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CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
*Vincent “Vee” - Road Captain*
Lace keeps stealing small, cautious glances in my direction. Every look guts me. I woke up this morning 100 percent clear-headed. Jolted upright, looking for her first and foremost. Kio was ready and waiting. When I panicked because she was gone, he told me everything that happened after I fell asleep and said Chaz took her out early so she could get a damn break. They knew if she was still at the condo when I woke up, she would only insist on taking care of me again. A damn grown man. Men — all of us are similarly affected by her, so supple and needy in response to her willingness.
As for Bay, he wasn’t exaggerating about me riding close the entire way here. He is fine aside from feeling a bit sore, and it really was not my fault at all, but I still struggle to shake that guilty conscience. Last night, I convinced myself it was a hell of a lot worse, and I was somehow to blame.
I really fucking lost my mind.
Then, I tried to find it again through Lace.
The worst part of all? It worked.
Bro was right; I really need to talk to someone. After the rally, though. Just a few more days, then I can regroup and maybe sit down with Kal — talk about the future. More important than the distant future, though, is the near future. Tonight.
Time to get my shit together, however temporary. One more assignment on my calendar, then the rest of the weekend should be textbook. The recon with Bro this afternoon was smooth and easy. Well, as easy as the most triggering part of our assignments can be. Hopefully the assignment itself will go off without a hitch, too.
When Lace gets off of the bike and says her temporary goodbyes, she heads straight to Baylor, lifts up on her toes, and kisses him on the cheek, her dainty fingers trailing up his side, eyes locked on his until he twitches at the touch where he was hurt. Her fingers freeze and hand gently cups his side there, barely touching him as she gives him one more kiss in parting.
Lace doing her own sort of recon. She is way too observant. Hopefully I was the only one, other than Bay of course, who witnessed her sneaky curiosity.
She drops her hand and turns toward me, eyelashes fanning upward. Do I blame her for being hesitant to approach? No. I know the way I treated her so carelessly last night was unacceptable. But thinking she might be afraid of me is even more crippling.
I step beside her, curve my arm around her shoulders, and squeeze her a little harder than I normally do, kissing the top of her forehead.
Instead of trembling out of fear, her shoulders go from slightly bunched to relaxed, and her fingers twist in my leather as we turn around together and walk toward the stage area. Me wordlessly asking for forgiveness, her wordlessly giving it. If she even expected an apology at all.
As soon as we get to the back corner of the stage, she tenses, though. I freeze and face her. “Bella, you live for the stage. Why the nerves now?” I ask, taking a leap at why she tensed.
“People are here to judge me, Vee.” She sighs, and her golden-brown eyes meet mine. “This is different. Customers want to see all us dancers when they walk into the saloon. Hell, if one doesn’t meet your fancy, there are plenty more to choose from. Same goes for us; to an extent we get to choose our customers. Here, the expectation is different. The crowd is looking for perfection. Or at least the illusion of it. And, in some cases, it’s a popularity contest. Plus… I don’t really get why you guys want me to do this.”
“That was all Chaz and Brodi. They often have an agenda the rest of us aren’t privy to. Though, I do approve.”
She gives me a weak chuckle. “Chaz gave me the option to back out, you know?”
I raise an eyebrow. “And so why are you here?”
Lace shrugs, blinking at me, saying more with the blink than the shrug. In a way, she wants to participate — to win. It breaks my heart a little, how much these women — most women it seems — feed off praise from strangers in order to feel worthy. I hope one day Lace knows how amazing she is. Organically. Even if she pretends to play a big game.
“Leave, then. Come with me. We will steal away to the beach and go skinny dipping.” My assignment is within the hour, though, but of course I keep that detail to myself. Watching Lace do this beauty contest thing is an excellent distraction for my frayed nerves, especially since I decided to lay off of the weed this time, but an even better distraction would be spending the time before my assignment with her.
The biggest risk Brodi and I are facing tonight with this particular assignment is that it takes place during an event where our presence is expected. There will be eyes on every HFL member. For that reason, Brodi set a different type of distraction in motion — one involving the “entire” club where the sudden disappearance of two members should go unnoticed. Unfortunately Brodi and I will miss out on all the fun, though, since we will be the ones to perform the disappearing act. Thankfully, we should be able to catch most, if not all, of the contest, though.
For a fleeting moment, Lace seems to consider my proposal. “What do you say, Bella? What do you want? To come with me or to go up on that stage?”
Deep down, I hope she chooses me, even if the idea is completely illogical. But she answers the way I expect the most loyal of our club members to: “I already told Chaz I would.”
I bend my head in understanding and extend my arm, revealing the way toward the preparation area they have blocked off for contestants. “In bocca al lupo.”
Her eyelashes flutter, and she tucks her chin. “Did you just call me a wolf?”
“Oh, cuore mio.” I clasp my chest, falling hard and fast because apparently over the years she has picked up some of my Italian — and for other reasons. “Sì, ‘il bocca al lupo’ means ‘into the wolves mouth.’ That is our version of ‘knock them dead.’”
Lace walks past me, smiling and shaking her head. Just before she turns the corner and is out of sight, her chin angles over her shoulder, and she blows me a kiss.
