by Hope Stone
She was even prettier than I had remembered. Or she had gotten prettier in the last few days.
Either way, I couldn’t help but grin when she opened the door. She was wearing an oversized sweater, her hair loose and slightly tousled. She was ready for a comfy night in, and I loved it. My stomach warmed at the thought of how nice it would be to skip the whole awkward dating phase and get straight to the cuddling on the couch phase.
“Hey,” she said.
“I,” I said. “I got wine.”
She quirked an eyebrow and gave me a saucy grin as she ushered me inside. She shut the door behind me. “I had you pegged as a beer guy.”
“Well, I assumed you were a wine girl,” I said.
I stood still once I was inside. Memories of the last time I was there rushed to the forefront of my mind. The heat and the tension and how I had lifted her up while she wrapped her legs around my waist. We had both been too tipsy for any awkwardness then, but now I didn’t quite know how to stand or where to put the wine I was gripping in one hand.
“Good guess,” Claire said. “And you even got red, my favorite.”
“I thought about rosé,” I said.
Claire let out a little snort. “Don’t insult me.”
She grabbed the wine and waved one hand towards the couch. “Take a seat. I’ll open this and then we can decide on food.”
I wandered over to her couch and sat down. After a moment of thought, I scooched forward and took off my leather jacket. I was wearing a worn white T-shirt and jeans. I folded my jacket neatly and placed it on the arm of the couch.
I ran my palm over the smooth dark brown leather and gazed at the maps on the wall. I remembered the maps from the other night, but I hadn’t bothered to look at them too closely since I’d been pretty distracted. I scanned them now. California. Europe. A massive world map.
For some reason, the decor made sense for Claire.
She padded across the floor with the open wine in one hand and two glasses in her other hand. I admired her pale little feet as she plopped down on the couch.
“I like your maps,” I said.
“Thanks!” She flashed me a grin that made my heart speed up.
“You travel a lot?” I asked.
“No, but I want to,” Claire said. “I wanna have a massive map with little pins in every place I’ve been.”
It made sense. She was an adventurer at heart. “You from California originally?”
I cringed at the question. I had been eager to skip dating, but somehow I still asked the most typical First Date Question.
“Yeah, up north though,” Claire said. “I fled to LA as soon as I could.”
“Why?” I asked.
She shrugged and tucked her feet up under her, leaning closer as she did. I caught the scent of her shampoo, a combination of mint and florals.
“I wanted excitement I guess,” she said. “I thought LA would be big and glitzy like the movies.”
“And it let you down?” I asked.
Claire frowned. She leaned forward and poured two glasses of wine. “Everything lets me down eventually. But I still get my hopes up about the next thing.”
She handed me a glass and I took a sip. I didn’t usually drink wine, but I hadn’t wanted to show up with a six-pack of Budweisers. Claire would have been game, but it would have felt too much like a night with the brothers. Claire was anything but a leather-clad biker dude.
“What about you?” she asked. “What’s your story?”
“La Playa born and raised,” I said. “Not much of a story.”
“You’re an accountant in a notorious biker club,” Claire said. “You’ve gotta have stories.”
She raised her glass to her lips and peered at me with her massive blue eyes as she took a sip.
“I guess it’s the norm for me,” I said. “The bikers are all I’ve ever known.”
“But why did you join?” she asked.
I frowned at the space in front of me. I hadn’t expected to get deep life questions, but I didn’t mind. From any other chick I was hooking up with, I would have been annoyed. I would have wanted to cut it with the deep history and emotional reasoning and just get to the physical.
But I liked the way Claire asked as if she really wanted to know, just to know. She wasn’t asking to fill the silence or to be polite. She had a burning curiosity, and it was directed at me. I was flattered.
“I wanted a family I guess,” I said.
I shocked myself at my own honesty and felt an instant wave of embarrassment. I didn’t want to be a mopey guy talking about all his baggage.
“Not that I don’t have a family,” I said. “I have my mom, and she’s great, I just wanted more camaraderie I guess. I never had any siblings by blood.”
Claire nodded with eagerness. “Me neither. I used to pretend I had like 7 brothers and sisters, I would even make up names and personalities for all of them.”
I had an image of a tiny blonde Claire carrying on an imaginary argument with an invisible sibling and smiled. “Which one was your favorite?”
“I had this awesome older brother,” Claire said. “Once we hopped into train cars and rode the rails like they used to do in the olden days.”
“That’s sort of why I got into bikes,” I said. “I wanted to be able to just take off with my good friends and go anywhere.”
Claire’s eyes turned dreamy, and she let out a little sigh. “It sounds lovely.”
“It is,” I said.
There was a beat of silence in which we simply locked eyes. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. It was more like we were seeing each other for who we were, in the light of the day, away from a dance club or a bar or fancy restaurant.
“Well, enough about the residual scars of childhood,” Claire said with a wry grin. “What should we eat?”
In a matter of minutes, Claire produced an array of take-out menus. To my delight, she had anecdotes and reviews about nearly every single one. One place had great pizza, but it was a long wait. A Thai food restaurant was her go-to on lazy Sundays.
I laughed at all of Claire’s pithy comments. At last, we opted for Chinese food. I was happy to discover that Claire and I had the same philosophy when it came to ordering Chinese food. We selected several dishes and didn’t worry about having too much since we could always eat leftovers. We ordered sesame chicken, dumplings, fried rice, crab rangoon, and beef with broccoli.
Once we had placed the order, I felt myself relaxing around Claire. She was easy to be around, and it was clear that she wasn’t uncomfortable. She flicked on the TV and we surfed the channels for a while, but mostly we just chatted about our respective jobs and friends and living in La Playa. I told Claire that Kim was recovering quite nicely as she described her colleague, Veronica.
“I have to ask,” Claire said. “What is the deal with Moves?”
I laughed at her bemused expression. “He’s simultaneously the best and the worst.”
“I mean, when he dragged me over that first night, I had no idea what was going on,” Claire said. “Obviously, I went with it, ‘cause I was pursuing Trey, but I swear no one has ever wing manned with such confidence.”
“Confident, yes,” I said. “But not subtle.”
“I mean, I guess it kinda worked in the end,” Claire said.
I looked up with a start. It was the first time either one of us had referenced the night we had spent just a few yards away, in her bedroom.
“Not really thanks to Moves though,” I said.
“I’m sure he would disagree,” she said.
“Yeah, he would,” I said.
I shook my head and smiled over my friend. “He’s a good guy though.”
“Yeah, definitely charming,” she said.
“Don’t let that fool you,” I said. “There are a lot of guys in East La Playa that would not call Moves charming.”
Claire furrowed her brow in puzzlement.
“He’s our enforcer,” I said.
“So he’s, like, your muscle?” she asked.
I shrugged. “He’s the one who makes sure enemies stay in line. He’s a fighter.”
“Oh.” Claire didn’t look horrified or judgmental. Just curious once again. “I didn’t know everyone had roles.”
“Not the newer members, but most of us do, yeah,” I said.
Most people who weren’t familiar with biker clubs were surprised at our organization. Most outsiders figured we just fucked around on our bikes, but it took structure to keep a club going strong.
“But obviously the accountant is the most badass,” Claire said. “Even more badass than the enforcer.”
I grinned at her sarcasm. I liked how she was game to joke about anything and everything.
“Technically, my official title is Treasurer,” I said, matching her mocking tone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Treasurer,” Claire said.
Just then her phone rang and Claire leapt up with a cry that the food had arrived. The next few minutes were a flurry of opening all the dishes and filling our plates.
What would it be like, I found myself wondering, to spend every evening like this? Not bad, I realized. It wouldn’t be bad at all.
I peered over at Claire as she wielded her chopsticks like an expert to scoop up a pork dumpling. Once we had settled back on the couch with our food, Claire started flipping through the TV channels again.
“Wait, stop!” I cried out. “It’s Shark Tank!”
“Really?” she asked.
“It’s amazing,” I said. “I watched it once when I was home sick, and now I’m addicted.”
The episode featured a few guys who had designed a special kind of surfboard.
“They are so bad at public speaking,” Claire said.
“Yeah, they’ll never get an offer,” I said. “Being able to sell yourself is just as important as the product.”
One episode bled into another, and pretty soon we were both offering our opinions on business products as if we were the experts. During one commercial break, we cleared up the dishes and put away the leftover food. During another one, we refilled our wine glasses.
Somehow, we ended up sitting closer. I had my legs out in front of me and one arm slung over the back of the couch while Claire sat cross-legged, her one knee grazing my thigh. When I was done with my wine, I leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table. As I leaned back, I grazed Claire’s knee with my fingers, as gently as I could. I looked up to see how she had responded.
Her company was nice (even better than I had thought it would be), but I had come over for a reason. Claire gave me a small smile and leaned even closer. She shifted herself until she had turned on the couch and was facing me. I reached up and placed my hand on her neck. I could see the wine had stained the inside of her lips a deep red.
Her lips brushed mine, soft and sweet, and I pulled her closer. It was different kissing her sober. In fact, it was better. I was able to feel more and taste more. I was hyper aware of her soft and full lower lip, and the gentle sighs escaping from her mouth. Every second seemed so filled with sensation.
There was no frenzy like before. No rush to go all the way before we missed our chance. We enjoyed ourselves, and we went slowly.
After a long while, I pulled away to see that Claire had somehow wormed her way into my lap, her legs hanging over my far leg. My arms were wrapped around her waist, and her warm torso was pressed against my chest.
She blinked up at me and smiled. “You wanna watch more Shark Tank?”
And so we did, but Claire stayed ensconced in my arms.
“So what would you invent?” she asked. “For Shark Tank.”
“Probably a cleaning product,” I said. “Those always do pretty well.”
“But that’s boring,” Claire said. “Also you have to be specific.”
“I don’t know enough about cleaning,” I said.
“Ugh, you would never get an offer.” I could tell she was smiling even though she was faced away from me; I could sense it.
“What would you invent?” I asked.
“Maybe a home lie detector test,” Claire said. “So all the desperate wives who hire me can just scan their husbands with an app and know they’re full of bull.”
“How would that even work?” I asked.
“I dunno, I would hire engineers or computer scientists to figure it out,” she said.
Sometimes we would kiss a bit, sometimes just watch. It went on like that for a while, and eventually the combination of kissing, wine, and Chinese food lulled me into a drowsy state of peace.
Before I knew it, I was on my back and drifting off to sleep, Claire dozing against my chest.
Claire
I was surprised by how the night with Pin went, but I was happy with it all. It felt right. Right for me and right for the case. It was bad that I was conflating my interests with an investigation, but I could worry about that later after I had tracked down the missing kids.
When I woke up in his arms on the couch, sunlight trickling through the shades, I didn’t get up right away. I was so comfortable, and his chest was so warm as if there was a compact furnace beneath his skin.
Then I pushed myself up and padded towards the bathroom. I touched my neck and massaged a crick from the awkward sleeping position. Next time, we were totally getting to the bed.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I was so sure there would be a next time. I was looking forward to the next time. And it wasn’t just because of the case.
Pin and I got along. Yes, we already had chemistry as demonstrated by the night out with Kim, but last night had been more than just physical attraction. He was easy to talk to, but also interesting. I couldn’t quite figure him out.
I peeked out of the bathroom to study his sleeping form. He didn’t snore, I noted with glee. He just breathed heavily, his chest rising with each inhale. I shook my head and ducked into my bedroom. Watching a sleeping male was a particular brand of obsessive that I did not want to be a part of.
I reminded myself to focus. After all, what had I learned last night? The club was like family for Pin. That kind of thing sounds cute on the surface, but not when you think about all the twisted contracts involved in a family. People committed all manner of sins for family. And they’ll do anything to hide the sins of their family too.
I had also learned that Moves was the enforcer. A fighter. Violence seethed beneath his charming smiles. That had shocked me, and I’m not easily surprised.
The bikers had freedom. That’s what Pin had meant, I thought, when he spoke about being able to just get on his bike and ride somewhere with his brothers. That part had sounded nice honestly. But not nice enough to make me forget that teenagers were missing and someone was responsible.
I hadn’t learned much else about the club. I had gained a lot more intel on Pin. Like he was raised by a single mother, but there was some tension there. I had seen it in his eyes. He liked Shark Tank and was funny too. And a good kisser, but then I had known that before. The other bikers were like his blood.
I sighed and started to change my clothes. There was really only one thing to be done. I had to spend more time with Pin and gain his trust. That was the only way I was going to learn more about Outlaw Souls. I couldn’t complain. I was going to enjoy spending time with Pin. In fact, it was possible that I was going to have too much fun.
When I emerged from my bedroom, he was sitting up on the couch, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He ran one hand through his rumpled hair, and my stomach somersaulted. God, he was cute in the morning.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry I stayed the night.”
“It’s ok,” I said. “It was nice even.”
“I know, but I didn’t mean to.” His mouth had pressed into a stern line as if he was mad at himself. I didn’t want him to beat himself up. I had wanted him to stay.
I flashed a sunny smile as I walked over. “Then let’s pretend that you left
and then just came back really early.”
That made him chuckle. I was getting good at cheering him up. He had trust issues, that was clear. He didn’t like getting close to anyone, especially in a romantic way. I was going to have to get him to let down his walls just a little bit if I was ever going to gain useful information about the club. Being able to make him smile was a good start. We had a ways to go, but I did love a challenge.
“Alright,” Pin said. “I came back early to make you breakfast.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Where’s your frying pan? I’ll make eggs.”
He stood up and headed towards my kitchen with a downright sexy confidence. I was a terrible cook. I lived off of microwave meals and takeout leftovers. I showed Pin the frying pan and told him he could have free reign of my fridge. He pulled out the eggs, grabbed some onions, tomatoes, and cheese and then set to work.
I decided I would make coffee since that was the one culinary thing that I could do quite well. I watched Pin while I scooped the grinds into my machine. He was so tall and muscled, but he looked comfortable over a stovetop. The amount of focus he gave to dicing onions was endearing.
“So when did you pick up your cooking skills?” I asked.
“Ok, I don’t have skills,” Pin said. “I just know how to make a few solid dishes. Breakfast omelet, pasta with sauce, chicken and pesto. That kind of thing.”
“That’s more than I know,” I said.
Pin gave me a wry look. “I’m not surprised after I saw the random sweaters in your oven.”
“It’s ideal storage space!” I protested.
Pin just shook his head and continued his work. We sat down at my small table to eat, and I had to give him credit. The eggs scrambled up with the onions, cheese and tomatoes were amazing. I told him as much.
“Would have been better with bacon or ham,” he said.
“Next time.” I didn’t miss his pleased expression at the idea of a next time.
“Your coffee is good too,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said.
After we had finished eating, we cleaned up. It was nice, but it was getting all a bit humdrum. I had never acted like this much of a married couple with a guy I had just met. I was wondering what came next. Did we just say goodbye? Or were we going to make plans?