Chapter 14 #2
We’re only going to cook dinner.
That’s the problem. And not the problem.
If the tension between us gets any thicker, it’s going to either implode or explode. Neither is a good thing.
And I know exactly why she’s stuck. Why I’m stuck. Why we’re both churning and churning and going nowhere. It’s frustrating. It’s right. It’s wrong. It’s everything and nothing. I don’t want to rush anything. I can wait. At the same time, that explosion is getting closer and closer to the surface.
We’ll see has turned every second into an hour, and every day into an eternity.
I don’t know what else to do other than try to breathe through it, steady myself, and carry on as solid and dependable as I’ve always been, at least until Sloane lets me know that she has zero doubts about being ready for more.
The last thing I want is to end up as a regret in any way.
No. If anything is going to happen between me and Sloane, it’s going to be beautiful.
Life changing. The best thing in the world.
She deserves nothing less.
Upstairs, I sit at her table, my phone in front of me, my coffee in hand. I sip it, but it’s not nearly as good as the ones Sloane makes. It figures. She has the magic touch. I could do everything the exact same, and mine still wouldn’t be half as good.
She fills a pot with water over at the sink. “Can I help you?” I already know what the answer is going to be.
She turns around and with a big smile. “Not a chance. If we ever have dinner at the clubhouse, sure. You can cook. You’re a guest here. I wouldn’t feel right about you making your own dinner after a day of work.”
“It’s not really work.”
Her face screws up. “Your dedication to our safety is admirable. If you were getting paid, it would be big dollars to do what you’re doing, I’m sure. So, I can for sure cook you spaghetti.” She stops halfway to the stove, pot balanced in her two hands. “Do you think we eat this too many times?”
I bite down on a laugh. “Not at all. Who doesn’t like spaghetti?”
“I know a lot of people who don’t. I could do something fancy. Make some alfredo one night, or lasagna from a box. I know some great ones, as terrible as that sounds.”
“Not terrible. Anything you make is good. When I’m hungry, I’m not particularly fussy.”
On the phone screen, an old truck pulls up near the café.
I sit up a little straighter and grab it.
I relax immediately, because I know that truck.
It’s an old fifties beast, ratted out by nature.
Raiden hasn’t fixed it yet past making it run.
He wanted to keep as much of it as original as possible.
The inside is even worse than the exterior, and it rides so rough that it’s basically all grinding gears and vehicular protest the entire time.
There are plenty of inside jokes about that truck, though most of the guys won’t shoot it down in front of Raiden.
It’s kind of his baby, and for being a cage, he’s pretty attached to it.
Raiden and Liam get out at the same time. The hollow bang of metal doors needing to be shut with force echoes all the way up here.
Sloane puts the pot on the burner and moves to the window. “Oh. Liam’s home, and Raiden’s with him. He’s the Vice President, right?”
“That’s right.”
I get a good look at their faces as they walk past the front door, and Liam opens it with his keys. We both hear the faint jangle of the bell downstairs.
My heart sinks so hard and fast that it ends up in my gut, which turns into a rocking, twisted mess.
It’s not the coffee. It’s the look of pure relief and joy on Liam’s face that does me in.
I know what that means. I’m happy for him, and for Sloane.
She’s about to be assured that the gang doesn’t know anything, and as far as the club knows, it’s safe.
This is the best possible outcome to a shit scenario.
It means that I’ll be going back to the clubhouse and I can resume my regular schedule.
I should be thankful for extra sleep and to have the pressure taken off of me not to make a single mistake but thinking about trying to go back in time a few weeks and pick up where I left off is like trying to put on a t-shirt you haven’t worn since you were ten. It’s not going to fit.
The we’ll see that Sloane proposed might be over. I had no problem being in a committed relationship with my own hand before, but going back to jerking off and thinking about a solo life is so empty that I actually make a noise of pain.
Sloane jerks around, eyes wide and horrified. “Are you okay? What hurts?”
“Nothing.” I try very hard not to wince. “I’m fine. Just swallowed my coffee the wrong way.”
“Oof. I hate that.”
I pound myself a little too theatrically on the chest. Wrong spot for choking. Right spot for trying to beat my aching heart back into submission.
Fact is, I got used to this. Used to the café.
The people. To Sloane and Liam’s routine.
I molded my life around theirs to fit the job and complete the task that I was asked to do, but it turned into something else.
I’d like to pass this off as infatuation.
I’ve never loved anyone. I don’t have the first idea how.
But… maybe you just decide that a person is special.
That they’re great. That you want to spend time with them, and you do, and then you start to appreciate everything that makes them who they are, and you fall for that.
Every day after is another day to get to know them better, to appreciate them, to cherish them, to want to protect them and enjoy life all the aspects of life with them from the boring to the exciting, the thick and the thin, until they become everything?
Isn’t that love and isn’t that how it starts?
Footsteps sound on the stairs and the door opens. “Mom?” Liam’s head appears, followed by the rest of him. Raiden enters after and closes the door for Liam.