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With the reminder of the large age difference between us, I sit up on the couch.
I know exactly what time he is referencing. I was 6, he was around 13 or 14. It was only a couple of years after his dad joined the club. I was riding my bike around the clubhouse when I fell off and skinned my knee. Ringer just so happened to be outside playing basketball with Flame when it happened. Dad tells me I’ve been a drama queen since the minute I entered the world, so even though I only skinned my knee, you would have thought I had cut off my leg.
As I sat there on the hard concrete, holding my injured leg, Ringer dropped down next to me to inspect my knee. While Flame ran to find my mom, which was a joke because she would’ve just told me to suck it up, Ringer sat on the concrete with me and held me while I cried. I remember him telling me jokes to get me to stop crying, and suddenly my knee didn’t hurt all that bad.
I can also recall many times where I was so angry at my mother for whatever reason, and all Ringer had to do was pull me into his arms and hold me tightly to calm me down. When I was a kid, I used to fight his embrace because I knew what he was trying to do. Being his persistent self, he would keep hugging me anyway, eventually tickling my ribs until I surrendered, doubled over in laughter while he kept holding me.
Things started to change as I got older, and his embraces became less comical. His touch was no longer funny, and it elicited feelings inside of me that a teenage girl had no business feeling for a man in his twenties.
“You used to make me so mad,” I say with a small laugh.
“What? Why?” He turns his body towards mine on the couch, but still not removing his hand from my bare thigh.
“All I wanted to do was be mad and pout, but you had to ruin it by tickling me.”
“You’re too pretty to pout.”
I meet his eyes as they search my face. “I was a kid.”
“Even then,” he says matter of factly, his eyes twinkling.
Biting down on my lips, I turn away from him as a warm blush creeps its way up my neck.
Ringer drops his booted feet to the floor, and the loud thud brings my attention back to him.
“I’m meeting Dad and Ghost at the diner for dinner. Are you okay?” he asks, the question punctuated by genuine concern.
I nod my head, pushing up from the couch and moving over to the small kitchen. I take a small sip from the water my dad handed me and turn, leaning my hip against the granite.
Ringer rises and walks over, stopping right in front of me. He’s so close that I can smell his woodsy cologne. “It’s really fucking good to be out and to be able to see your face again.”
I peer up at him through my lashes and am assaulted by the face that I’ve loved since I was thirteen. His piercing blue eyes penetrate my soul. His gaze drops to my lips, and I’m made painfully aware that I’ve been chewing my bottom one this entire time.
His large hand lifts to my cheek, where he uses his thumb to softly pull my lip out from between my teeth. I internally scream as he drops his head to mine and places a gentle kiss at the corner of my mouth. His stubble tickles my chin, but the shock radiating through my body has me speechless and frozen as he pulls away.
The smirk pulling at his lips has me snapping out of it, I roll my eyes and push at his chest.
“Did I take your breath away?” he chuckles.
I roll my eyes again, flipping my middle finger up at him. “Hardy-har-har. You surprised me is all.”
“Mhm, sure.” He slowly backs away towards my door, while not taking his eyes off of me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess.”
Not being able to leave it alone, I ask, “Why will you see me tomorrow?”
“I’ve gotta try the famous baker that is our very own Lilah Neil.” He says my name with his big hands held out in emphasis.
“You’ve had my baking before,” I say through a grin. He was the main customer at the many silly bake sales I used to have at the clubhouse. My nana and I would bake all night on Friday nights. On Saturdays, I used to con all the men into buying my treats. Every penny I made in those sales is actually the money I put into the bakery I have now.
Even though it wasn’t nearly enough, I am so thankful for the club for investing in my baby.
“Babe, I haven’t had one of your sweet treats in a very long time,” he says with a wink.
I’m not sure if his comment should be taken out of context, but the way my body reacts to it says a whole lot. I don’t have time to think about it further as he leaves through my front door.
I’m left leaning against the counter, wondering what in the hell just happened.
four
