by Rana Raynes
“No, that's not it, it was more... he's attractive,” I admit, somewhat reluctantly.
At least the confession has the desired effect: Mabel relaxes a little.
“That doesn't sound too bad. So where's the catch? I sense there is a 'but' coming.”
“But he's got a girlfriend.”
“Ah.” She nods but I can see she's wondering about what exactly happened. A random man having a girlfriend is usually no reason for getting so emotional.
“He flirted with me,” I explain. I don't have to tell her the whole story, do I? I blush just thinking about how he made me feel when he kissed me. For a moment I was convinced we'd end up in bed together straight away. I can't possibly tell her that, can I? So I settle for: “I thought there might be something between us, it was a really strong attraction, and then his girlfriend showed up.”
“And now you're disappointed?”
“Yes. And I'm also annoyed with myself. After Mike... I should have known better.”
Aunt Mabel gives a sigh. “Not all men are like that,” she says. “There are some decent guys around, you can take my word for it.”
“Perhaps you're right.” I don't really believe it though. Mike wasn't my first boyfriend and he wasn't even the worst either. I have plenty of negative experiences to look back on. Somehow I seem to have a talent for falling in love with guys who make me unhappy. I might be attracted to the wrong character traits, a certain roughness, dominance. A hard shell and a soft core, that's my jam. In theory at least. Mostly I'm just a picture book example of the cliché of women always going for the asshole. Looks like it happened again. At least it didn't take me years to find out. That has to count for something. Still...
Maybe I should just stay away from men entirely.
Mabel must have read my mind because she reaches out to squeeze my arm. “Don't worry. You won't be alone forever. One day you're going to meet the right man.”
I want to trust that prediction but at the moment all I see in my mind when she says 'right man' are bright blue eyes and a dazzling smile and blond hair. Distraction, I think, I need some distraction or I'll go crazy.
“I'm going to get some groceries,” I announce. “Is there anything you want? Anything that's not already on the shopping list, I mean?”
Mabel pats my arm and slowly walks towards the house. “Let's have a look at the fridge together, shall we?”
About half an hour later I'm on my way, armed with a long shopping list and a refilled supply of positive thoughts. I feel comfy in my dress and cardigan, just out for a little walk in the fresh air. My cheerfulness vanishes quickly when I arrive at the Ace where an unpleasant surprise is waiting for me. Instead of finding the parking lot deserted but for my car the place is swarming with people, most of them wearing MC kuttes. I recognize a lot of faces from the evening before. It seems like half the club is here. Some guys without club patches who seem to be unrelated mechanics are about to pull my car on a tow truck. Behind the truck a couple of men are boarding up the front windows of the bar.
What the fuck happened?
Without noticing I'm speeding up, I'm almost running towards my car. I can't afford a new one, I suppose I can't even afford major repairs. A broken car is really the last thing I need right now.
Of course it's Jay who steps into my way – seemingly out of nowhere. I walk straight into his arms and he catches me.
“Wait, Kat,” he says. “It's all right. Your tires are flat, we're taking care of it.”
“What happened?” I'm breathless. My heart is racing. I don't know whether I'm worried about the car or if this is a physical reaction of being so close to Jay again.
“Someone tried to burn down the bar yesterday,” Jay explains as he is leading me to the sidelines.
The most terrible images pop up in my mind.
“Amber,” I say at once. “Is she...?”
“She's okay. It's thanks to her and Leon the house is still standing. They were still here when it happened. Someone threw Molotov cocktails through the front windows but they managed to put out the fire before it spread and caused any real damage.”
“That's a relief,” I say weakly. I realize it can't have happened long after I left. The thought of having missed the attack so narrowly makes me a little dizzy. What if I had met the perpetrators on my way out? I don't even want to think about it. I'm barely listening when Jay says:
“It's going take a couple of days to repair the damage, but the current guess is that the joint will be up and running again on Tuesday.”
So I don't have to worry about my job then. That's some comfort but there's still the question of my ride. I look past Jay over to the building, then to the tow truck. “And what about my car?”
“Looks like they wanted to make sure they weren't followed. They slashed the tires of all the vehicles in the parking lot. Nothing we can't fix. Don't worry. You'll have your car back in no time.”
“So you're going to repair my car?” I say, somewhat perplexed.
“Yeah sure.” He seems utterly unconcerned as if nothing could be more self-evident.
I don't know if I'm getting this right. “I don't know if I can afford-” I begin.
“Oh, we won't charge you for it of course.” Now he seems taken aback. “It's bad enough that you don't have a ride for the day.”
“I suppose so,” I say, then I remember why I came here in the first place. “I wanted to go and pick up some groceries.” There's a mixture of irritation and resignation in my tone. Now that the first shock wears off I am beginning to get a little angry. I have no idea what to do now. Call a cab?
I realize Jay still has his hand on my arm which isn't appropriate at all. Especially not after last night. I take a step back to shake it off. I don't want to repeat yesterday's mistake. It's one thing to fantasize about him, it's quite another to be too familiar with him in real life. I have to keep my distance.
“I can take you if you like?” Jay says and for a moment I don't follow.
“What?”
“Groceries shopping. I could take you.”
I look at him, at the patches, the kutte, the sleek blond hair, the tattoos. What is he even saying? That he's gonna push my shopping cart for me?
“But isn't your bike out of order too?”
And even if it wasn't, the idea of being so close to him again, to lean against him on his motorcycle, putting my arms around his waist, is unsettling. I can't allow myself the illusion this is going somewhere. It's a dead end and the sooner I accept it the better.
“I meant with the car,” Jay says. “It's more practical for shopping anyway.”
Despite all my resolutions I feel a slight pang of disappointment that I'm going to miss out on the chance to ride his motorbike with him. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Do you think that's a good idea? I don't think your girlfriend would be too thrilled if she knew...”
He frowns, apparently at a loss for a second. “My girlfriend?” Then the penny drops. “Ah you mean Crystal.”
He rubs his hand over his face. He looks so tired, no wonder he's a little slow on the uptake. Probably they stayed up until dawn and... my mind most helpfully comes up with a vivid image of the two of them in bed together. It's somewhat painful to imagine them like that but then I've always been pretty good at torturing myself. And I have to get rid of this infatuation before the pain gets even worse.
“I wanted to tell you yesterday but I didn't get the chance so...” He pauses. “Crystal is my ex. We broke up almost a year ago.”
I must have gaped at him in disbelief because he adds: “I know it didn't look like it. She's having a hard time accepting the fact we're not together anymore. Which is in part my fault. We had this crazy on-off relationship for a while and... I guess it's difficult for her to accept the difference between taking a break and actually breaking up.” He shrugs.
He looks like a school boy in his discomfort and I can't help this warm fuzzy feeling spreading
in my stomach again. I shouldn't be so stupid as to fall for this act but I'm unable to stop the wave of emotions washing over me with more treacherous foolish hope in the lead.
I know I'm going to regret this. But Jay's words only give my silly feelings for him more fuel.
“I'm sorry,” he says and he looks like he means it. “For all of it, not just yesterday, also your car, that you got dragged into this.”
I can't be mad with him anymore. “I don't see how my car is your fault.”
“Not directly of course, but you got in the crossfire so to speak. That wouldn't have happened if you weren't associated with the club.”
So I'm associated with the club now. Last time I looked I was only a waitress. I should be angry about it but it feels more like getting a medal, being included in the inner circle.
“It can't be helped now, can it?” I say, a little appeased.
“I guess not. So do you want me to drive you? I could also ask one of the boys, if you prefer. Leon would be happy to take you, or Hands. Or Danny.”
“No, no, it's fine. It'd be great if you... I mean, yes. Please.” I smile at him and he smiles back at me and just like that a terrible day becomes pretty much perfect.
Chapter 6
Jay
I watch her as she inspects a pineapple in the fruit aisle, then moves on to the grapes. It's not exactly like taking a stroll over a farmer's market but romantic enough for me. I can't remember if I ever went groceries shopping with Crystal. Maybe we bought a carton milk together once, late at night, or some ice cream, but I've never spent as much time in the vegetables zone of a super market.
“I have a craving for something fresh,” Kat explains, putting a pound of red grapes into the cart. “Working long nights at the bar always makes me I feel like a smoked and dried ham the next day.”
I can hardly imagine. She doesn't look anything but well rested. Like the kind of person who drinks a smoothie for breakfast after coming back from a morning run. A whole new level of healthy. You can see that she didn't pay much attention to her outfit, she's wearing an old-fashioned dress with a baggy sweater over it and worn out sneakers. She didn't bother with putting on make-up and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Strangely enough all that makes her even more attractive.
“If it helps, it doesn't show at all. You look radiant.”
She gives me this sceptical look of someone who isn't good with compliments. It's funny because most women I know are aware of how good they look. Which doesn't mean they don't expect you to constantly tell them. I suppose pretty is an attribute women feel they have to earn over and over again. My mom used to beam at me when I was admiring her beauty as a kid. My aunt Linda kisses me on the cheek every time I tell her how stunning she looks. And Crystal asked me only last night if I didn't find her beautiful anymore, voice husky and liquor-slurred, eyes shimmering in the dim light.
What a silly thought. Of course she is beautiful. The fact she's beautiful is nothing that's defined by my perception of her. Her beauty is independent of my judgement. But what she wanted to know was if I was still in love with her, if I still desired her, which is not the same thing.
Everyone you love is beautiful – but it certainly doesn't work the other way around. But perhas that's only my way of looking at it. I guess my mom, Linda, Crystal are only so concerned about their appearance because for them being beautiful translates to being loved. When I look at Kat I can see that she's pretty but it's not all that draws me to her. There's more to it, a kind of magic, an almost magnetic pull that makes me want to wrap my arms around her and kiss her and never let go.
“I see how it would have been a problem to transport all of this on my bike,” I say.
We've just begun the tour and the cart is already half-full with various kinds of fruit and vegetables. It looks like she's shopping for a whole family. Maybe she is? It's only occurring to me now that I know nothing about how she lives, where, with whom. She could have kids for all I know.
“You're not a fruitarian, are you?”
She looks at me as if she's surprised I even know the word.
“Maybe I should consider becoming one,” she says. “To be honest I just hate groceries shopping so I try to get everything at once. But perhaps you're right and the ham-feeling is not the best premise for making choices about what to eat next week.” She stares at the selection of fruit. “I think we can move on now.”
“What else is on your list?” I ask as we walk down the aisle towards the canned food. I'm pushing the cart while Kat stops here and there to take things from the shelves. It feels oddly domestic to do this together and I'm apparently not alone with the opinion. People are giving us strange glances. Perhaps they're astounded I'm not living on raw human flesh and happy pills. Or they can't believe a girl like Kat would hang out with a guy like me, you know the no-good type with tattoos and a criminal record. They'd expect someone with a porn star get-up at my side, someone to look properly down upon, not the girl from next door.
A mother pulls back her kid as though she's afraid I'm going to eat it if it comes too close. I notice how Kat looks at her, then at me, how she puts on a cloyingly sweet smile while moving towards me. For a moment I expect her to take my hand but she stops herself at the last second.
“Are people always like that?” she asks through her teeth without losing her smile as we pass an elderly man who also doesn't seem to approve of our presence.
“Pretty much, yeah,” I say. “Not all of them though, a lot of them know we're okay.”
I steer her a little out of the way so she has no chance to spot the two neo-Nazis eyeing us from behind the potato chips shelf. I don't think she'll notice but to me the white wolves on their jackets and the rune patches stand out like neon signs. They're not even making an effort to hide their presence, which is strange. Usually we're going out of our way to avoid each other. None of their organizations is active in Grand Oaks, they do their meth dealing and gun selling elsewhere. But we can hardly prevent them from doing their shopping here on occasion. It's just weird to have them lurking about.
Their stares remind also me of all the reasons I shouldn't get attached to Kat. Or rather: why Kat shouldn't get attached to me: I constantly have some sort of misery in tow.
Kat however is oblivious to this all.
“What do you think?” she says, holding out a bottle of red wine.
It looks fine enough for me but then I have no understanding of wine. I can't even remember when I had my last glass. I usually drink beer and liquor, maybe a glass of sparkling wine on occasion, but I'm not one of those fancy people who always have the right wine with their dinner or who put charger plates under their soup bowls.
“I think you're the expert here,” I say, still somewhat absent-mindedly.
Apparently I sounded too dismissive because her face clouds over. “Don't you like red wine?”
Fuck, damn Nazis, that was not was I intended for. I should have paid more attention to her. I don't want her to think I'm not interested in her, so I gotta change course fast.
“It's not that I don't like it. I just don't know anything about it,” I admit. “I wouldn't be averse to an extra lesson though.”
So much for staying away from her.
But to be honest I don't want to stay away.
To my relief Kat seems to share the sentiment. “I had intended to invite you for dinner,” she says, apparently a little nervous. “As a small thank you for driving me around today. Would that be a good occasion for a wine tasting?”
So that's what the wine is for. It's amazing how easily I can picture it: red wine, candle light, soft music. Kat snuggled up against my side. All very romantic. It's only natural to leap to a steamier scenario from there. At least my imagination is wasting no time. It's coming up with a pretty intense picture of us having fun with each other and I have to summon all my self-control to stop myself from getting lost in that fantasy and focus on the here and now.
But too
late, Kat must have read my mind.
“Just so you don't get the wrong impression, I live with my aunt, so we're going to have a chaperone.”
“Fair enough.” This may not be as ideal as my dream situation but I realize I'm only too happy to put up with an aunt if it means I get to spend time with Kat.
“Are you okay with pasta alla Bolognese?” she asks.
“Yes, of course. I love Bolognese sauce.”
“Excellent. Now we only have to find a day that fits us both. Today's my free evening, and I have no plans so far…” She looks at me, as if surprised by her own courage. “But that would be incredibly short notice of course,” she adds quickly to give me a way to elegantly back out.
The thing is I don't want to. And I won't give her a chance to wiggle out of the date again either.
“Today is fine for me.”
“Really?”
She sounds as if she expected me to decline, and I'm beginning to wonder if there's an actual reason for her hesitance.
“Only if it works for you,” I say in anticipation of some flimsy excuses but to my absolute surprise she only looks delighted.
“Yes of course it does, I just didn't expect you to be free... Let's say eight then?”
“Perfect.”
Kat picks another bottle and puts it into the cart. She seems relieved, as if a burden has been taken off her shoulders. There is a lightness to her step now and her smiles have become easier, slow and sweet. I want to pull her into my arms and taste that sweetness, kiss her until we're both breathless. Until she's soft and pliant against me. It's hardly been twelve hours that I kissed her and my body remembers only too well how she felt pressed against my chest. I really should think about something else, anything, it would be fucking embarrassing to get a hard-on in the middle of the damn store like some stupid teen.