He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t. The girls have been annoying me to get them one for years though.”
“But you haven’t caved?” I ask, brows rising.
“Their mom doesn’t like animals,” he admits, shrugging.
A slither of unease fills me. Surely they don’t all live together? Right?
Riiiggghhht?
Fuck.
The way he casually brought their mom up makes me think they are close, but it’s not any of my business. He’s just a new friend who dropped me off and came in for a few minutes for a coffee. Also, his baby mama doesn’t like animals?
I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like animals.
“Can I get them one for Christmas?” I blurt out, thinking about how sad I’d be if I didn’t have my dogs in my life. Growing up with dogs is so important, they teach you so much and give you an unconditional love you just need sometimes.
“You want to buy my kids, whom you’ve never met, a dog for Christmas?” he asks me, blinking slowly.
I shrug, then finish the rest of the bottle of water, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and saying, “I don’t see why not. I mean, if I give them one as a gift, you can’t exactly say no, and if you tried to get rid of it, they’d be pretty upset with you.”
He arches a brow, amusement written on his face. “They’d hate me, and you’d be their new number one person.”
“Kids need animals in their lives,” I tell him. “It teaches them so much and makes them responsible.”
Great, now I’m giving him parenting advice. I don’t think I even know any children, so I’m probably not very good with them, but here’s me telling him what to do.
“I think it’s time for me to go to bed,” I whisper to myself. I rub my eyes, probably smudging them even more, then glance at him as he drinks his coffee, him gazing at me over the mug, amusement written all over those deep brown eyes of his. “I don’t know what’s so funny.”
“You.”
“Is my being a total mess funny to you?” I ask, throwing the empty bottle into my recycling bin, then throwing my hands up in the air and cheering. “See, I should have been a basketball player.”
“Always time to change your career path,” he teases, coming to stand in front of me, putting his half-empty mug down and his arms on either side of my thighs. “Are you going to be okay?”
I nod. “I’ll be fine.”
Except for the fact that I’m lost in his eyes and I’m never going to see him again. I know it’s for the best, but why is there a little part of me that’s regretful?
Almost like my gut instinct is telling me to say yes, to go on this date, and to take a chance for once.
I silence that part of me.
Because this will never end well. This man is not safe, and if I decide to let him in, I will regret it. I will never have the upper hand, and getting feelings for a man with his lifestyle is not a smart move. I’ve kept to myself for a reason, because it’s easier that way.
“Thanks for taking me home tonight,” I say, when all I really want to ask is When do you want to take me on that date?
The one he hasn’t brought up again.
He touches my cheek and murmurs, “Anytime.”
There’s a beep from outside; his taxi is here. He kisses my cheek, and says, “Come and lock the door behind me.”
I slide to the edge of the counter, and he lifts me down onto the white tiles, his strong hands making me feel like I weigh nothing. I can’t help but look up at him, then rest my forehead on his chest, closing my eyes for a second and allowing myself to feel, just for a moment. I lift my head just as the taxi beeps for a second time.
“I better get going.”
I nod and lead the way to the front door, my dogs at my feet. “Thanks again, Knuckles.”
“Stop thanking me,” he commands with a grin, opening my door and stepping outside. “I’m not leaving until I hear the door lock.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I tell him, waving ’bye as I close the door with my foot, and I lock it. I watch the lights from the vehicle disappear from my window, then head upstairs to my bedroom and fall on the bed.
Tonight sure took an unexpected turn, but I guess that’s what happens when you party with bikers.
4
Clutching my coffee in a tight grip like someone is going to try to steal it from me, I step outside and brace myself for the sunlight, which I’d normally bask in but right now is my enemy. I haven’t been this hungover in a long time and my head is pounding, but I refuse to waste the day. It’s Saturday morning and I have errands I need to run, and greasy food to go in search of. I slide my oversize sunglasses on my face, lock the front door, and walk straight to my car, only to stop in my tracks, my eyes widening.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself.
Getting out of an expensive-looking BMW is Knuckles, a bag of food in one hand and a bouquet of beautiful sunflowers in the other. How did he know those are my favorite flowers? Erin must have told him. Traitor.
“What are you doing here?” I ask slowly as he approaches. He hands me the flowers, which I hesitantly accept, confusion written all over my expression. Didn’t he understand the silent conversation we had last night? We aren’t supposed to see each other again. He asked me out, I said no, and that’s it. That’s how the story ends.
“Came to check on you to see if you were hungry,” he says with a cheeky grin. “And to see if sober you makes better decisions than drunk you.”
“Sober me isn’t as nice as drunk me,” I warn him, eyeing the bag of food. “What’s in there?”
“A burger with everything on it, fries, ribs, and there’s also a soda in the car,” he says with a knowing smirk.
My mouth starts to water.
“I’m not going to go out with you,” I tell him straight-out. I don’t tell him why, because it annoys me that women have to explain themselves. If I don’t want to do something, I’m not going to, and I don’t have to fucking tell someone why.
“Okay, then let’s eat lunch together,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. He looks good today in a pair of dark jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt, showing off his biceps and the fact that he definitely still works out. But I refuse to acknowledge that. “As friends.”
“Friends?” I repeat, unable to keep the disbelief in my voice. “You going to change your tune, just like that?”
“Yep. Open your door. We’re going to need your table for this one. It’s messy, and the sauce goes everywhere.”
My stomach rumbles. “Okay, fine. Lunch as friends and then I have to go into the city to run some errands.”
“Deal,” he agrees in that deep tone of his, and I study him for a few seconds before turning back to unlock my door. The dogs are outside, so Knuckles is saved from Kobe’s ferocity, and we both easily settle at my wooden six-seater dining table. I take the bag from him and start to unload the food.
I can’t believe he’s here right now. I honestly didn’t think I’d see him again, at least not until Erin’s wedding, or her next birthday even. I’m surprised and don’t really know what to make of it. It’s a nice gesture that he bought me food, a win really, and I wonder if Erin gave him the idea.
I can’t deny that he’s amusing though, and that his company isn’t so bad, especially when he’s bringing me food.
“It smells so good,” I tell him as I unwrap one of the burgers. “Where is this place?”
“It’s a secret,” he says, eating a few of the fries and dipping them in some sauce that comes in a small, round white container.
I take a bite and moan loudly. “No, seriously, you need to tell me where this place is. Friends share this kind of stuff, right?”
He chuckles under his breath. “Already using the friend card?”
He picks up his burger and takes a huge bite, and I don’t know how I manage to sexualize that, but I do, as I watch his firm lips press onto the bun. He puts it down and chews thoughtfully, while I reach ou
t with a napkin in my hand. “You have sauce on your beard.”
“Just saving it for later,” he jokes, staying still for me.
“Have you always had a beard?” I ask him, trying to picture him without it.
“Sweetheart, I had a beard years before it became cool,” he announces, sighing, as if remembering the good old days.
“So you’re basically a beard OG then?” I joke back, a grin playing on my lips.
“Exactly,” he murmurs, continuing to enjoy his meal. “None of this hipster shit.”
I laugh and study him, taking in his facial features. He’s a handsome man, but not in the pretty way Rogue is. No, he’s more rugged, from his nose that looks like it may have been broken a few times to his shaved head, bearded face, and I’m sure some hair also on his chest. The tattoos give him that bad-boy, I don’t give a fuck vibe, although boy is not a word I’d ever use to describe him. Bad man just doesn’t have the same ring to it though.
“How are you spending the rest of the day?” I ask, making casual conversation. It doesn’t help that when I’m hungover, all I want is food, sleep, and sex. Nothing beats spending a lazy day in bed, having sex so many times and falling asleep in between, so much so that it all becomes one delicious blur.
“Well, I wanted to bring you food. But now that I see you’re just going to run errands, do you want to do them and then go to the beach? As friends of course,” he tells me, lifting his eyes to me. “The sun is out, and a swim is the perfect hangover cure.”
Well, shit.
A swim actually does sound nice, and I can’t remember the last time my toes have sunk into warm sand.
“I thought we said lunch and that’s it,” I remind him, opening the packet of ribs and taking one out, the sticky sauce covering my fingers.
“Do you not like the beach?” he asks me, arching a brow. “Come on, Celina, have a little fun. It’s a beautiful day, let’s make the most of it and do something spontaneous. Not everything has to be planned out and scrutinized.”
Has he already figured out that I’m a control freak? I never do anything spontaneous, even little trips to the ocean. I just like everything planned out, organized, and on a schedule.
“I had plenty of fun last night,” I say, my head starting to hurt at the reminder.
What the hell, right? A day outing with him won’t hurt. And like he said, it’s as friends. “But a swim does sound nice. I have one condition though.”
“What’s that?”
“I get to choose the beach.” I have a favorite beach, and although it’s a little far out, it’s totally worth the trek. I haven’t been there in over a year, and I don’t know why I want to go there now and share it with him, but for some reason I do.
“Deal,” he says instantly. “I’d shake your hand on it, but . . .”
I lick my finger and grin. “But I’m elbow-deep in rib sauce?”
“Exactly.”
“We need to pack. Snacks, towels, water, and stuff,” I tell him. “Maybe I’ll make some sandwiches or something.”
“Well, aren’t you wifey material,” he teases, flashing me a look of enjoyment.
“Don’t get any ideas, Knuckles,” I reply, glancing down with a smirk. “We have a deal.”
“And I’m a man of my word,” he claims, finishing up his meal. “And it just so happens that in my car I have towels, snacks, a picnic blanket, a beach umbrella, a cooler filled with chilled drinks and beer, sunscreen, and even an inflatable unicorn for you to lie on in the water.”
I open my mouth, then slam it shut. “You are something else, you know that? What if I’d had other plans, or wasn’t even home today? Or flat out told you no? What would you have done then?”
He shrugs. “I was hopeful, and I love a good gamble.”
“A gamble? You know what, if you think this is some game, you have another thing coming. I don’t know why you want to spend time with me, but—”
He cuts me off. “There is no game, Celina. I wanted to see you, so I made it happen. And I’m waiting to see you in a bikini.”
“You’re such a creep,” I tell him, shaking my head but not really meaning it.
If there’s no game, then why do I feel like he’s won? He got his way, again. I guess I haven’t lost though, either. What if it’s only a game to me and not to him? On the flip side, it’s cute that he went through the effort to pack and plan all of that, even without knowing if I’d be coming with him. Although his overly confident nature kind of annoys me.
“If I’m a creep, then every fuckin’ male on the planet must be one too, because trust me, anyone with a penis is going to look at you if you walked past them,” he casually says. He’s so generous with compliments, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing, probably because I don’t know if he truly means them or if he’s just using flattery to get what he wants.
“You said it, not me,” I grumble, finishing up the delicious meal and making a mental note to get him to tell me where this place is, because I need to go there myself and check out the menu. I clean up and wash my hands. “I’m going to get changed.”
“All right,” he says with a grin, but the jokes on him because I’m not going to be strutting out of my room in a bikini. I head upstairs, strip down, and put on my only one-piece swimsuit and check myself out in my full-length mirror. I’ve worked out hard at the gym to get to a place where I feel confident with my body, but there are certain parts of me that I’ve accepted over the years, such as my larger-than-a-handful breasts, my wide hips and bigger thighs. That’s just my natural shape though, and I’ve learned to work with it instead of against it. After finding a white lace kaftan to throw over the red swimsuit, and a pair of board shorts to cover my thighs, I put on a straw wide-brim hat, slide my feet into some flip-flops, grab my beach bag, and I’m ready to go.
I’m going to be the most covered woman on that beach.
5
Holding the staircase rail and looking down at the dark wooden stairs, I get to the bottom and Knuckles stands, taking me in from head to toe, but he says nothing, his expression impassive.
“Ready?” he asks, and I wonder what he’s going to swim in today. Looks like his plan might have backfired, because it’s me who is going to be able to perv on him shirtless, and not the other way around.
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
I stop by the kitchen and notice that while I was upstairs he’d cleaned up.
“Thanks,” I say, surprised by his actions.
“No problem,” he murmurs, shrugging it off.
We walk to the front door side by side, and he opens it for me. “Thank you,” I tell him, as I lock up. Once I’m in his flashy car, I glance around before putting my seat belt on.
“Okay, do you know where we’re going or should I put it into GPS?” he asks me, fiddling with his phone.
“I know the way.”
Like the back of my hand.
We complete my few errands then head straight to the beach, to a location my dad used to take me when I was growing up, and I have the fondest memories there. We used to swim for hours, or make sandcastles. Considering I didn’t get to see him all the time, I truly treasured every moment I spent with him, and this beach just brings back those times for me. Not only does it have the clearest water and whitest sand, but also it’s the perfect place for snorkeling or having a relaxing swim when there are no waves. I don’t like waves. When I was a baby, one crashed over me and pulled me back into the ocean, and I’ve been scared of them ever since. I tell him which direction to head in, then start skipping songs on his playlist.
“Whose playlist is this?” I ask as I hear song after song that I can’t picture him listening to. I flash him a wide-eyed look as a few Disney songs make an appearance.
“My daughters’,” he explains, smiling. “Thought you’d prefer this over what I listen to. Might be more up your alley.”
I remember our conversation last night about Bieber, my lips twisting in dry humor.
“Very funny. I like a bit of everything, and everyone loves a good Disney song, so it’s fine with me. Hope you’re ready to sing along with me though, because I can get very into them.”
“Can you sing?” he asks, curiosity piqued.
I shrug. “I guess. I mean I can sing in tune. I’m no Beyoncé.”
“No one is,” he replies with a smirk.
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he murmurs. “I just happen to have a thing for women who can sing.”
“Who doesn’t?” I agree. “Nothing sexier than seeing a man up on stage, guitar in his hand, singing with a beautiful tone.”
His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and he makes an mmmm sound from the back of his throat. I have no idea why, so I just shrug it off, until I realize that I just described Rogue. He couldn’t care about that though, right? I must be reading into things too much, which is exactly what I do with everything. I settle for some Ed Sheeran, and start to relax and enjoy the ride.
“I love road trips,” I say, smiling to myself. “You know what, thanks for making me do this. I would have just gone to the post office, grabbed some food, and gone home and worked, probably. It’s nice to be doing something different.”
“Erin told me you work too much,” he explains. “So I thought I’d try my luck with getting you out of the house.”
“What else did Erin tell you?” I ask.
“That if I hurt you, she’s going to stomp on my balls,” he says in a dry tone. “I think that was the meanest comment she could come up with.”
It’s cute that Erin is trying to protect me, even though as the older one, I feel like that should be my job. I guess with her new family, she doesn’t need anyone else to protect her because they’re all completely badass.
“Ball stomping. Man, do I love that girl.”
“She looks up to you,” he says, eyes on the road. “You can hear it in her voice every time she talks about you.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say softly, looking down at my hands. “But she’s the sister I never had. Even living a few hours away from each other, we’ve always been close. Finding out that Brock wasn’t her real dad was a huge shock for me too.”
Knuckle Down (The Cursed Ravens MC Series Book 2) Page 4