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His arm brushes against my dad’s as he turns and heads back to his table.
Stopping in front of me, Dad asks, “A friend of yours?”
I sigh. “You wanted me to get a job, which involves me talking to customers.”
“As long as it stays that way. That club is bad news.”
I have to fight not to roll my eyes at his judgement. Without another word, he returns to his table, but he watches me like a hawk as I wait to take my break.
I need to get the hell out of this town. Huh, now that I think about it, maybe this job isn’t as bad as I first thought. I could save everything I earn and use it to move on, to find somewhere I’m truly happy and at peace.
“Order up!”
Taking my parents breakfast to them, they thank me, and I continue with my cleaning, feeling like I’m being watched from all directions. I don’t look at my parents or Tal, not until the Lost Souls jump up from their seats and hover by the windows, looking angry. Edging my way to the end of the counter, I try to see what has them up in arms.
Across the street, a group of eight or nine guys linger out in front of the motel. None of them are wearing leather cuts, and don’t seem like they’re trouble. But one thing’s for sure: the guys in here don’t like them.
The Lost Souls leave the diner and hang around in the parking lot, just outside the door, their eyes on the men across the street.
Wiping down the table closest to them, I try to listen to what they’re discussing, but they’re keeping their voices low. Then JJ—I think that’s his name—calls for them to head out. I turn my attention to the guys across the street who are eyeing the bikers, making me think of an old-fashioned standoff you see in old movies.
My curiosity spikes, wondering what’s going to kick off, but after a few tense moments, nothing happens.
The Lost Souls climb onto their bikes and ride away, while the guys across the street continue to hang out at the motel.
I manage to get my break an hour later, and the rest of my shift is hectic. When Hank says I can go for the day, I grab my bag and run out before another customer can stop me. Climbing behind the wheel of my car, I’m two seconds away from leaving when Mom’s name flashes across my phone screen, but I’m not in the mood to answer her. She’ll want to know what time I’ll be home for dinner, but the last thing I want to do tonight is sit across from my dad and force down yet another lasagne—my mom’s specialty. No doubt he’s been preparing a lecture about how I should steer clear of the club and not get drawn in by good looking boys and false promises of love.As if I’m that easily led. One thing my father doesn’t understand about me is that I have a clear head, and I’m capable of making decisions that are right for me.
I’m hungry, but not enough to endure a lecture on my virtue, which hasn’t been too virtuous in the last few years. If my dad knew I lost my virginity to Scott Harris my senior year in the back of his car, he’d lose his shit.
Stopping by the pizza place, I pick up dinner and drive out to the club. The guy at the gate isn’t too welcoming, but he waves me in and I park up.
Sending off a text to Tal, I grab the pizza box, climb out of the car, and make myself comfortable on the hood.
When Tal walks toward me from the garages, I point to the pizza. “Hungry?”
He grins. “I could eat.”
Jumping up beside me, he digs in. “We need beer with this.”
Nodding, I take out a slice as he orders someone to grab us a few beers, thinking how nice it would be to have someone fetch me things instead of me fetching for everyone else.
“How’d it go with your dad earlier?” he asks.
“He told me to stay away from you, and that your club is bad news.”
He flinches, but covers it quickly with a grin.
“I have a feeling you’d do the opposite of everything he tells you anyway, and seeing as you’re here, I know I’m right.”
I laugh. “How’d do you end up joining an MC anyway?”
“I sort of stumbled into it, really.”
“Aren’t you going to elaborate?”
“Let’s not talk.” Dumping his pizza crust into the box, he leans over and kisses me.
“Stay here with me tonight,” he whispers against my lips.
