by Gemma Weir
“What happened between you and Taylor?” Park asks.
“We had a disagreement. About you actually. It’s the first time we’ve really ever fallen out since we met,” I say, a sudden rasp in my voice as tears clog my throat. A large arm settles across my shoulders and Park pulls me into his hard chest. His touch is unexpected, but I can’t help but lean into him, enjoying his comfort.
“She’s pretty cut up too,” he whispers into the top of my head. “Maybe you should go up there and sort things out instead of leaving?”
Shaking my head, I pull away from his embrace. “No, we both need some space. She said some pretty harsh and uncalled for things last night. I’ll forgive her, but I’m not ready to talk to her yet.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Smoke says, his playful smile replaced with a sympathetic one.
“What?” both Park and I say at the same time.
“Yeah, come chill with us for a while, then call your girl later. If you make up, we’ll bring you back; if not, we can help you find a decent hotel.”
A polite rejection is on the tip of my tongue. I know I should say no, but apart from Taylor I don’t know a soul in Texas. I don’t know the area, or honestly what I plan to do that doesn’t involve calling my brother and begging him to rescue me.
I look to Park and he nods, “Come with us, Rosebud. You can decide what to do later.”
“Why do you keep calling me Rosebud? You know my name’s Rosie, right?”
Park’s eyes lazily scan my face, then his lips curl into a smile. “I know your name, little Rosebud.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t, and for some reason a blush stains my cheeks.
Lifting his hand, Park brushes at my heated skin with his knuckles. “Come with us.”
My head moves without thought. I nod and his smile grows wider and for some reason I feel like everything is going to be okay.
“Let’s get out of here then, those security guards look like they’re getting twitchy again,” Smoke says with a smirk and a mock salute to the two guards who are watching us warily.
The guys walk on either side of me and we must make a ridiculous sight. Park towers over my five-foot-three frame to my left, but Smoke looks like a giant on my right. Looking down at my cute ballet pumps, I wish I was wearing my skyscraper heels; not that an extra six inches would really make any difference.
I know I should have expected it, but I still stumble slightly in surprise when the two huge black motorcycles come into view.
“You ride with Park. I’ll strap your bag onto the back of mine,” Smoke says.
I turn my attention to Park. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” I say stupidly.
His lips twitch into a small smile. “You gonna be okay?”
I nod, my chin bobbing up and down quickly. Park throws his leg over his bike, then holds his hand out for me. “Climb on, Rosebud. Put your foot here,” he says pointing to a part of his bike.
Nodding, I place my hand on his shoulder, stepping as close to the bike as I can, then I pause. The motorcycle dwarfs me and despite me being fairly agile, I still can’t see a way for me to climb on without a ladder or at least a step.
“You okay?” Park asks.
“Err, yeah. It’s just that the bike is huge, and I’m… not.” I say, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Loud chuckles come from both men and I scowl at them. “Shut up. It’s not my fault I’m vertically challenged,” I hiss. This invokes another laugh from them both. “You’re both dicks,” I say, my hands on my hips as I turn to walk away.
“Hold up,” Smoke calls, quickly jumping off his bike and jogging toward me. In the blink of an eye, he lifts me off the ground and places me on to the bike’s leather seat. “There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheeky lift of his eyebrows.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing Park’s shoulder for support before I spin to the side, straddling the bike and placing my feet where Park had said.
“Arms around my waist,” Park says, as he reaches back and grabs one of my hands.
I do as he says, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist and clamping my knees to his side.
“You good?” Park asks as the engine roars to life.
“I think so.”
“Hold on tight.”
His words are my only warning, and seconds later we’re moving, the bike eating up the asphalt as the hotel fades into the background behind us. Riding on a motorcycle is nothing like I expected it to be. It’s loud and the wind is rushing at us. The roar of the bike’s engine is monstrously noisy and vibrates through every inch of the machine beneath me. But despite that, it’s also exhilarating. My hair is blowing behind me, the warm sun beats down overhead, and the warmth of Park’s back is soothing where I’m wrapped around him.
I never considered myself to be the type of person who would enjoy any kind of vehicle other than a car but riding on the back of Park’s motorcycle has completely converted me. When we pull up to the clubhouse, I find I’m disappointed that the ride is over and that I’d love to do it again, only next time maybe Park would let me drive.
It takes me a moment to process that he’s brought me to the biker club. I’m not sure where I expected us to go, and really, I should have established that before I climbed onto the back of his bike, but it’s too late for that now. “Is it okay for me to be here?” I ask.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Smoke answers, striding toward me and plucking me from the back of the bike like I weigh nothing at all.
“Really?” I say, as he places me on my feet, my legs a little wobbly now that I’m on firm ground again.
“Its fine, Rosebud. The girls will be getting lunch ready soon, so we can have a few drinks, maybe play some pool before we eat,” Park says, placing a hand against the base of my spine and guiding me forward.
“Err, okay,” I agree, stepping free of his touch and following a grinning Smoke into the building. Unlike last night, the room is practically empty with only a couple of guys sitting in groups on the large leather sofas chatting and drinking coffee. I’m surprised. The normalness of the situation is unexpected, and I think I’d just assumed that this place would always hold the debauchery I’d witnessed the last couple of nights.
“Rosie, what do you want to drink?” Smoke asks.
“Just a soda please.”
He nods, then looks to Park. “Beer, or you need something stronger after this morning?”
“Beer,” Park replies.
Smoke walks away and I turn to look at Park. “Did something happen this morning with Taylor?”
He scoffs and turns away from me, walking across the room to the pool table in the corner. Unsure what else to do, I follow after him, pausing at the side of the table as he racks the balls.
“You could say that,” he answers wryly.
“Is she okay?” I ask, suddenly worried about my friend, and feeling like an idiot for leaving with these two strangers rather than checking on her.
“She’s fine. Or at least she will be once she deals with some of her shit, instead of ignoring it. Although I guess I’m just as guilty of doing that as her.” Park says, a weariness creeping into his slumped shoulders and resigned voice.
“She told you about the wedding then?” I say, idly running my fingers over the fabric of the pool table.
“Wedding?” He asks. “Who’s getting married?”
“Taylor is, to Derek Matherson. You went to school with him, I guess.”
“She’s marrying Derek fucking Matherson?” he cries.
“Err, yeah. They’ve, err, they’ve been together since high school.”
He scoffs, shaking his head and his eyes drift to mine. For a second, I swear I can see a hint of something—jealousy perhaps—but it’s gone a second later.
“You know him then?”
“I did ten years ago before I left, and I can guess what type of man he is now.”
“Oh,” I murmur, unsure what else to say.
Luckily Smoke returns with the drinks, handing me a large glass of soda and ice. “Thank you.”
He flashes me another cheeky smile, then steps past me and hands a cold bottle of beer to Park. “So, Rosie, where are you from?”
“LA. A small town by the coast.”
“You got a job, a husband, 2.4 kids?”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Yes to the job. No to the husband and children.”
“Let me guess,” he says, appraising me with his eyes. “Lawyer.”
A loud laugh escapes from my lips and I shake my head.
“Hmmm,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he stares at me. “Doctor?”
“Ewwww no, too much blood and guts for me.”
“Florist,” Smoke says with a shrug.
I shake my head again, “Not even close. I’m a journalist.”
My eyes flick between both men and I swallow the amusement I feel at their obviously shocked expressions.
“Well, sweetheart, I wasn’t expecting that. Do you work for a newspaper, or a glossy?” Smoke asks.
“I write for a small-town newspaper. It’s not exactly hard-hitting war reporting, but it’s steady and I’m comfortable.”
“Steady and comfortable. Sounds fucking awful,” Park sneers, his eyes focused on the balls on the table and not on me.
“No, it’s… it’s good. I have a job, I make rent. That’s more than a lot of people can say in this climate.” I snap, feeling defensive.
“Uh-huh,” Park says.
Our eyes lock, but I can’t hold his gaze, so I look away.
Sensing the tension, Smoke claps his hands together, shattering the stifling silence that has fallen between us. “Okay then, what are we playing for? Bragging rights, money, sexual favors?” He winks at me and I blush.
“I’ll play to win, if you pair start kissing if I do.” I say, with a smirk.
Smoke smiles as he circles the pool table until he reaches Park’s side. He slides his arm around Park’s shoulders then locks his gaze with mine. “Sorry, sweetness, Lucky Charms isn’t my type.” Then he smacks a loud kiss against Park’s cheek with a laugh.
A giggle escapes me as Park wipes at his cheek with his hand and shoves at Smoke’s shoulder playfully. “So how about we play twenty questions pool? Every time someone pots a ball you get to ask a question.” Smoke suggests.
Park looks at me and I shrug. I’m not sure why I need to get to know either of these guys, but I’m not averse to making new friends, even if they aren’t the type of people I’d normally hang out with.
“Sure, why not,” I say, lifting my glass to my lips and taking a drink of the cold soda.
Park’s grin makes butterflies bloom to life in my stomach, and for a second my thoughts turn to Taylor. I’m angry at her. She’s lied to me again and again, manipulated me, all so she can sleep with this man. He’s nothing but an item to be checked off a list, her unicorn. The idea of only seeing Park as a conquest feels wrong. Even in the short time I’ve known him, I can tell he’s not someone who could be dismissed that easily. Everything about the way he looks screams loud and in-your-face, but from what I’ve seen so far, his personality is nothing like that. He has a quiet way about him; not stoic or subdued, more that he doesn’t need to be gregarious to be heard.
Smoke lines up the white ball and breaks. We all watch as a single ball darts away from the group and slides effortlessly into the corner pocket. “Well, would you look at that,” Smoke gloats with a smug grin.
“Why do I feel like I’m being played?” I say, eyeing the two men suspiciously.
Both of the guys laugh loudly, and I roll my eyes, grabbing a cue and taking my place at the table.
“Not so quick, Rosebud. Smoke hasn’t asked you a question yet.” Park says, his Irish accent made more musical by the clear amusement in it.
“Okay,” Smoke says, rubbing his hands together and pursing his lips. “Is that your real hair color or a great dye job?”
I laugh and run my hand through my hair. “Nope, this is real. I have the childhood scars to prove it.”
“Scars?” Park asks.
“Metaphorical, not literal. I was a pale-skinned, freckled kid, with bright orange hair. I was a walking target for every bully and mean girl in my school.”
“Well, that must have sucked.” Smoke says, sympathy in his eyes.
Flapping my hand dismissively, I scoff. “Show me a kid who wasn’t bullied over something trivial at school. I’m not too traumatized and I love my hair. I’d never dye it; I barely have it cut.”
“Don’t change it, it’s beautiful,” Park says, reaching out and running his finger down a wayward strand.
I follow his movement with my eyes. Normally if a stranger touched my hair, I’d slap their hand away, but this is the second time Park has done it and strangely, I find that I don’t mind. His touch doesn’t feel sexual, and weirdly, I don’t even feel like he’s actually looking at me. It’s more like he’s drawn to the color, or texture, or something. “I won’t,” I finally say, as he pulls his hand away.
He steps back and I feel cold without him close. The pool cue is still clamped in my hand and with some effort, I lift it and turn to the table. Eyeing the balls, I spot an easy strike and quickly line up the cue, sending the ball sailing into the pocket.
Smoke whistles through his teeth. “Sweetheart, I think maybe we’re the ones being played here.”
Giggling, I twist so my butt is resting against the table. “I worked in a bar all through college; I played a lot of pool after closing.”
“She’s a total shark,” Smoke says to Park with a grin. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
“In my defense, it’s on you if you assumed I couldn’t play.”
“She’s got you there.” Park laughs.
“Okay, so…” I wrinkle my brow trying to decide on a question. “How long have you guys been part of this club?”
Both men turn and smirk at each other, then look back to me. Park speaks first. “I’ve been a member for almost eight years.”
“Seven for me,” Smoke offers. “I prospected not long after Park.”
“Prospected?”
“Anyone who wants to become a member has to prove themselves. You have to serve the club as a prospect, basically a trainee without any of the benefits, for as long as it takes for the club to trust you and see you as an asset and an ally.” Park says.
“Wow, I had no idea. How long does that take?”
“There’s no fixed time. It really just depends on the person.” Smoke replies, before lifting his beer to his lips.
“Well, how long were you guys prospects?” I ask, intrigued.
“Fuck if I remember. A year? Somewhere around that.” Smoke replies.
I turn and look at Park. “Eighteen months,” he says.
“Wow, that’s a lot of commitment with no guarantees.”
“The gift of faith is part of the test,” Park replies.
I nod, because it makes sense. Waiting without any assurances is an act of faith and I can see why that would be important when trying to enter this kind of institution. I don’t really know anything about biker clubs, but to the best of my very limited knowledge, I assume it’s a lifelong commitment, and this extended waiting period for acceptance suggests that they don’t take admittance lightly.
Park pushes up from his perch against the wall and strides toward the table, his long legs eating up the short distance. His tattooed, lean body folds over the table as he lines up his shot, sinking a difficult ball into the center pocket. When he turns his gaze on me, his eyes are full of mischief. “You got any tattoos, little Rosebud?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“None at all?” Smoke asks, shocked.
“Nope. I’ve always wanted one, but I could never find what I wanted and honestly, I didn’t feel comfortable just walking into any random tattoo shop and trusting them to do a good job.”
“Virgin skin,” Park says, a wistfulness i
n his voice that seems a little strange.
Smoke drains the rest of his beer, placing the empty bottle down on a shelf along the wall. Grabbing his cue, he looks at the balls on the table, tilting his head to the side before stepping to the right, pausing, and then walking further around the table and lining up his shot. Striking the cue ball, he groans when it hits off-center, sending the ball careening past the pocket and back into the center of the fabric. “Well fuck, who wants another drink?”
Park holds up his bottle signaling for another, while I shake my head. Smoke turns and walks to the bar as I take up position at the table and quickly pot another ball.
“You could clear this table right now, couldn’t you?” Park asks, his eyes warm but assessing.
“Probably,” I answer honestly.
“I like you, Rosebud. You’re not what I was expecting.”
“My name’s Rosie.”
“I know.”
“What were you expecting?” I ask, reaching for the chalk and covering the tip of the cue in the blue powder.
“I guess I thought you’d be more like Taylor.”
“And what’s Taylor like?” I ask, unsure how I’ll react to his words.
Park sighs and the sound is weary and anguished. “Complicated,” he finally says, rubbing at his temple with his fingers.
“And you don’t think I’m complicated?” I say, raising my eyebrow and smirking.
He laughs, but the sound seems forced. “Maybe, but in a very different way.”
“Aren’t you happy to see her?”
“I left for a reason. Her coming here has made me question that. I’ve buried my head in the sand for ten fucking years and now I don’t even know why.”
When our eyes meet, his are full of turmoil and confusion. I want to question him, but it’s not my place. We don’t know each other, but despite everything Taylor has done, she’s still my friend. I know she won’t move on from this crazy unicorn idea without some kind of closure with this guy, her childhood friend. “Why did you leave?”
The words are out of my mouth and it’s too late to take them back, but I wish I could. Park’s whole body tenses, like the words are a physical blow.