Chapter 2 #2
The room shifts after that. Subtle but immediate. Trigger leans forward slightly, forearms braced against his knees now instead of lounging back carelessly. Dash’s grin sharpens. Shadow finally closes his book completely.
And me? I stare at the screen longer than I should.
Because suddenly this doesn’t feel like random entertainment anymore.
I realize that there’s an actual real woman somewhere out there, sitting in the dark, holding her phone and smiling at these messages.
The thought shouldn’t interest me. Plenty of women flirt with us, and yet something about this mystery woman intrigues me.
But I’m also worried, she’s lucky she texted us.
If her texts had gone to some weirdo, then she might be putting herself in harm’s way.
I send my reply, hiding it from the guys.
I could be anyone, don’t be too trusting.
The phone buzzes again.
You seem different over text.
Dash points at the screen immediately. “See? She already knows she’s talking to somebody different.”
Trigger grins, reading the messages. “Why are you warning her off, Chief? We were just having fun and you’re turning into a boring old man.”
“Fuck off,” I grunt.
Shadow ambles over, leaning on the back of the couch behind Dash. “Careful.”
I know what he means. This stopped feeling harmless about ten minutes ago.
Dash steals the phone before I can answer.
Maybe you just bring it out in me.
Trigger groans loudly. “That is disgusting.”
“She’ll love it.”
The response comes quickly.
Jesus. That was smooth enough; you probably practiced it in a mirror first.
Dash clutches his chest dramatically. “She gets me.”
Trigger laughs into his whiskey. Rain crashes against the roof overhead hard enough to drown out the music for a second. Lightning flashes through the clubhouse windows, washing the room pale blue before darkness settles back in.
I take the phone from Dash before he sends something even dumber. The screen glows against my palm, the phone warm. I send off a message, trying to find out where she might live without giving away that I have no idea who she is or where she is. For all we know, she might live out of state.
Did you text because you’re scared of the storm?
The typing bubble appears again.
Well, that was an abrupt change of tone.
Dash points immediately. “See? She knows there are multiple personalities happening.”
I ignore him and type back:
I’m just working out what you need.
The response comes almost instantly.
Mm. There he is.
Something low twinges in my stomach at that. Not the words, though they are arousing, it’s the familiarity of them, the ease. It feels like she’s already telling us apart without realizing it.
Dash notices my expression immediately and grins wider. “Oh, Chief likes this one.”
“I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“She could be hideous,” Trigger suggests happily. Either way, he’d pursue this as long as it entertains him.
“Didn’t say you did. But I bet she’s hot, she sounds hot,” Dash says with authority.
Thunder rattles the windows hard enough to shake the bottles behind the bar.
Daggers of rain slice inside, spattering the entrance every time the front door opens.
Somewhere behind us, two prospects argue loudly over their game of pool.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a club bunny lazily dancing, her miniskirt covering only the barest of skin.
She catches my eye and crooks her finger in invitation.
I shake my head, turning my attention away from her disappointed pout.
Like me, every man at the table is focused on the same glowing screen. The phone buzzes again.
So what exactly are you doing tonight besides taunting me?
Dash leans forward instantly. “Tell her you’re knitting.”
Trigger snorts beer through his nose. I ignore both of them.
Sitting around bored. Storm knocked half the town dead tonight.
Three dots appear, then disappear. I hold my breath.
I like storms.
Trigger points at the screen. “See? She’s got taste.”
“Doesn’t scare easily either,” Shadow notes.
Lightning flashes again outside, bright enough to illuminate the row of bikes parked beneath the awning. Rainwater drips steadily from leather jackets hanging by the door.
The phone buzzes again.
Especially late at night. It makes everything feel quieter.
The room goes still for a second after that.
She sounds lonely. I regret my earlier message.
Dash’s grin fades just slightly around the edges.
I stare at the message longer than I should.
Suddenly, I can picture her. Curled up somewhere warm, a glass of wine in her hand, while rain hits the windows.
Alone. Waiting for something, but not sure what.
Trigger reaches for the whiskey bottle and pours us all a healthy glug. “Well, now I’m invested.”
“Of course you are,” Shadow mutters.
“Don’t act like you’re not reading over his shoulder too. You want to talk to her.”
Shadow says nothing, which means yes.
I type before I can think too hard about why I care.
I’ll keep you company.
Dash whistles, clapping his hands together. “That’s more like it.”
Her reply makes us all grin.
And risk getting wet coming over?
“My turn!” Trigger yells, snatching the phone out of my hand.
We all know exactly what he’s likely to reply with, and we spring into action, desperately trying to get it off him. Trigger whoops with delight, attracting glances from the rest of the bar as he dances out of our way. My fingers close around his shirt, the fabric tears, but it’s too late.
“Sent,” he says triumphantly, turning the phone around to proudly show us his handywork.
I wouldn’t be the only one…
We collectively groan.
“Well, it could have been worse,” Dash reasons.
“How exactly?” I grunt.
“I could have been more explicit,” Trigger suggests, returning his focus to the screen.
Thankfully, Shadow gets there first. His meaty palm clamps around Trigger’s wrist, steely gray eyes fixing on Trigger’s.
Shadow is the only one of us who can get Trigger to back off once he’s becoming reckless.
We’ve known each other too long, fighting like brothers instead, but something about Shadow’s stoic presence calms Trigger.
Reluctantly, Trigger hands the phone over.
The screen remains blank. “He’s blown it,” Dash grumbles.
But then, three dots appear. Shadow’s bemused expression echoes mine. “She’s typing a reply.”