“Why are you so concerned with Killer’s girl?”
I stared at him. I knew damn well that Aubrey wasn’t the thought on his mind as his gaze lingered on my legs or on my mouth. He knew her only through the bar, which was a lot less well than I knew her. He also had known Killer only a few weeks. Admittedly, they were both people who were easy to care about, but I wasn’t so innocent as to mistake a sudden digression for anything more than a distancing tactic.
And I wasn’t interested in playing games where I was the loser anymore. I took a leisurely lick of my cone, swirling it as the tip of my tongue carved patterns in the ice cream. Once I had his attention, I smiled and said, “Well, darlin’, I’ve know Killer since we were in nappies. I’d pull a trigger for him. I’d take a slug for him, so don’t ever suggest that I might have any ill intent toward that boy.”
Alamo held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, which was silly looking with a pink-and-white ice cream cone in one hand. “Just asking, darlin.”
“Well, unless you’re Killer or Echo, I’m not answering.” I smiled to be clear that no sting was intended, but I wasn’t going to be interrogated or allow him to do so to pretend he wasn’t looking at me like I was the next treat on his mind.
He watched me in silence for a moment before asking, “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said firmly. That tactic did a lot more to take the flirt out of me. I didn’t want to talk about anything serious, didn’t want to be reminded that he’d seen me sad. I wanted to be lighthearted. “Perfectly fine.”
“That you are,” Alamo said after a moment. He grinned at me and this time he looked at my legs very obviously. “Any man would have to be blind to not notice that fact, darlin’ . . . and I suspect blind men would catch on the moment you spoke.”
I laughed. “Damn straight!”
We sat there for a comfortable moment before he stood and tossed the rest of his ice cream in the trash bin. “You holler at me if you need a friend.”
Biting back the exceptionally inappropriate response that I had, I nodded. What I needed was fun, relaxation, and a good ride. He looked like exactly the right prescription for all of the above, but he tossed the word friend around so pointedly that I wasn’t about to ask how far his definition of friendship stretched. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be there with another man either. Being over Noah wasn’t the same as being ready to ride with another man.
So I kept my peace and said goodbye to Alamo. My ice cream cone wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as a good ride and post-ride roll with a gorgeous man could be, but it was a helluva lot less complicated.
Chapter 5
A FEW MONTHS LATER, I WAS A LOT LESS SATISFIED WITH desserts and . . . well, everything in my life. I’d become closer and closer to Aubrey, who had definite plans for every detail of her life—too much so, really. I didn’t want to be that ordered, but talking to her made me realize that I had short-changed myself. She hadn’t meant to give me a wake-up call, but she had. Now I needed to figure out what to do with that epiphany. It was one thing to realize that you needed to change your life. It was another to figure out how to do it. Making any real change seemed huge and overwhelming. Even figuring out where to start seemed like a task I couldn’t begin. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how.
I went to look at my design notebooks. If I was going to get to a new place, I’d need new designs . . . or maybe just more samples. What I’d love to do was find clothes that reflected the sense of the South, to create pieces that captured not only the romance and the ferocity that Southern women embodied but simultaneously flattered women who weren’t afraid to have dessert. Too many styles were about hiding any perceived imperfections or were simply unflattering to women with curves.
Southern women—black, white, and brown—had a “don’t cross me” attitude that they could demonstrate while being ladylike and delicate all at once. It was, to my way of thinking, the epitome of what it meant to be a woman. It was what bikers’ women were like: graceful and terrifying simultaneously, appreciative of a strong man but not afraid to handle things themselves. If I was going to design clothes, I wanted them to speak of that duality.
I started sketching. I wanted clothes a woman could wear onstage, knowing that all eyes were on her. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the small stage at BB King’s Blues Club. What would I feel sexy and confident wearing up there? Maybe the key was looking to the classics—just like in a lot of the music I liked.
Over the next week or so, I mentioned my plans to Aubrey a few times, sorting through her closet and trying to get a sense of her style. I offered to lend her a few of the clothes I’d sewn from my new ideas. Her self-esteem was starting to grow, but there was still something tentative in the way she moved and acted. It was as if a stronger woman hid under her skin. I’d see glimpses of her, but then she’d insist on locking that sultry and ballsy side away. Clothes, in my opinion, are modern armor. We don’t need them to stop arrows or blades. We just need them to give us courage, like armor once did. If I could reach my ideal, it would be in this area.
Aubrey and I had lunch together several times, and she was fast becoming a good friend. I was still surprised to see her name on my caller ID not an hour after I’d just seen her.
“Miss me already?” I answered, instead of saying hello. “Class just ended.”
“Are you busy tonight?”
“What happened?”
She lowered her voice to say, “I think Noah sort of hit on me . . . or something.”
I almost laughed aloud at how shocked she sounded. I liked Aubrey, but her confusion when guys found her attractive baffled me. Too many women were like that, and I hated that Aubrey was one of them.
“And you’re offering him to me instead? I’m not sure he’s going to go for that idea.”
“Ellen!” Her answering laughter let me know that I’d done my job as a friend. Sometimes that was what I valued most in friendships, the parts that weren’t obvious. I could handle the obvious ones too, of course, so when she asked me to go to the races and act as a buffer with Noah, I agreed. I wanted to be there for her. I was also hoping that letting Noah see that I was okay being around as his friend would help us reach the place I wanted us to be. I wanted things to be better. I missed the friendship part of what we’d had. He knew me in a way that I wished we could have back—although admittedly sometimes I wished the same thing about Killer, and it had been years since we were truly close.
I got myself ready, and then I went to dress up Aubrey. She seemed to think my urge to do so was a joke or selfless, just a favor to her. It wasn’t. I was trying to design, and she made a great model. We were roughly the same size—although she was a bit bustier than I was.
Aubrey’s discomfort meant that I had to go a little slow. The jeans we agreed on were her own, but I lent her a green tank, kicking aqua cowboy boots, and a statement necklace. Seeing her in classic country woman was a great start, but that wasn’t unique enough for the feel I wanted. So I added starlet makeup—cherry lips and heavy eyes—as well as a hairstyle that was a bit of a 1940s homage. By the time I was done, she had a sexier Rosie the Riveter thing going on. It wasn’t so risqué that she’d be uncomfortable, but it was a bit more “notice me” than she typically sported.
She’d settled in, and I felt as if I could see the stress melt away as we walked. Men and women noticed her, and whether it was conscious or not, on some level she could see their attention and liked it. Then the first real test walked up to us.
“Aubrey?” Noah said.
I stayed back, watching him stare at her. I could see him tense up at seeing me there with her. He’d seen us talking on campus, seen us having lunch, but that didn’t mean he was at ease right now.
Then Aubrey motioned to me. “Do you know Ellen?”
“Ellie,” he said, sounding awkward, like he didn’t know what to do or say. “It’s been . . . a while,” he said after a too-long pause.
My temper sli
pped at the awkwardness we had still between us. I’d thought I was ready to be friends again, but my lingering anger slid into my voice as I said, “Has it? I hadn’t noticed.”
Noah tensed, and he stared at me for a long enough moment that I thought he was going to say something that put it all on the table. Then he turned to Aubrey and asked, “Is that Ellie’s shirt?”
He knew it was. It had been on his floor more than once. He couldn’t say that, though, and oddly or not, considering my anger, I was glad he was not letting that secret out. I didn’t want to have that conversation here or now. I didn’t want Aubrey in the middle of it, especially when I had zero intention of the past mattering now.
“She needed a dress-up doll,” Aubrey was telling him. “Apparently I’m going to be going shopping with her too.”
He nodded. “She has a great eye for that sort of thing.”
This time I was the one tensing. Was this an olive branch? I smiled at him before looking down. I was doubtful that anything would come of it for them, not with the way she lit up every time Killer was mentioned, but I wanted all of them happy. Despite everything, Noah and Killer were my oldest friends. Aubrey was fast becoming a new friend, so I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Not a date, my ass. He’s certainly hoping. You could do a lot worse than Dash.”
Then I squeezed her hand and left.
Aubrey was well looked after with Noah at her side, and the Wolf I wanted to talk to was sitting in the bleachers. The Wolves always sat in the same section. Much like a lot of other things in town, what had been merely habit had evolved into an unwritten law. That was one of the benefits of living in the same town for long stretches of time: you knew the unwritten laws. Only Wolves and those connected to the club sat there. There was no one saying that other townsfolk couldn’t join them, but even though the club was tolerated—and looked at as almost a volunteer police force sometimes—a crowd of black leather and tattoos was off-putting to most people.
I wasn’t most people. Something warmed in me when I saw them. Echo wasn’t here, but Billy was, as were most of the younger Wolves. Killer was racing, so I wasn’t surprised to see the group of them there. Big Eddie, Hershey, and Skeeter were together, loud and raucous as usual. Alamo was with them, but he was frowning at his phone when I started up the bleachers. The other three lifted beers in greeting. Hershey called out, “Little bit!”
Alamo, however, didn’t see me approach.
I wasn’t there to see him, but I was going to try to talk to him. Maybe it was like my designing: I just needed to woman up and try harder. He’d never been outright rude, but he seemed like he’d been avoiding me the past couple of months. Tonight though, there was no way for it to be subtle if he was avoiding me. There were a lot of Wolves and their old ladies here. That meant that we were both just part of the crowd.
“How’s Miss Bitty?” Big Eddie asked.
“Cantankerous as always.”
Skeeter snorted. “I swear the boy’s got a crush on your mama, Ellie.”
Big Eddie shrugged. It was far from the first time he’d been accused of that. He was a bit over halfway between my age and Mama’s, so I wasn’t so sure what to think. Mama was young when Daddy died, with a school-aged daughter, and Big Eddie came round to help out a lot. It wasn’t anything untoward, but it made for a strange relationship between us. He was young enough to be friends with Killer, but old enough to regard me more like a favored niece or little sister. It had made him increasingly tense with Noah over the years.
“You see Dash?” he asked in a voice a little too edged for my liking.
“He’s here on a date with my friend Aubrey,” I said as levelly as I could. I looked up and met Big Eddie’s gaze and told him, “I have no problem with it.”
He shook his head, but didn’t reply.
“Red? The one Killer’s growling over?” Hershey prompted.
I nodded.
“Dash never was too bright,” he muttered.
Alamo had put his phone away at some point and was watching us silently. I wanted to be witty or wise or charming, to make him talk to me, to somehow show him that I was worth his time and trouble. Instead, I was tongue-tied.
“You all right?” he asked quietly once the others were back to focusing on whatever football or basketball or hockey game they’d been discussing.
“Completely,” I said truthfully. “Aubrey’s good people, and Noah’s a great guy.”
The look on Alamo’s face said everything he wasn’t saying. “If you need anything . . .” he offered.
There was a part of me, a blunt and reputedly off-putting side, that wanted to tell Alamo exactly what I did want from him, but he hadn’t given me any reason to think he’d be receptive. A lot of the Wolves were folks who wouldn’t look at me with lust in their eyes if I did a striptease right in front of them. I suspected they would stop me, put a blanket or shirt or something over me, and tell my mama that I needed a talking-to. They either knew my family or had known me since I was a kid. The only Wolves I had dated were those just passing through—and Noah. Admittedly, Killer and I had gone riding once or twice, but I was fairly certain that was as much about Killer trying to prompt Noah to man up as it was anything else.
Of course, as much as I appreciated both the club as a whole and the men individually, I hadn’t been interested in inspiring any lust in most of them either. Alamo was different.
“I doubt you’d want to hear what I need,” I told him lightly.
He studied me in that way of his, as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or found it obnoxious. I liked that he was looking at me, but I didn’t like not knowing what he was thinking.
Then he smiled. “Darlin’, you might just be surprised.”
I smiled back, hopeful that maybe we were making progress finally, but then Noah and Aubrey showed up. Alamo’s friendly smile faded. He nodded at Aubrey, but that was the extent of his greeting.
Noah said nothing to me, but Aubrey motioned me over.
As much as I wanted to stay and talk to Alamo, I’d come with Aubrey as moral support. That was what friends did.
I wasn’t there but ten minutes when I saw Alamo leave. I couldn’t say whether he was leaving for good or just going for a walk. He wasn’t toting anything with him, but he wasn’t the sort to carry much in general. He left his helmet on his bike—most of the Wolves did—and there wasn’t need for anything else.
The truth was, unfortunately, that Alamo had a habit of vanishing anytime I was alone with him or if Noah was around too. As much as I tried not to watch Alamo go or notice the pleased look on Noah’s face, I doubted that I was very subtle—a theory that was confirmed a few moments later when Aubrey asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Dash and I grew up together,” I said. I wanted to know why Dash was smiling at Alamo’s departure. Did they have words? Was there something there that I didn’t know? Sometimes new Wolves took issue with the way Dash was and was not a Wolf. Maybe Dash was sore that Alamo had been the one to pick me up when I’d left months ago. That seemed unlikely because it had been months, but stranger things had happened. Explaining what was wrong would take too long, though, and it would involve sharing secrets, so all I said was “Sometimes he irritates me.”
“Do you want to go? We can—”
“No,” I interrupted Aubrey. “I want you to have fun. Enjoy the races. Enjoy Dash. He really is a great guy. We just had words last time we talked, and seeing him . . . I forgot how angry I was until I saw him.”
Alamo didn’t come back. I tried not to let it ruin my mood. I was out with friends and my virtual family. I was enjoying a beautiful Tennessee event with great weather. By all rights, I should’ve been happy.
My less-than-ideal mood was nothing compared to Killer’s, though, after the race when he and Noah and Aubrey had a run-in. Anyone who couldn’t see the sparks flying between Killer and Aubrey would have to be blind. I couldn’t decide who I felt worse fo
r. Killer and Noah had both been my friends long enough that I wanted to see them happy, and they’d never seemed to genuinely be at odds over a girl. Aubrey had enough going for her that I was certain she didn’t need to feel like a chew toy being tugged two ways.
I tried to keep my mouth shut and waited.
Finally Killer turned to me and said, “I’ll walk you both to your car then.”
Like most of Killer’s actions and words, this statement was more order than question. He was so much like Echo that it was a little uncanny sometimes. I felt like he was putting me in the middle of a drama I didn’t need, but my silence wasn’t helping.
“I can take you home, Aubrey,” I offered, hating that I was left navigating a mess. Aubrey clearly wanted Killer, but both of the boys were looking at her. It reminded me far too much of seeing them fight over too many things when we were kids.
Aubrey looked half sick when she glanced at Killer and said, “No.”
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, it was Killer I wanted to defend and protect. I’d never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at Aubrey. He stared at her as if she’d just stomped on his heart. For all of his attitude, he had a softness hidden under the muscles and tattoos.
Gently I nudged his arm. “Come on.”
Aubrey shot me a grateful look, but Noah didn’t glance my way. Unexpectedly, Killer nodded at me, and after an awkward moment, we walked away.
I wasn’t surprised that Killer didn’t look back. I wasn’t even surprised by the tight fists he’d curled his hands into. “Are you okay?”
He shot me a look that would’ve made me step back if I hadn’t known him since forever.
“You know what I mean,” I clarified.
“She’s mine.” Killer looked increasingly determined as we walked. “I’m not going to be okay as long as she keeps walking away. There’s something there. She knows it, too.”
Unruly Page 4