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“Ah, you know, I haven’t given it a lot of thought, honestly. Never been in so serious a relationship that kids were even on my mind. Figure maybe an… average number of kids would be cool. Love my sister’s kids.”
“Is your sister a biker too?”
“My sister was a street racer,” I clarified. “And she married a former street racer turned biker. Right now, though, she owns a car parts type store. Which specializes in parts for racing cars. What?” I asked at the bemused look on her face.
“Your lives sound like the books I read,” she admitted. “And here I was thinking they were all over-the-top and practically fantastical.”
And she didn’t know the half of it.
The organized crime. The enemies. The shootouts.
“It’s not all action all the time,” I told her. And that was true enough. When it came to the crazy shit, it probably only made up something like thirty percent of the time. And that was even being generous. “Most of the time, it’s a lot of parties. Every night the past week, for example.”
“Everynight?” Siana asked, sounding horrified. “Doesn’t that… get old?” she asked.
“I think, eventually, yeah, it does for everyone. There’s a reason all the older members of the club are married and having kids, not partying these days. But it’s usually fun for a good, long while.”
“Do you party that much?”
“Not much anymore. I stayed for an hour or so tonight before cutting out and heading home. Not my scene these days.”
“I’ve… never been to a party,” she admitted, seeming to confess this to the teacup she had up near her lips.
“Never?” I asked. “Not even as a kid? In high school?”
“Never,” she said, gaze lifting to mine. “I was never good at… social things. Also, I was never invited,” she said, shrugging as she said it, but I had a feeling there had to be some hurt there. No kid liked not being included.
“You wanna go to a party sometime?” I asked, watching as she looked back, eyes round.
“With your biker friends?” she asked.
“That makes them sound a lot more unfriendly than they are,” I said, giving her a smile. “You gotta strike ‘Going to a party’off your bucket list.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe,” she added. “But thanks for offering.”
“It wasn’t a pity offer,” I was quick to clarify. “I wouldn’t mind your company at a party,” I told her, watching as she went all pink again. “And I obviously don’t mean tomorrow or anything like that. But once you’re feeling up to it,” I said, watching as she walked over toward her couch, then dropped down like her legs didn’t have enough strength left to hold her up.
I needed to go.
I’d done what I needed to do.
Checked in on her.
Made sure she was okay.
I had to force myself to leave, even if the urge to drop down on the couch next to her was a fuckuva lot stronger than I could have anticipated.
“Here,” I said, grabbing the magnetic notepad off of her fridge, and removing the attached pen, jotting down my number.The one for my real phone. And my address, just in case. “I’m gonna leave you with my phone, if you want to come to a party with me sometime. When you’re ready. And I’m leaving my address in case you ever… need it,” I said, really having no idea why I was providing it. Save for the fact that I really would love to have her at the house. Preferably in my bed.
But I couldn’t exactly say that, now, could I?
I ripped off the page, reattached the notepad to the fridge, then stuck the note to the surface with one of her many mismatched magnets, this one featuring a character fromThe Princess Bride.
“Call me. Or text me,” I added, figuring she likely wasn’t much of a phone call person. “If you need anything. Or if you just want to talk,” I added as I made my way across the room. “I mean it,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For pulling stalkerish behavior to check on you?” I asked, shooting her a smile.
