by Evie Bennet
Voice cracking, I said, “That’s okay.” Keeping it together was proving difficult under his thoughtful gaze. My knuckles were turning slightly white with effort not to tremble or reach for him.
“Poetry purposely leaves gaps and I think you’ve created some interesting ones.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that and apparently, neither did he.
“Thank you for sharing it.”
“You’re welcome.”
I shifted, wanting to crawl up inside of myself, to bend, to make myself small. We didn’t talk about it, keeping our chatter vague and light. But I was curious what he thought, what he sensed and felt.
When it was time to go – he had somewhere to be, somewhere not with me, obviously – he walked me to my car and offered me another one-armed hug. The unopened messenger bag slid around his side, tapping my hip.
“So, I’ll see you around?”
My fingers sank into his shoulder blades, yearning to scratch down his bones to cleave my name into his back.
“Yeah. See you around.”
And then his mouth was on the side of my head. Pushing. Pursing. I was so shocked I forgot to breathe.
“Take care.” He smiled, hopping on his bike and glancing back to make sure I remembered to move, to get into my own car. My lips were buzzing. My hair felt itchy. He kissed me. That meant something, right?
It was friendly. It didn’t have to mean that he felt whatever burning connection I did.
But he… it wasn’t like he was the kind of guy to kiss someone’s forehead.
That didn’t mean he loved me, I practically screamed in my own mind. I needed to remember that. I needed to protect myself and him from the intensity of what I wanted instead of what was happening.
He looked puzzled by my frozen stature, maybe embarrassed. Or bemused? Or something.
Once I offered him a wave and a smile, he seemed at ease enough to pull away. I put my forehead against the steering wheel and cried.
4
Or
It had been three days. Three days of no coffee shop. No texts. No phone calls. I forced myself not to reach out, because if a guy was into me, he’d make an effort, right?
So I sat across the street from the coffee shop, waiting to see if he was avoiding it because of me. He typed still, but at a different time, one that wasn’t easy for me to catch between shifts. I only gave in and ambiguously wrote to him a few times in his Word doc, even if I did continue to edit.
“Where is this going?”
“Haven’t worked that out yet. Let’s see,” he wrote back.
He wrote back.
Ellipses danced on my screen once in a while, but he never sent the texts. I stared at my phone, willing words to appear. It was driving me insane.
What did he want to say?
Where was he?
I slid into a counter seat at Al’s, anxiously looking up every time the bell rang. Maybe it was too early. Or too late. Maybe he was really busy this week.
Or maybe he was avoiding me.
That was ridiculous, of course. It’s not like he knew that I knew when he went to Al’s. Unless Al told him or something. I chewed my lip and picked at my napkin. Maybe I should text him.
“Hi. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.” The voice snapped my lip out from between my teeth, eyes widening as I took in a tall, dark, objectively attractive stranger. He had a wide smile and kind eyes and I felt absolutely nothing but mild irritation that he wasn’t the guy I was waiting for.
Where’s Reed? I wanted to demand but forced myself to cross my ankles and smile politely.
“Betty. I’m a mechanic. New in town.”
“Hey, I’m Trey. Are you waiting for someone?” He glanced hopefully between me and the door.
Yes, I thought, longing for a certain leather jacket and bandana. “No. Not really.”
“I just got stood up by my friend. Do you mind if I join you?”
Yes, I hissed internally, not wanting a distraction, even if it was what I needed to get through the inevitable pining until I figured out what was happening. “No, not at all.”
Trey mindlessly attempted to get to know me. I did need friends, right? Right. My gaze kept shifting to the ringing entry bell before retraining on Trey’s hopeful, kind face. That pleasant jingle kept reminding me of the garage when the Rattlers caught me singing into a spark plug. My mind lingered on cotton and flesh, ink and oil. A tender touch…
“You okay?”
I started, refocusing on Trey’s innocently concerned expression. He seemed sweet.
“Sorry. Long day at work.”
“Boy, do I know how that is.” He laughed, rolling his eyes.
The jangle of the bell had me shifting again to get an eyeful of black hair disappearing under a red bandana, black denim and a dusty leather jacket. Gravity nearly dragged me right off the stool and into Reed’s path. He looked up, stunned and somewhat affronted when he saw the boy chatting animatedly beside me. I opened my mouth to say something like, “Hi. How are you? Long time, no see. What did you want to say to me? Why can’t you say it? Do you like me? Could you love me?”
“Al?” he called out gruffly over the counter. “I’ll take the usual, to go, please.”
My mouth closed, greeting swallowed.
He was taking it to go because of me, wasn’t he?
Icy blues raked over Travis (shoot, wasn’t it Trey?) and I had the overwhelming urge to push him off the stool to make room for the new arrival. Even if Reed was leaving. Even if he hadn’t said hello. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. That man needed to be pried from my brain, from my heart, before...
“So, have you been to the drive-in? They usually have some cool cars on display. You might really like it,” Trey offered, nervously finishing off his cheese fries.
“That sounds nice.”
“I would be happy to show you around if you’re into that kind of thing.”
I sucked in air through my nose, displeased by the idea of hurting this nice boy with my sharp edges. Maybe the people here really were just friendly.
Just beyond Trey, Reed’s jaw throbbed, and I could almost imagine his veins swaying like seaweed, something pulsing in wait underneath.
“I’m still getting settled, but thank you for the offer.”
Trey accepted the brush-off gracefully and asked for the check from a passing waiter. I peeked over my shoulder as Reed sauntered towards the jukebox on the far end of the diner, punching some buttons to scroll through its selection.
“Be careful of them,” Trey said, chin gently nodding at my black-haired beauty with the ochre snake on his back. “Reed’s a nice guy, but the Rattlers can be kinda… wild cards. They don’t do too much in West Ridge, but my cousin in Knoxville says they cause all kinds of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“All kinds.” Trey sighed wearily, sliding out from his stool. “Nice to meet you, Betty. I hope you enjoy West Ridge.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
The door chime barely even registered. I swiveled to take in Reed’s backside as he splayed his hands possessively on the jukebox. One knee bent, it was almost like he was ready to push the musical instrument past the wall itself.
What kind of trouble could I help him with?
The next track clicked on to the familiar tune of Pat Benatar’s “We Belong.” I released my straw in shock as the song filled the diner like it had been thrumming in my heart.
Reed’s smirk hit me so hard it almost hurt. Suspenders swung at his side with every step. As he approached, water gathered in my eyes. Would this be the big confession?
“Nice to see you, Betts,” he murmured, snagging the bag of food I barely even noticed was deposited at my elbow. “I didn’t want to interrupt Prince Charming there, but I did want to say hello.”
“I thought you were the prince.”
The thought came out naturally, like blinking.
“Maybe,” he
breathed something of a laugh. “Prince of what, I don’t know.”
“Diamonds.” At his narrowed eyes, I explained. “You know, like on your helmet. Or a diamond in the rough. That’s what writing is all about, right? Finding the right words?”
My lack of eloquence made me want to smack my palm against my forehead.
Reed smiled down at his shoes. “That’s a romantic way to look at it. The diamonds are just a stupid thing I like to carve. Draw,” he corrected, throat bobbing. Picking up Trey’s pen from when he signed his check, Reed leaned over and doodled the mark for me. “Diamonds interlocked like that are for justice.”
I traced the lines in contemplation, my fingers brushing his and the pen. “Is that why your friends call you the judge?”
With an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, Reed dropped the pen and touched my knee in a quick squeeze that had me struggling for air. “Sort of. Anyway, I hate to eat and run, but I have to be somewhere.”
“Where to? Where have you been?”
His gaze lingered on my lips. Squeezing my thighs tightly together, I tried to resist grabbing his shirt and pulling him against me to relieve the building pressure inside of me.
“I just have some things I need to wrap up at home. Dad’s waiting. I’ve been reading and riding with the crew, hoping to become more versed in poetry, I guess.”
It was a struggle not to fold into myself and melt into a puddle of bones and humiliation. “God. First singing, now poetry. Is there anything else I can do to embarrass myself?”
His fond smile had me wondering if there was anything I wouldn’t share with him, no matter how humiliating.
We would have to see where our hearts led.
Just yesterday he’d slowly disentangled himself from my company at Al’s, admitting he’d just gotten back from a long, grueling trip with his club. I should give him space. Let the storm in his veins settle somewhere. Let him reach out to me. But I couldn’t. Some days it was the only thing keeping me focused, counting down the seconds until our song came onto our work playlist, until I could try to peer into his life in some capacity, whether it be through the coffee shop’s windows or the screen of his laptop.
So I tapped out the rhythm of our song on the balcony of Sidewinders, trying to ignore the smirk of the bartender in my direction, which I thought indicated that Reed had finally come in.
I shouldn’t have asked about him. Why was I always asking about him?
I needed to be cool and relax. There were other things to focus on.
My nails threaded through my hair, absently tugging on my bandana headband. It felt festive enough for Sidewinders instead of my normal trucker hat meant to hide everything.
But maybe I should have been hidden.
I was a sick person. Couldn’t I just leave the poor guy alone and focus on my garage? Maybe I should make some actual friends instead of grilling casual acquaintances for information about my obsession.
Feeling flush, I half-listened to the conversation around me.
“Yeah, my parents loved classic cars. Pretty sure they named me Mustang because I was conceived in one.”
At that little tidbit, I let out an honest-to-goodness oh my god kind of laugh.
They weren’t so bad. Maybe we really could be friends.
Although I’d probably have to bribe them with a discount on oil changes.
I peeked over the railing once more. Reed was playing darts with his friends on the lower level. Every once in a while he scrolled and read something on his phone, his friends rolling their eyes. He kept looking at the door. But for what? For whom?
And why didn’t he ever come up to the balcony?
“Hey, Blondie? You in for another game?”
“Sure.” I pushed off the railing, trying to calm down the distant sensation of nails being pounded into my skin.
I was not good enough.
I was not interesting or creative or even stable enough.
We weren’t on the same level metaphorically and literally. Reed didn’t have anything to say about my poems, the pieces of my soul I tried to assemble to make sense. He could’ve just played Pat Benatar because he liked her.
Leaning on my cue, I noticed the red bandana circulating downstairs. Reed put his elbows on the bar, ordering a round of beers for his friends and a root beer for him. Responsible as always.
I sighed.
As commanding as he was, I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t just taken me from Al’s. I wanted to know him in every sense of the word. Whenever we were together, he seemed to be hovering on the verge of making a move only to let it slide for next time, whenever that would be.
I wanted him now. I wanted him forever. Waiting was hard, but at least I could feel his presence from the balcony, even if he didn’t see me.
The bartender gently tipped a bottle in my direction, but I couldn’t fathom why, not until Reed turned and the world pierced into white blinding noise.
He saw me.
That bearded bartender must have ratted me out!
Reeling, I realized that I could never show my face in the bar again, especially if everyone knew I was there for Reed. He’d think I was stalking him. I was stalking him.
Curses sparked in my brain and I almost blacked out as I turned away.
My heart pounded so hard that it was throbbing in my ears. Wood creaked under my grip, whether it was the railing or the pool cue was completely irrelevant. After a few horrible, earthquake-ridden minutes, the heavy swing of combat boots and jangling suspenders joined me on the balcony.
The older crowd I’d tended to blend with seemed surprised.
“Whatcha up to, little judge?” Mustang asked. I was too terrified to do more than stare at the green patch of felt in front of me, hoping to see Reed’s reflection in the shiny porcelain balls on the table.
“Just making sure you haven’t burned down the place,” he offered genially, his gaze sweeping over me so roughly that it might as well have been exfoliating.
An involuntary shiver ran through me. I tried to distract myself by switching positions. Maybe it would relieve some kind of itch, although I had a feeling Reed’s touch was the only thing that could satisfy it.
“Betty,” he started, voice low, reaching out for the dip in my back between my shirt and ripped denim shorts. “I didn’t know you had such an interest in our little club.”
Mustang coughed through a whiskey shot. “She’s a damn good pool player. And she knows about cars. Could probably hot-wire a thing or two.”
“Mustang,” he hissed, tossing a ball in his general direction and disrupting the game. “You mind your fucking business.” The balls scattered, some of the Rattlers retreating to the opposite side of the table and grumbling about just saying.
Why would they want me to hot-wire something?
“Ignore him,” Reed growled, running a hand through the few errant locks that dripped out from under his bandana. “Most people here are drunk, violent, or crazy. You should probably leave.”
“What if I’m crazy?”
For once, his gaze felt hot and molten, but unforgiving. “You’re not, Betty. You’re…” He took a deep breath, plucking at the strap of my shirt. “Lovely. Sweet.”
“Aren’t you those things?”
The muffled guffaws of the Rattlers reminded me of their presence, as much as I wanted it to be just Reed and me. He shook his head without acknowledging the peanut gallery. “That’s just wishful thinking.”
“It’s not,” I insisted, voice tight, almost on the verge of tears. “We could… we could both be here, couldn’t we?” I clung to his leather like a raft at sea.
Don’t make me leave, I pleaded silently.
He hesitated. “It’s not always safe in here.”
“This is West Ridge. I thought it was the Town with Spirit.”
“Yeah, well ‘spirit’ sometimes comes in the form of drunken idiots trying to test who has the thickest skull. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.
”
Sniffling, I met his gaze with newfound determination. Crying in a biker bar wouldn’t exactly prove that I could handle things and I was strong and smart enough to find a reason to stay with him.
“I can’t. I can’t drive,” I flubbed, pushing my pool cue into his chest for no other reason than I didn’t want to leave. More accurately, I didn’t want to leave him.
His eyes narrowed. “Why? Have you been drinking?”
Of course I hadn’t, but that did give me a convenient reason to stick around. I chewed my lip, debating the possibilities.
“Betty.” The warning in his tone made my knees wobble. “Don’t.”
Don’t what? Disobey him, lie, beg?
“We are at a bar. It’s possible that I might’ve gotten thirsty.” My tongue wet my lips, desperate for a taste of the man in front of me.
Faltering, he glanced at my mouth. Only a moment passed before he seemed to shake some dark thought loose, glancing at the Rattlers in our peripheral. He started guiding me by the waist in the direction of the stairs. “Look, it’s not like I’m mad at you or have any right to be. You just... you probably shouldn’t be here.”
Feeling bold, I played into the tipsy angle, my fingers trailing down his chest. His eyes were even more beautiful when his pupils opened up, dark and drunk and swallowing every inch of me. I batted my eyelashes, hoping he’d take the bait. “You worried about me and all these bike enthusiasts? I’m okay. I’m no stranger to getting my hands dirty.” If only my hands could sink into him.
He snapped the pool cue to the side, tossing it to Mustang. “I’m taking you home. Come on.” Blinking, he took a step back, giving me more air than I could ever need. “Is that okay with you?”
“Of course, Reedsy. I’m happy to let you lead, as long as we get to dance.”
Fire burned in my heart as he closed the space between us. I was expecting him to grab my wrist and drag me off, or maybe gently lead me by that small section of my back. Instead, he wrapped his arm around my waist and practically fused me to his hip.
“I’m taking off. Keep an eye out for JR, will you?” Reed called to Milo, whose eyes lit up in recognition. On the narrow section of the stairs he had to put a few inches between us but made me feel better about it by taking my hand.