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“I can see why.”
“His wife hacks into the CCTV to watch him sometimes. He takes his shirt off for her. But Lena swears that when he is shirtless, her sales go up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wren started making him walk around permanently shirtless.”
Those names mean nothing to me, so I nod, following Lisa into the clubhouse. It’s different here too. Without the music and the smokiness, the crush of people, and the sharp tang of alcohol in the air, it’s more of a…common area.
The two bikers from my first night here are playing pool. They glance over when we walk in, but Lisa ignores them. Behind the bar, a guy in a leather jacket with no cut is wiping down glasses. I guess he’s staff, not a biker. That makes sense.
“My office is through here.”
Lisa leads me through a double door, ignoring the giant “Keep Out” sign. The doors swing shut behind us, and we walk down a corridor lined with black and white photographs of men on motorcycles.
I don’t get a good look at the photographs because we have reached Lisa’s office. I can see her decorating style when we walk in. It looks a little like their apartment. Similar color palette and artwork on the walls. On the desk, there is a framed photograph of Lisa and Palmer. Cute.
The window looks out at the chain-link fence and the forest. My cheeks flame at the sight. It must have been outside here that Merch and I fucked for the first time.
“So,” Lisa drops into her office chair, spinning and smirking at me, “you and Merch are kind of serious now?”
Shrugging, I snag the second chair, drag it over to her, and take a seat, my eyes darting to her screen – she’s got some invoice program and a booking system.
“I mean, he locked me in his apartment. Does that make it kind of serious?”
“Yes.” Lisa sounds matter-of-fact. “Palmer got so pissed off when he took me into his bed, and I went back to my apartment to shower.When I put you in my bed, you stay there until I tell you otherwise.”
She’s pretty good at mocking Palmer’s voice for someone who can’t hear well. My insides are the nesting place of a flock of butterflies. So it’s not just Merch. It’s clearly athing. Does that mean we’re not just fuck buddies anymore? God, I’m so confused.
“Hey, who is this?”
I spin around, my eyes locked on the door. At my movement, Lisa glances over as well, her eyes on the tall, long-haired brunette poking her head around the door.
“Oh, hey, Wren. This is Shelley. She’s Merch’s.”
Wren’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say anything. I guess that’s a good way to describe me, as Merch’s. I have no idea who I’m supposed to be to Merch, so leaving it open-ended sounds good.
“There’s a phone call,” Wren tells Lisa, who grabs a headset. Wren beckons for me to follow her. Oh, maybe it’s a confidential thing.
Standing, I cross the room, following this Wren out of Lisa’s office and into the room next door. It’s another slightly larger office with a large framed photo of Wren in a gorgeous wedding dress with a model-level good-looking blond guy with piercing blue eyes. I have no idea why, but his eyes give me the heebie-jeebies.
More interestingly, a bassinet with an adorable sleeping baby in the corner of the room.
“That’s Arianna. She’s just turned one month,” Wren tells me proudly. I creep over, peeking in.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“She’s got her father’s looks,” Wren brags. My eyes dart to the wedding photo again, lingering on those eyes.
“She has my eyes,” Wren smirks. Oh. That’s good. Those blue eyes on a tiny baby would have been a little…unsettling.
“So, you’re Merch’s?”
I glance over my shoulder, my eyebrows raising.
“We… hang out.”
Wren has a knowing smile but changes the subject. “Have you seen much of the clubhouse?”
“Just the bar and this bit,” I admit. She nods, looking thoughtful, but before she can say anything else, Lisa sticks her head into the room.
“That’s taken care of,” she tells Wren cheerfully. “You can come back in now, Shelley.”
