the bar.
“Just a minute, sugars,” she drawls with a thick southern accent. “Right. That should hold for now. What can I—Cassiel!”
With more speed and agility than I pegged her for, she rounds the counter of the sticky bar top, her cry of excitement gathering the attention of the other patrons in the bar.
I shrink under their watchful gazes, while Cassiel is scooped up into a large hug, a deep chortle of glee escaping him at her touch.
I’m wondering who on earth this woman is when she moves from Cassiel to me, wrapping me up in a hug so tight I swear I feel my bones crush.
I freeze for a heartbeat, unsure what to do.
I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged this way in my life, not even by my father, before I regain semblance of my body and hug her back.
It seems like the right thing to do and when I catch Cass smiling at the two of us, I know this woman isn’t just some stranger. She means something to him.
“Look at you!” the woman gushes, peeling herself away from me to lightly pinch Cassiel’s cheeks—not a small feat seeing as how he towers over her. “I was so worried! But here you are, looking healthy and flushed. You been keeping well?”
Cass nods, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’m all good. Sorry I haven’t stopped by in a while, things got busy and—”
“It’s okay, my boy. I understand, although, a phone call now and then wouldn’t hurt.” She laughs, this sweet tinkling sound, and pats the apples of his cheeks, marred red from the windchill outside and the balloon of warmth inside.