Page 16 of Crow

I don’t unlock the car door. “If- if I send you some ads of the bikes I want to see, would you look at them with me? I don’t want to get scammed. I might have to go to Seattle.”

“You’ll need a ride then. I doubt you can keep driving your parents’ shaggin’ wagon around if you’ve turned into a badass and defied their illogical logic.”

“A what?” The words sink in with a wave of heat. “Oh my god, don’t call it that!”

I don’t know what’s more shocking. Taking the Lord’s name in vain out loud and with force, or the thought of all that room that the station wagon has in the backseat and behind it. Room to do sweaty, impassioned things, two bodies tangled, groping, straining, intrinsically coming together.

“You need anything, you call me,” he states flatly.

“Why are you being so nice? You barely know me, and I just tore your face off and kicked you in the balls.”

I try to give him a wobbly smile so it’s not a verbal kick. He considers that with the seriousness of a man trying to solve the meaning of life.

“You make things feelquiet.” I’m taken aback at the unexpected response. The most amazing part is that he looks surprised too, like he didn’t mean to say that. “You’re the only person who doesn’t seem to give a damn that I’m antisocial as fuck.”

“I was just doing my job. Getting you a drink and something to eat. That’s what I do here.”

We both know that’s bullshit.

“You didn’t have to. It wasn’t even your side of the bar.”

“That’s true, but Chastity wasn’t going to, and it would be rude to not even ask. To not… acknowledge you as a person.” Rage spools out, nipping at me like a feral dog. “That just wouldn’t do. And the bike lessons? I- who else would I ask?”

“Literally anyone with a pulse.”

I fight my smile down. He’s serious. “Most people with a pulse don’t know the first thing about bikes. No offense to the rest of the guys who come here. I know they’re in your club. I just wouldn’t want them teaching me. I just wanted it to be you. Something inside me said I could trust you.”

“That’s the last thing you should ever do,” he snaps. He closes his eyes, frustrated with himself, I think. “You can’t ride a bike in the winter,” he offers, like an apology.

“I’ve seen people do it,” I say.

“People with years of experience or a death wish.”

“Okay then, I’ll take the bus.”

“Over my dead body. There are creeps on the bus!”

“I think I gave you a taste of how I can handle myself,” I point out with some sass. Look at me. Blaspheming, turning into a rebel, and giving a man a hundred times more experienced than I’ll ever be, a bit of sass. The ruination my dad predicted is happening and happening fast. “Besides that, there are no creeps in Hart. Your club has taken care of anyone who wants to commit crimes.”

“That’s not true. Don’t get complacent.”

“All right. But I’ll be fine on the bus. I can probably get on fulltime here if I’m too late to apply to hair school or can’t get a loan if my education fund isn’t accessible to me. I still have to sort that out. It’s sort of terrifying.”

“When’s your next day off?”

I hesitate. Telling him feels a lot like making plans and making plans feels like making this legit.Relax. It’s just riding lessons. Which you asked him for. It’s nothing more.

“Tomorrow.”

He brings a hand up to his cheek, but keeps it hovering an inch from the wound. I wonder if it’s numbed out or it’s just starting to be wildly painful. “You’re serious about moving out?”

“I am.”

“Pack your stuff. I can arrange a storage locker for you so your parents can’t mess with your things. I’ll be at your house bynoon, unless that’s too early, with guys to help move. Then, I’ll take you to buy that bike.”

My jaw nearly blows clean off my body. All of this is happening way too fast. What the hell does he mean pack your stuff?

Probably that you should live your life before you lose the nerve you just found.

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