Page 19 of The Price of Love

I slide into my car with a smile on my face. I’m a Steel Grace whether she likes it or not.

CHAPTER 10

DIMPLES

The evening is wearing down, and I’m tired of smiling. The scene at church lingers over the clubhouse, but the rivers of alcohol flowing lessened or at least numbed the effect. A few girls are dancing seductively with one another, and one of our newer patches is dry-humping her boyfriend. The rooms upstairs are getting plenty of use tonight, including by Flash, who disappeared with Frost’s friend.

For appearances, Storm stuck around, but she stayed away from me. Half an hour ago, she slipped upstairs with one of the hang-arounds. Typical. When Storm needs stress relief, there’s always a willing party. I wish she’d find someone solid and settle down. She needs to share her bed with someone she can trust. I don’t share my bed with anyone. Trust costs too much.

Frost and her posse left shortly after Storm called it a night. All evening, Storm and Frost’s posturing was exhausting. At least it was for me, and I suspect Nails, who’s finally sitting at the end of the bar, nursing her first beer. We were edgy, waiting for a confrontation that never came.

I consider sliding into the seat next to Nails, but it’ll only lead to a conversation neither of us wants to have. The issue is far from over, but for tonight, it’s best I let it lie. Instead, I opt for my favorite stress reliever.

When I slip outside, the air is crisp, making the stars more vibrant. I want to gaze at them, but I shiver. I wish I’d grabbed my jacket, but I don’t want to go back inside, so I hurry across the yard to the garage.

Inside, I flip on the light and heater. As spring marches on, it’s slowly warming, but the evenings still get cold. Tonight, I’m chilled to the bone, so I crank the temperature higher, even though I know it won’t stop the trembling inside me.

I grab my supplies and pull a stool up beside my bike. My hands tremble as I shake the bottle of chrome polish. Fuck me. At least it didn’t happen in the clubhouse. I’ve learned to hold it together until I’m alone. Only Storm and Nails have ever seen me lose it. My body hits a limit, and then it just goes.

I smile, thinking of Storm joking that I should have more nameless, faceless sex. Sometimes I wish I could.

The first time Storm saw one of my episodes, we were still prospects. She found me shaking on the bathroom floor and thought I was having a seizure. I couldn’t convince her otherwise until I made her Google, Can someone talk while having a seizure? Then the soft side of Storm came out—one that most people never see. She asked if it’d help if she held me. At first, I bristled, thinking it was weird, but I was hurting, so I said yes. It worked. The shaking stopped, and something between us grew deeper after that.

I’ve only had one episode that bad, after Aces told us she had stage four cancer. But Storm and I held each other together then.

Now, unless I’m pushed too far, I can usually control it. I’ve learned to catch the worms-crawling-under-my-skin feeling before my hands shake. Rubbing my hands together helps, and letting my leg bounce usually calms me. But polishing my bike is the best therapy, which is why it’s the shiniest in the club. Everyone thinks it’s because I’m road captain. It’s not.

“Is someone in here?”

I recognize Jazmin’s silky voice and glance down at my hands. An hour later, my hands still tremble.

I consider not answering, but when Jazmin calls out again, I say, “I’m back here.”

She pulls up and stares when she sees me. “Uh, polishing your bike again?”

I nod and rub my hands together. Shit. My leg starts to jiggle.

Jazmin must notice, but she doesn’t say anything. “Who needs a mirror with chrome like that?”

I smile. “What do you think I use to put on my makeup? My tailpipe.”

She laughs. “Want some company?”

My first reaction is to send her away, but I hear myself say, “Pull up a chair.”

She gives me a big smile and retrieves a stool. I expect her to sit on the opposite side of the bike, but she drops the stool next to me and sits. Our shoulders aren’t touching, but if I lean over, I’d brush against her. I don’t lean.

“Things winding down in the clubhouse?” I ask, looking for something to say.

“Pretty much. The stragglers are still battling it out.”

“Left Right Center? Those girls can play all night.” I pick up a cloth and rub the fuel tank, hoping to still my trembling hands.

Jazmin turns on her stool. “Are you okay?”

Fuck me. I should tell her I’m fine. Instead, I push my stool back and turn so I’m facing her. I can’t tell her the truth, so I say, “How’s prospecting going?”

She bites her bottom lip and gives me a knowing nod. “Good. I really enjoy the club.”