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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
*Zane “Father” - Chaplain*
Chaz helps her off the stage and lays his wiles on thick, pulling the first smile from her since Kal sucked away all her happiness.
Her confident speech helped me calm down a little but still didn’t remedy just how messed up the situation is. The guys all promised me a distraction, but I never imagined the entire cluster that this evening has turned into would be what I got.
I also never expected my distraction would include the touch of a woman either. Really, I had no presumptions. But, even still, none of this was on my non-existent list of expectations.
However, strangely enough, it all served to work. For a while, whatever drug she gave me made me care a little less. Though, I suddenly understand what the term “buzzkill” means. Not that I was buzzed. Or maybe I was — am? I stare at the ceiling for a minute and do a body and mind check. I feel good.
So, yeah, maybe I am buzzed.
“Let us dine!” Baylor announcing mealtime snaps me out of my floaty thoughts and draws my attention toward him, Chaz, and Lace. Mouth cupped, he asks, “Shall we bless the food?”
Lace whips her attention away from Chaz and flashes me a grin. I chuckle nervously, face burning. Thankful there is half a room separating us so my reaction hopefully went unnoticed, I clear my throat, cross my arms, and close my eyes.
It takes a minute for everyone to be still and quiet so I can be heard without yelling. Just as my mouth opens to begin, my elbow grazes against a soft arm, stalling me.
I peek one eye open. Lace gives me this cute little side grin, nudges me with her shoulder, then slips her eyes closed.
Hoping my smile doesn’t bleed through the reverent prayer, I try again.
The invocation flows smoothly, but about halfway through, exploratory fingers run along my forearm to my wrist, and my hand is tugged free. I continue praying while Lace cups our hands together and drops them between us.
When I close the prayer, the usual club members parrot me: Kio, Baylor, and Vee. I listen for Lace’s voice, but she remains quiet like Kal, Coty, Chaz, and Brodi tend to do.
But at the same time, she gives a silent affirmation with the light squeeze of her hand. When I finally open my eyes, Lace is looking up at me with a soft smile.
She is quite a bit shorter without those crazy shoes on. Earlier, the top of her head was pretty much level with my line of sight, which is definitely not something I am used to with most women. Even barefooted, though, she is still pretty tall, coming to about my chin now.
Lace blinks those really long eyelashes of hers, and I kinda want to touch them.
Trying to get my mind back on track, my gaze drops, since her face is so distracting. Of course, that makes matters worse; my focus immediately lands on the line of cleavage between the zipper of the borrowed, oversized leather jacket she is wearing.
I kinda want to touch that, too — the cleavage, not the jacket. But, instead, I just stare at her because my tongue stopped working after “Amen.”
“C’mon, hun, time to get you some grub,” she says, trying to hide an amused smirk by tucking herself against my body, putting her arm around my waist, and resting her head against my shoulder.
My arm lifts like a vulture protecting its meat on the side of the road, just hovering in the air behind her as though I’m about to take flight or something.
One thing is for sure: those tall heels aren’t compensating for anything, especially not personality. She shines with or without the added height.
Sounds, scents, and lighting fade back in as I finally look away from her and focus on everything around us. The scent of greasy pizza overrides everything else, though, and my stomach cramps.
Everyone gathers around the bar, and the first normal thing happens to me since waking up this morning: we all sit down and eat dinner like a big, happy family.
Aside from Coty, who eats by himself in the farthest, darkest corner of the building, everyone has a great time. Lace, too. Even if she enjoys it between interspersed glances across the room at a feral coyote.
There is conversation, laughter, and jibbing. Behavior an outsider would never expect from a group of dicey stunt bikers who just bought a stripper like she was a new leather jacket hanging on the rack.
