by J. C. Allen
“There were other women at the club,” I said, even though I knew he already had an answer ready-made for that.
“Yeah, but not like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yes. Innocent. Clueless.”
Jesus. You almost had an opening and you just chose to drive the stake right through my heart, didn’t you? Why am I even giving you a modicum of an opening at this point?
“How many times will you insult me in twenty four hours?”
“I don’t mean—Jesus, you just know how to twist my words?”
Oh, so you’re the victim now? Fucking hell.
“It’s not twisting, you just called me clueless. Unless clueless means something different to you.”
“I mean that those other women come looking for trouble, wanting the danger. Expecting something to happen to them. That’s not you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but I had no way of telling him he was right. That wasn’t why I went, and it wasn’t what I wanted out of life at all.
Damnit, why did I give Jaxson even a little bit of an opening?
“And I was right. Guys fight in the bar all the time. You could have gotten hurt.”
And back to square one.
“Well I wasn’t. And I can take care of myself regardless.”
“I know that. I just didn’t want you to have to.”
Now, I was so far into the conversation, I just wanted to see what more crazy things he could say to dig himself into a hole.
“Why? You don’t know me.”
“I want to.”
He snapped his eyes closed and exhaled as if he didn’t mean to say that, but it was too late. Suddenly, the truth was out—we both wanted the same thing on some level, even if we were playing some weird… not game, but some weird dance where we were trying to push each other away, as if testing the other to see if they really wanted the other..
I raised my brow at him, waiting for an elaboration. When he opened his eyes again, they were the softest I had ever seen them.
“I don’t meet women like you around here, Isabelle. It doesn’t—I don’t know what to do with it.”
Hmm. Go on…
“Well, you could mind your own business, that’s for one.”
I crossed my arms, testing to see if this was just a game of his, but when he feigned a hurt voice… it was a little harder to be upset, admittedly.
“Hey, I’m trying to be nice here.”
“You should try harder.”
But I was laughing at this statement. The tension of what was said earlier had dissipated, and now I was more curious to see where he wanted to take this than anything else..
“I will. If you’ll let me. Maybe we can start over.”
I suppose we might be able to do that.
Might.
“So instead of meeting in a motorcycle club… we’ve met in a grocery store?”
“Seems like as good a start as any. My parents met in a pub.”
Wait, are we talking about this as a romantic story already?
Jesus…
It’s kind of fun.
I took a deep breath, spent a split second debating if this was a good idea…
And went against my conscience and the voices from last night, ignoring whatever the consequences would be. I was ready to roll the dice.
“Okay… fine,” I said.
Just don’t break my heart.
5
Jaxson
“You’re pissed.”
I stood with my brothers, Zeke and Matthew, at the bar the day after our initial party. “Pissed” wasn’t an accurate measurement for how I felt.
“I am more than pissed.”
But Zeke only laughed at that. I supposed it was funny… once I was no longer in the middle of handling this fucked up situation. Contrary to the cliche of a motorcycle club, bar room brawls were not what this club was about.
“You should be glad,” Matthew said.
Behind the bar, he smiled, leaning his hands on either side of the bar as he laughed at my expression. It was becoming apparent neither brother had any idea what the fuck the problem was here.
“Excuse me?” I said, grabbing broken glass from the ground and sticking it in the shards bucket.
“I mean, better they did it now then before they joined the club. Before I figured out they were air heads.”
“Yeah. I guess. I’m just not one for picking up glass and—”
And getting my head confused and mind-fucked by Isabelle.
But I stopped myself from saying too much, most especially about Isabelle. That would not have been a good look in front of my brothers.
Right now, though, I couldn’t get the look in her eyes out of my head, frozen on the spot, watching two guys acting like animals. I probably could have done it in a better way, but I was bothered enough by her just being here and being nearly in the line of fire.
And I still had no idea why she had come.
“And?” Matthew said.
“Nothing.”
He laughed. He knew he was getting to me—but I wasn’t going to let him know why he was getting to me.
There was no way I was going to tell them about Isabelle now. They would just convince me to give in to my urges—to have her right here in this club, bent over the table, any table, in one of the back rooms even though I swore I would never use it.
And worst of all, I would probably listen to them.
“Some girl, probably,” Zeke said, snickering with his annoying chuckle of a laugh.
I looked over and glared at him.
“Shut up.”
But the snap reaction was a mistake. I shook my head almost immediately. I shouldn’t have said anything at all, because having done so had told them that, in fact, a girl was the reason for my temper.
“See, told ya.”
I shook my head at both brothers and flipped them off before I went to grab the broom, getting the last of the glass off the ground before I returned to the main room.
“So, who is she?” Zeke said as he popped open two beers and coaxed me to the bar.
We sat with Matthew while he was closing up, which included wiping everything down and plugging the liquor bottles.
“There is no she.” I muttered.
Zeke didn’t buy it, though. I knew he wouldn’t. He just wasn’t that stupid.
“Come on, I wouldn’t tell a soul. Not even Mom.”
Admittedly, if he actually kept that promise, that would eliminate ninety percent of the concern. Mom was an old-fashioned lady who turned a blind eye to an awful lot of club activity—but when the activity went in front of her good eye, she had a way of raising hell.
Still…
“I don’t know her,” I said. “I saw her in here yesterday and then again tonight. I told her to leave.”
“What?” Matthew said with a laugh.
“I second that.” Zeke said with a burp.
I again rolled my eyes at them and took a swig of my beer. Really not escaping this one, huh?
“I… this place is no good for a girl like her. She seemed nice and sweet.”
“Maybe that’s her cover. Besides, you can’t just tell a woman what to do.”
Goddamnit, Matthew, did you feed her lines? Because you’re sound a lot like her right now. Who’s side are you on, anyways?
“I know that, it’s not like I—she was. And I’ve never seen her around anywhere before. She’s new to town. And this isn’t the place to get acquainted with the locals.”
I spun my beer in my fingers and avoided their gazes as my brows tightened up. I swallowed back the acid from the beer and thought things over in my head, because I knew I was starting to sound like I was spewing off a whole lot of bullshit.
I knew I was wrong, and I probably hurt her feelings, too. I had come across very aggressive; I had let the climate of the bar and the temperament of the prospects get to me.
But, truth be told, I didn’t plan on ever seeing her ag
ain. I got my point across to her. There was no reason to cry over spilled milk at this point, even if I had been the one to knock the carton over in the first place.
“Whatever dude. That was still pretty shitty. And even I know that.”
I knew Zeke was trying to lighten the mood, but…
It just wasn’t working.
“I get that. But… I don’t know. She wasn’t like the women that come in and out of here, I could tell.”
“Well you never know, she could have been your old lady.”
OK, come on now. I frowned at Matthew.
“I second that.” Zeke said.
“Alright, I get it. Jesus Christ, just fucking clean this place off and let’s get the hell out of here, shall we? Fuck almighty, I’m not here to have you two wonder about my future old lady’s walk down the aisle.”
I finished my beer and then set off to close up the place, sending my two brothers home. I shut all the lights off and stopped in the back office, the one Dad used to use. No one had been in there regularly since he passed, not even any of my brothers.
But something came over me, causing me to walk inside.
The draft hit me first, and it still smelled like his old cologne and occasional cigar. Mom tried to get him to stop smoking them. It didn’t work then, and it obviously never worked out.
It was a small space. It opened up to the wooden desk and office chair he probably hadn’t replaced since he opened up the club here. Our cut was displayed above the desk, plastered on the wall; a bookshelf came up around it with books no one had probably read in years. The far left wall had motorcycle parts on the ground, and the other side had a huge wall of family and club pictures. Some of them were even from back in Ireland.
My eyes settled on a picture of Dad with all of us. He seemed healthy at that time…
I never knew if it was some sort of stress he didn’t tell any of us about, or if he was sick… but one day he was here and the next he was gone.
I wished we had time to prepare. I wished that Mom didn’t have to deal with it. I had promised him I would keep this place going, make it stronger than ever.
But now I wished I had my father’s knowledge and wisdom, because now, I was wondering if I actually could.
I woke up, perhaps not surprisingly, with a pounding headache. I’m getting too old for this shit.
I rummaged through my kitchen for a hangover cure, only to find I had nothing besides beer and two frozen dinners. Mom would be pissed if she saw a grown man with such little food in his fridge.
Good thing Mom doesn’t live here.
I eventually, somehow, found the strength to pull my sorry ass together and head for the nearby convenience store. I didn’t expect there to be anything more than some cereal, maybe some small, shitty eggs and some low-quality bacon, but at this point, I just needed anything that had calories and no alcohol in it.
Though I briefly considered my bike, I had a feeling that I was going to need a lot of groceries—I could be a bit of a heavy eater. Though I absolutely hated to drive anything other than a bike—it was akin to riding on a rocket to space, and then having to ride a tricycle—I felt like I had no choice if I wanted to get as much food as I wanted. And so, begrudgingly, I fired up the truck and…
I stopped just before I got out of the driveway.
If my brothers saw me driving a truck for any reason other than off-road duties or for transportation, I knew I would never hear the end of it, and justifiably so. I’d let the hangover cloud my judgment.
Quickly, before I made more dumb decisions, I parked the truck, got on my bike, revved the engine, and headed to the store.
As soon as I walked in, as was usual, most people looked nervously at me. I never knew why—it wasn’t like I wanted to terrorize the townsfolk. I think most people just went by the cliche of a motorcycle club member without ever bothering to get to know me.
And then I saw her.
Goddamnit, I saw her.
I had never intended to cross paths with her again. I had never meant to see her again. As far as I was concerned, yeah, we were in a small town, but she was a student, I think, and I was a biker. Even if she wasn’t, we definitely didn’t run in the same circles.
And yet here she was. Might as well talk to her while she’s here.
“Isabelle.”
What ensued next was something that I never would have expected, but probably should have. It started out with something of a public spat—I had to give it to her, she was not afraid to give me her grief. I just wanted to apologize, but it seemed like no matter how much I apologized, she wouldn’t take it.
Admittedly, I hadn’t apologized for many things in my life, and the act of apologizing was something that felt unnatural. Besides my mother, there just weren’t many people I felt I owed sorrow for; I treated women with respect, I gave the boys in the club the full truth, and I did what was ethically right in our town. There never was the need to apologize.
But clearly, I had misread Isabelle. I had pegged her as weaker than she actually was, and right now, for one of the first times ever, I was bearing the brunt of a woman’s fire.
But Isabelle was more than just “a woman.” She was something more—indescribably attractive, irresistible, and someone I wanted to know more about.
Eventually, we wound up outside her car. Half the time, she looked like she wanted to hip check me across the parking lot and run away; the other half, she looked like she didn’t want to resist my advances and wanted me to come closer. I did get a bit of a thrill in pursuing this half-on, half-off kind of game; there was something to be said for the erotic feeling that accompanied it.
But then, at the end, I got right to the point. I asked if we could start over—if we could put our awkward, terrible introduction behind us so that we could better see if we worked out. Isabelle wasn’t exactly head over heels over the idea, but eventually, she gave me an answer that was more than good enough.
“OK… fine.”
Well, it’s not a hell yes and it’s not a leap into the arms. But this might be better in some ways. It’ll force me to go slow, force me to not rush things, force me to learn more about this Isabelle.
I let myself grin at her words—not so much her resolve, but the fact that I didn’t fuck things up completely.
But now you actually have to take advantage of the opportunity, you dummy.
“Uh, have you eaten?” I said.
“What?” she said, making a weird face.
“You know, food.”
Jesus, Jaxson, you sound like a fucking middle schooler! Remember who you are—the president of the Kinsmen!
“I—no.”
She dropped her shoulder, like she dropped some of her defenses. To be honest, when I first heard “no,” I heard “no, I don’t want to get food with you.” It was only with a little bit of backtracking that I realized she was saying “no, I haven’t eaten yet,” opening up the door for me to ask her out.
“Let me take you to dinner, then,” I said, clearing my throat, even feeling my heart flutter waiting for her response. I don’t flutter for anything, ever. You got some kind of spell over me, Isabelle.
“Um…” she said, blinking and licking her bottom lip nervously.
That sight—seeing her tongue on her lips—drove me so mad I didn’t hear her response. Can I be blamed for how sexy of a sight that wwas?
“Jaxson?”
“Yeah. Um. Let’s take my bike.”
I nodded over to where it was parked. I looked at Isabelle, and the poor girl looked like I had just invited her to a death ride.
“I don’t think so.”
She widened her eyes and looked over at my bike like it was a guillotine. I began to suspect that she had never even ridden a bike in her life, let alone anything else associated with the club. This really is going to be a slow, grindingly slow process to get her comfortable.
“It’s fine, I know a diner right down the road. And you’ll be safe with me. I
have… haven’t been in a wreck in years.”
I almost said “never” but I couldn’t lie to her about things like that. Club business? Depended on the business. But this? Better to put it up front.
Perhaps wisely, she shook her head and sighed. It seemed the art of persuasion was still needed.
“Don’t you trust me?” I asked.
“Are you really asking me that?”
I shook my head at her and laughed. It felt like a fair question.
“Yeah, I am.”
She sighed and stepped closer, almost brushing her chest on mine. It almost felt like the reverse of last night, where I more or less got in her face to tell her to leave. I mentally prepared myself for the worst.
But, then, much to my pleasant surprised, she closed her car door behind her.
“No, I don’t. But as long as you’re buying dinner, what’s the harm, right?”
6
Isabelle
I raised my voice as loud as normally possible.
I wanted to make sure other people heard me, just in case Jaxson had any crazy ideas. Granted, most of the town seemed scared of him, but not me. Jaxson frowned at my move, but it only made me smile.
Still, this whole scenario was crazy.
First of all, I couldn’t believe I was getting on a bike with a total stranger—an asshole, arrogant stranger at that. But with everything said so far, I could tell he didn’t normally apologize to people and that was big of him.
I think.
He was also very, very pretty. It was hard to be rational with how good he looked—some men just had that charm about them that made them impossible to resist, and Jaxson was apparently one of them. Certainly the most “pretty boy” of anyone I had ever met.
“Here,” he said, opening the seat of the bike. “I have a helmet for you.”
I clutched my purse over my chest and patiently waited. I could feel my knees shaking from how nervous I was. I tried to get my body to relax, but my head would not stop reacting to him. I began to feel oddly comfortable around him, and I didn’t know why.