Thirty seconds later, I make an abrupt turn into the parking lot and pull into the first spot I see. Throwing the car into park, I turn to Bash and nod towards the passenger door.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I tell him.
Laughing, he rolls his eyes at me and leans over the console. My body instantly goes on high alert as he invades my space.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
He flashes me another smile, one that makes my knees knock together and wordlessly releases my seatbelt. A whimper or maybe a sigh, I’m not sure, escapes my throat as he leans back and studies my surely flushed face.
“You don’t expect me to go in there alone, do you? If you want me to be quick, I’m going to need your help or else I’ll aimlessly roam the entire store.”
I suppose there is some truth to that. He doesn’t know where anything is and if I point him in the right direction, we’ll be rid of each other quicker. I can go back to my lonely apartment. Maybe take a trip to the laundromat until Chaz wakes and wants to commence our Netflix marathon of Lucifer. God, that sounds pathetic.
“Fine,” I relent, ignoring the victorious grin spreading across his lips. Thankfully the rain seems to have let up, so I remove my hood when I get out of the car. I start for Miggy’s convenience store, but Bash tags my hand and pulls me in the other direction.
“What are you doing?”
“Change in plans,” he says, drawing me closer. I glance down at our joined hands and back at his face. He pays me no mind as he continues to walk, tugging me along. “Coffee, remember?”
“Miggy’s has coffee.”
“Yes, but do they have root beer floats? I suddenly got a hankerin’ for one.”
Confused, I look towards the storefront opposite of Miggy’s and spot the Stewarts sign. Before I know it, we’re inside the chain restaurant and Bash is telling the hostess we need a table for two. She quickly leads us to a booth and drops two menus in front of us. Bash doesn’t even look at the menu before ordering two coffees and two root beer floats. Naturally, the waitress disappears to fill the drink order before I can object or order a glass of water. A sigh escapes me as I stare across the table at Bash. Looking rather proud of himself, he winks at me and slides one of the menus closer to me.
“If I would’ve asked you to breakfast, you would’ve said no and probably would’ve dumped me at that intersection where you almost flipped the car,” he says.
I cringe. So, he did notice our brush with death. Okay, he’s perceptive. I suppose it’s a good quality to have.
“So, you don’t need to go to the store? This was all some big plan to get me to go out with you?”
“I do, but I’m also starving, and I don’t really like to eat alone.” He pauses to cock his head to the side, carefully choosing his next words. “Look, Lydia, I got your message. You wanted a one-night stand, nothing more, but I’m here now and it seems like it might be a permanent arrangement,” he adds, pointing to the patches on the left side of his kutte. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other with you working at Kate’s and me living upstairs from the bar. Is there really any harm in having breakfast together? I promise I won’t put the moves on you.”
Surprisingly, I’m disappointed by that. I know, you’re probably saying, ‘make up your mind, Lydia,’ but it’s complicated. I like Bash. I like that he’s different from the other Knights, that there is a calmness to him. He doesn’t appear to be a player. He feels safe. But I can’t let myself get wrapped up in any of that.
Maybe he’s right. I mean it’s only one meal. I’m not going to fall in love with him over a stack of pancakes or in my case, egg whites
“It’s not really breakfast time anymore,” I reply.
The smile is instant, and I second guess the whole falling in love over breakfast foods thing. That smile is everything.
“Good, I’m in the mood for a greasy hamburger.”
“The cure to any hangover,” I reply with a smile.
“Exactly.”
One meal.
And luckily, neither one of us seems to be in the mood for pancakes or egg whites.
-Eight-
Bash
I may have gone a bit overboard when I ordered half the menu, but to be fair, I don’t remember the last time I ate. I also figured Lydia would help me pack some this away. However, she’s barely touched the salad she ordered. Shoving another fry into my mouth, I watch as she moves her fork around the plate. At first, I thought she was just picking out the tomatoes, but now as she adds five cucumbers to her pile of tomatoes, I’m not sure what the fuck she’s doing.
“So, what made you decide to come back here? I’m not hip on the whole motorcycle club stuff. Is it like the army? Were you honorably discharged from the Charon’s or something?”
I tear my eyes away from her plate and lift my gaze to her pretty face. It’s hard to believe she’s six years my senior when she looks so young. Without a stitch of makeup on and her hair damp from the rain, she can easily pass for a girl in her early twenties.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she continues. “It just seems like a big decision for someone who has just suffered such a big loss.”
“No, you’re right,” I say, lifting the frosted mug full of root beer and ice cream to my lips. Taking another sip, I watch as she cuts a cucumber in half. The girl has some wacky eating habits. I set the mug down and lean back against the booth as she pops the half of cucumber into her mouth. Realizing I’m staring at her, I shake my head and draw in a deep breath before answering her. “My ma was sick for some time,” I share. “Part of me knew her death was inevitable, but it still rattled my world. For so long I was her caretaker. Sure, I had hired a nurse to help with some things, like bathing her and all that, but for the most part, it was just me and ma. When I wasn’t out serving my club or working my nine to five, I was with her and most of the time she had no idea I was even there,” I admit, pausing to shake my head.
Those days when I had to pretend to be my father, were the most gruesome. Having to watch her eyes go soft with love for a man who tormented her, tested me in ways I wasn’t sure I’d overcome. I knew he suffered from PTSD, and I wouldn’t have faulted him for it. After all, he served our country. In the eyes of America, he was a hero but to his only son, he was a vile monster who never got help. He never even admitted there was a problem. He let those demons inside him control him and I watched him beat my mother for years. She’s gone because of him because she took one too many blows to the head. Maybe if he had gotten the help he needed, they’d both be here.
“I’m sorry,” Lydia whispers. “That’s the worst. My grandma had dementia and towards the end, she didn’t know who I was. It was heartbreaking.”
My head lifts at that and I’m surprised when she continues.
“She raised me and loved me when my own parents couldn’t. My gram taught me all of life’s lessons, but she never taught me how to live without her. It’s weird because in the last few months of her life I knew she was slipping. She was there physically but not mentally, yet I could still sit with her. I could hold her hand and look at her face whenever I wanted to. It didn’t matter if she knew I was there or not, in those few moments, I’d relive all the happy memories of my childhood. I’d tell her about the times we laughed and the promises we made to one another. Then she died, and all I was left with was a prayer card…”
Her voice trails and she looks away but not before I catch a glimpse of the tears filling her eyes. Without giving it much thought, I reach across the table and lay my hand over hers.
“Death sucks,” I whisper.
“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, lifting her free hand to her neck. I watch as she pulls a necklace from beneath her hoodie. Her thumb covers the charm that hangs from it, gently caressing the gold square. “Especially when you lose the only person who ever truly loved you.” Turning to me, she sucks in a breath and shakes her head before pulling her hand from underneath mine. “I’m sorry.
You just lost your mother and I’m sitting here—”
“Don’t be sorry,” I quickly interject. “It feels good to talk to someone who understands.” Tipping my chin, I eye the necklace she clutches with the other hand. “Whatcha got there?”
Confusion mars her features as she follows the path of my eyes. She gently releases the charm and I inch forward to get a better look. There, embossed in the gold, is a photo of who I assume is Lydia’s grandmother. Next to her, is an older gentleman who could be Marlon Brando’s twin.
“Are those your grandparents?”
She smiles sadly.
“Yeah, that’s gram and that handsome devil is my grandpa Tony. He died when I was only two, so I don’t really have any memories of him that are my own, but I feel as though I knew him my whole life because he’s all my grandma ever spoke of. Their love was special. It stood the test of time and burned bright even after he passed. I had this charm made for her a couple of years back. She never took it off, just like she never stopped loving him.”
“That’s really beautiful, Lydia,” I say softly as she slips the charm back under her hoodie.
“Thank you. It makes me feel close to her.”
I think about that for a moment. It’s funny how grief hits everyone differently. Across from me sits a woman who is desperate to hold on to the memory of her grandmother and then there’s me, my mother is barely cold in the ground and I’m in another state. I think part of me thought coming here would ease the blow of losing her, but I realize it’s more than that. When you’re someone’s caregiver, it changes you. You live to serve the one you’re losing and after they’re gone, you can’t get back what you gave up. The time. The relationships. They perish with your loved one. Suddenly it hits me, I didn’t come here to escape my grief. I came here to find my purpose in life again. To discover who Bash is these days.
“I don’t know how this conversation turned to me and my grief,” Lydia continues. “I guess I just wanted you to know I get what you’re going through. I suppose that’s why I texted you after I heard about your mom, too.”
My gaze snaps back to her and I watch as she goes back to counting cucumbers or whatever the hell she’s doing with those things.
“I needed that, Lydia,” I admit. “All of it, the text and the story about your grandma. I needed both of those things at the exact moments you gave them to me, so thank you for that. You know, coming here might’ve been one of the craziest things I’ve ever done.”
“Yeah, but sometimes a change of scenery is what we need to start over,” she says.
“Right.”
“I get it,” she whispers.
I nod before dragging a hand over my face.
“God, this is a shitty first date,” I mutter.
Her eyes go wide and she almost chokes on a cucumber.
“This isn’t a date,” she shrieks.
“Sure, it is,” I tell her. “You even ordered a salad to prove it. What’s with that, anyway? Are you allergic to tomatoes or something?” I question as I grab a cheesy breadstick from the plate. I believe she called them mozzarella sticks. Drenching it in marinara sauce, I pop it into my mouth as I watch her stare at her salad like it’s a complicated math equation. A moment later she lifts her head and glances at my plate. Drawing her lower lip between her teeth she inches closer. My brows draw together as I swallow, trying to figure what her next move is, but I get the sense she’s not exactly sure what she’s about to do either.
“Just to be clear,” she starts, pausing to reach across the table. “I ordered a salad so I wouldn’t feel guilty about eating the rest of your burger.” She snatches said burger from my plate and leans back, sinking her perfectly straight teeth into the meat. I swear to Christ, even with the ketchup dripping from her lip, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. A grin spreads across my lips as she moans and takes another bite. My dick enjoys the view too and hardens against the zipper of my jeans.
“Oh yeah,” I rasp. “This is definitely a fucking date.”
With her mouthful, she glares at me.
“It isn’t.”
Yeah, tell that to my dick.
Before I can argue anymore, my phone rings and interrupts the moment. Reaching inside my kutte, I retrieve it and glance at the screen, noting it’s Wolf. A groan rumbles from my throat as I swipe to accept the call, knowing my time with Lydia is likely to be cut short by the man I take my orders from.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” he barks into the phone.
Well, hello to you too, boss man.
“Forget it,” he continues. “Just get your ass back here. Church is in twenty minutes.”
He doesn’t let me get a word out and hurries to disconnect the call, leaving me staring at the phone as if I’ve imagined the whole thing.
“Everything okay?”
“That was Wolf,” I reply, scratching the top of my head. “I’m sorry, but I gotta head back to Kate’s.”
“Duty calls?”
“Something like that,” I say, lifting a hand to get the waitresses attention. She brings me the check and I laugh when Lydia reaches into her jeans for some cash.
“Put your money away.”
“You’re not buying me lunch.”
“You’re stubborn as a mule, aren’t you?” I question as I hand the check back to the waitress with a couple of twenties. “Keep the change, darlin’”
Sliding out of the booth, I rise to my full height and hold out a hand for Lydia. To my surprise, she takes it and allows me to help her out of the booth. I don’t release it. Not when she tries to wiggle it free and not when we walk out of the restaurant. I lead her across the parking lot, and we enter the convenience store hand in hand. Eventually, my luck runs out—right in the middle of the condom aisle, between Trojan King and Extra Sensitive Magnum and she pulls her hand free.
Hey, it was a good run.
-Nine-
Bash
I think I’m growing on Lydia. She didn’t try to kill us with her Corolla on the way back to Kate’s and she hasn’t run me over since I got out of the car. Making my way around to the driver’s side, I motion for her to roll down her window. Truth be told, I’m even starting to dig the eye rolls she loves to toss my way.
Glancing briefly at the bag in my hand from the convenience store, she looks at me expectantly.
“Did you forget something? Lube maybe?”
“Cute, but I get the job done just fine without it, darlin’.”
“Yeah, I remember,” she mutters, slamming a hand over her mouth the instant the words come out. I’m really a fan of the talking out loud thing too. “I’ve gotta go.”
“You sure? Things were just starting to look up,” I reply, purposely letting my eyes travel downward.
“Goodbye, Bash.”
“See you later, Lydia,” I say, knocking my knuckles on the roof of her car. I take another long look at her as I step away from the car, watching as she reverses out of the lot.
“Looks like you decided to go back for seconds after all,” Wolf calls, forcing me to tear my eyes away from Lydia’s car as she peels away from Kate’s. He lifts an eyebrow and waits for me to reply.
“It’s not like that,” I tell him, but the words sound like a lie even to my own ears. In the short time we spent together at Stewart’s, I realized I didn’t just want seconds of Lydia. I wanted the whole fucking story. The beginning I wasn’t part of, the middle we’d write together and the end we’d leave for the world to remember.
Now before you go and write me off as some sort of pussy that believes in fairytales—let me clarify. Happily ever after doesn’t exist. Not in my world. But if life has taught me anything it’s that we’re only here for a short time. Might as well make it a good time. And truth be told, breaking down Lydia’s defenses seems like a fucking damn good time to me. Uncovering her truths and learning her deepest desires, the fucking ride of a lifetime.
“It never is,” Wolf says
clearly amused. “Good luck, though,”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“Lydia is a nice girl, from what we know. If you’re looking for a warm body to sink inside, she’ll do, but she’s got chains around her, Bash. A woman like that will fuck you six ways to Sunday. Chew you up and spit you right the fuck out. You didn’t ask for my two cents but I’m feeling generous, don’t get too attached.”
Yeah, the man doesn’t sugarcoat shit. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t know for certain she’ll wreck me. Lydia and I are just getting to know one another and I’m not even sure I’m staying in New York, there’s no need to sound the alarm. Yet, I say nothing because a pack of bikes charging for Kate’s interrupts my train of thought.
I watch as the Satan’s Knights pull their Harley’s onto the gravel lot and drop their kickstands. My gaze moves from one man to the next, taking in the undeniable hint of mischief playing across their features and the mayhem twirling in their eyes. These new brothers of mine are ready to turn shit up and for some fucking reason, I like that. I like it a fuckuva lot.
It also makes me realize I’ve denied myself for too long.
This soulless bastard is thirsty for trouble.
Bottoms up, motherfucker.
It’s time to drink from Satan’s cup.
Smoothing a hand over my leather vest, I watch as Wolf turns to lead the band of brothers inside of Kate’s. I take my place at the end of the line, behind Nico and we file through the bar. That’s when I notice Riggs is missing. I don’t say anything, though. For all I know the fucker is the type to ride in on a tricycle, blowing a horn. He’s all about grand gestures and making an appearance.
The members follow Wolf down the narrow hallway, and I drop my bag from the convenience store on top of the bar. Nico eyes me curiously for a minute, before moving behind the bar. Silently, he retrieves two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
Shifting Gears (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 1) Page 7