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“I’m not much of a painter,” Crow admitted. “I trust you,” he added.
“Well, I’m honored. Morgaine, I will need at least three days for these. In between other projects. So you can expect it maybe next Wednesday. If that works out for you.”
“She’ll be here,” Crow said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because I’ll be bringing you,” he said, shrugging.
“No, that’s—“
“Honey, the nice, handsome man is offering you a ride. Take him up on it.”
Oh, I wanted to take him up on a ride alright.
That was exactly the problem.
“You know I’ll just show up at your place,” Crow said, shooting me a boyish smirk.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Thanks, Marnie. I’ll see you next week.”
“If you have more items by then, bring them on by. The two of us might as well be making money if you have the creative juices flowing.”
I wanted to believe she wasn’t being deliberately suggestive, but one look at her twitching lips told me she knew exactly what she was saying.
“Right. Have a good day, Marnie,” I said, making a wide berth around Crow as I made my way to the door.
“That was fun,” Crow declared as we moved outside.
“Right.”
“What?”
“That was fun? Compared to all the partying and gun-running?”
“Believe it or not, even that exciting shit gets old eventually. It’s nice to do something different.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding, understanding. Because it was nice to share my little routine with someone. So I got it in a way.
“Speaking of something new,” Crow said, waving an arm out. “How about it?”
Following his arm, I found a charming little restaurant—all red umbrellas and twinkle lights that probably looked amazing at night.
“What?”
“Eating. At a restaurant. I’m assuming it’s been a while.”
It had been actual years.
The closest I’d been was grabbing a bagel here or there when I was waiting for my ride.
I knew I needed to say no, had to keep my distance from Crow and the way I seemed helpless but to respond to him.
But my damn traitorous mouth betrayed me.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
We were sat at one of the umbrella-covered tables outside and handed laminated menus with so many options that my head felt like it was spinning.
“I’m not great at small talk,” I admitted after we placed our orders, and both stared off at the street with its bustle of cars rushing to and from important appointments, and people milling around like they had all the time in the world.
I was usually so quick when I ran my errands that I never got a chance to really take in the world that I spent so much of my life avoiding.
“We don’t have to talk then.”
“That would be really awkward to just sit here in silence. I used to feel so sorry for those people when they’d come into a restaurant I worked for,” I told him, reaching for my drink. Soda. I didn’t even remember the last time I had something other than tea or water. “I used to see it a lot in older couples. Almost like they ran out of things to say to each other.”
“Maybe they were just comfortable in each others’ company, even without speaking,” Crow suggested.
“I guess that’s possible. It just seemed strange. The person you are closest with in the world, and you can’t find things to talk about? Kind of sad, I think. But they were always better than the openly arguing couples,” I added, cringing in secondhand embarrassment for them even after all the years. “Are any of your biker friends in relationships?”
“Brothers. They’re called brothers in a club,” Crow told me. “Just Judge. He was fresh out of prison and the first chick he laid eyes on ended up being his person.”
“None of the others?” I asked, finding myself suddenly more interested in his little club than I could have anticipated. And I knew it had nothing to do with the club itself, and everything to do with Crow’s connection to it.
“Nah. Detroit is a serious relationship kind of guy, but I guess he hasn’t found the right woman yet. Riff and Raff move around a lot, so they aren’t in one place long enough to meet anyone.”
“Wait, I’m sorry. Did you just say Riff and Raff? Are those their names?”
“Not legally, no. They’re twins. Those are road names.”
“Like… like Who let the riff-raff in?” I asked.
“Exactly like that. Then there is Sway who has never met a woman he didn’t want to take a tour of the sheets with. So I doubt he’d even know the right woman if she slapped him in the face. Then there’s our president. Slash. Who, I think, scares women.”
“Scares them?” I asked, brows drawing down. “Is he an asshole?”
“He probably seems like one. He’s not. He’s just got a really rough voice. And he has this really awful scar right here,” Crow said, drawing a line down from his right temple, between his brows, over his nose, just barely missing his eye, then continuing down his opposite cheek and jaw before trailing off. “And that is just the worst of them, there are a bunch of others.”
