Page 36 of Kings Fear No One
“I’ll buy my own.”
She spins on her heel, her chocolatey hair flipping with her, and sets off toward the bottles of hard liquor. I grit my teeth and shake my head.
There’s something about gas station convenience stores that feels dingy.
But Teysha Baxter in a gas station convenience store is its own category—she manages to change the atmosphere in a girl-next-door-picking-flowers-in-a-fucking-meadow kinda way. Her sandals and sundress are practically church clothes, yet the sneak peeks of bare skin hint at the shapely curves hidden underneath. I follow half a pace behind, almost a foot taller, close enough to touch her.
Notes of her perfume sweeten the air.
She even smells like a damn meadow.
Summery and floral, with a woody edge.
When we were with the Chosen Saints, we were so filthy, so beatdown, I had stopped picking up on things like smell and taste.
Since returning to Pulsboro and Teysha’s come to stay, it’s a scent I’ve been forced to endure. In the crammed space of the convenience store, it’s rewiring my brain. Making me feel even more protective of her. Making me hyperaware of not just our surroundings but her.
I’m forced to notice the gentle sway of her dark, shoulder-length hair. From far away, it looks almost black. Up close, there’s these chocolatey brown tones that are easy to get lost in.
She stops in front of a shelf stocked with White Oak products. Her eyebrows draw together in scrutiny, a tiny wrinkle on her nose. She leans in as if to read the nutritional label.
I roll my eyes. “It’s whiskey, Teysha. Pick one.”
“But what’s the difference between the Gold White Oak Whiskey and the Silver White Oak?”
“They’re just different collections. The gold line’s usually the good stuff. That’s why it’s priced more.”
She hums, then almost shyly blinks over at me.
I get it immediately. She wants me to help her choose.
I sigh and jut my chin at the shelf. “Just grab that big one of the gold. The one that looks like a trophy. We’ll toss it in with my case of beer. I’m gonna need it with the headaches you give me.”
“I’ll pay you back?—”
“Don’t worry, babe. Your payback’s coming when you’re kneeling by the toilet.”
“I can handle it,” she mumbles.
For half a second, I consider bursting her bubble. Telling her how Steel Kings like Bush and Ozzie end up puking their guts out by drinking this stuff. Men twice her size. Men with borderline alcoholic drinking habits. Men who might as well have guts made of steel, like our club’s named after.
But this seems to be some hill she’s hell bent on dying on.
So I let her have it. The whiskey and the last word.
Teysha clutches the large bottle like it really is a trophy, holding it close to her chest. I take a second to stand back and watch as she carefully walks it up to the register.
I’m not sure if I’m more amused by the situation or irritated that I’m stuck with her for an extra few weeks.
Her family was overbearing. The definition of religious nutjobs. She needed to be bailed out of the situation outside the clerk’s office earlier.
But I didn’t intervene just for Teysha’s benefit.
I intervened because I saw the opportunity to have this marriage dissolved as quickly as possible slipping through my fingers. If her family took her away, it would make it a hell of a lot harder to appeal the clerk’s decision in the next few days. Who’s to say her nutty family would even let me contact her?
I come up from behind at the checkout stand and heave the case of Pike beer onto the counter. I toss a hundred dollar bill before the clerk’s even finished ringing us up.
He flashes me a toothy grin. “I was about to ask this one for ID. Sweet little thing looks like she’s never held a glass of White Oak let alone drank any. But you… I remember you. Tom Cutler’s son, ain’t ya? Didn’t you go away for a while?”
