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"And white," Virgin specified.
"I thought that was implied when I told you his name," I said with a smile. I couldn't claim to know everything about every culture, but names like Tanner did tend to belong to the lighter complexioned folks. "My school didn't have much diversity back in the day. In fact, I think my brothers and I and the adopted girl from India were the only people in that whole place who had any color."
"Imagine growing up in MCs," Virgin commiserated with a smirk. "You can't really find a less diverse group of people. The Henchmen have been the only club I have been in where I wasn't the only person of color, aside from my dad. Got Roderick here," he explained.
Roderick. I rolled through my mental Rolodex of names I had thrown at me while at the party, vaguely remembering a tall, well-built, stupidly good-looking Hispanic guy.
"The Henchmen are an interesting group, though. Cam who doesn't speak. The guy who practically lives up in that glass room..."
"Roan."
"He looks like a lion." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my lips pressed together, eyes going big, realizing how incredibly silly that sounded. A lion? Who said a person looked like a lion?
"Never thought about it, but he kinda does," Virgin admitted. "All that hair, the beard, that wild look in his eyes. Wanna hear a secret about Roan?"
"Yes," I decided immediately, leaning over the table a little.
"He used to be a spy."
"Like... an actual spy? Secret stealing and all that?"
"Yep."
"How do you go from a spy to a biker? I mean, that sounded judgy, but that seems like an odd career move."
"I think a lot of people who work secret government type jobs end up doing things afterward that aren't exactly legal. But in his case, he got burned. Someone claimed he was working for the other guys," he explained when I obviously had no idea what getting 'burned' meant. "The government freezes your assets, pretends they never met you. So, essentially, you start over with no money, a giant gap in your resume, and all these skills that really are only good for less than legal purposes."
"That's kind of cool. I mean, not for Roan. That must have sucked. But interesting. Does everyone in the club have crazy backstories?"
"Pretty much," Virgin admitted, suddenly sliding around the table, reaching out to grab my wrist, pulling me with him until our sides were pressed close, something that made my chest start to feel tight. "But I kinda don't want to talk about my brothers on our date," he told me, his hand sliding down my arm, resting over my hand. Not exactly holding it, not in the traditional definition of the word, but covering it, staying there.
"Oh, okay. Ah... what do you want to talk about then?" I asked, keeping my eyes forward, knowing if I looked at him, I wouldn't do so great with the whole stringing thoughts together thing.
"How about what you want to do once we leave here?" he suggested, his finger starting to trace over the back of my hand. It was a chaste, nothing little contact, but it was sending off shocks through my poor system.
"What do you mean?" I asked, knowing damn well what he meant.
"Lots of options that are clearly up to you. We could end things here. Drive you home. That's that. We could go for a drink. For dessert."
The idea of ending things here brought about an instant and unanimous objection from every single inch of my body.
"Dessert sounds good," I admitted. "But maybe I can make it," I suggested.
It was as close to an admission of wanting him to stay the night that I could make myself say.
Luckily, Virgin wasn't exactly dense.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips tease up at one side.
"Whatcha gonna make me?" he asked, reaching with his free hand for his wallet, deftly pulling out a card, throwing it onto the book the waiter had discreetly dropped off without a word.
"What do you like?"
"Watching a beautiful woman make me something sweet," he said casually. "Or so I would imagine," he added, reminding me how new he was to all of this too in a way.
And, somehow, the knowledge of that was enough to make me feel a lot more comfortable with the situation.
"So... it looks like brownies," I decided when we got home and realized that I really needed to hit the grocery store.
Brownies weren't exactly a wow-factor dessert, but if you did them right, they were kind of hard to beat in terms of deliciousness. I couldn't count the number of times Thad, Colson, and I would sit and eat a whole batch. Right out of the pan. Like a bunch of animals without even a hint of self-control.
