Page 6 of Crow

A few feet away, Wizard entices Bullet and Smoke to the pinball machines. The irony of his name almost makes my lips twitch, but I don’t do things like smile.

Now that Raven is back in my head, he’s vocal in a big way.

Speaking of freaks and creeps, you think that a nice girl like Tarynn would ever accept us? Me, maybe. I’m the funny one. I don’t have the personality of a crusty cum sock.Yousuck. I, on the other hand, have an actual sense of humor. Enough to appreciate just how much you want her and have since you saw her weeks ago. If you didn’t have a stick wedged so far up your ass that even I can feel it up here in our brain, maybe you’d stand a chance.

I wish with all my energy, that Raven would fuck off exceptionally hard.

He doesn’t get the memo. As per fucking usual.

I’m not going to fuck off hard, but I’ll fuck you hard, sweetheart. You could use it. People are starting to think you’re in dire need of prunes and fiber. Your constipated face matches your personality. Do you enjoy being hated by everyone? Being the strong, silent type? That’s so overrated. A scary biker? Like that’s not already taken at the club. You’re a stereotype. You have zero winning qualities. It’s unfair that you get to be the dominant. You’re earning a terrible name for the both of us.

Tarynn appears from the back, walking through the saloon style doors, a plate on her tray and a glass of water carefully balanced. She picks her way through the maze of bodies. By the time she walks up to me, I have myself composed enough that I can keep my face neutral.

The grilled cheese that she’s offering looks amazing, a double stacker with bacon and tomatoes sticking out of the gooey, leaking cheesy mess between the crusts. There are even pickles on the side and a small white bowl of buffalo dipping sauce.

I’m so flustered that all I can do is pull out my wallet and grab a handful of bills without looking at what they are.

“Oh,” she whispers, soft pink appearing on her cheekbones. The extra color highlights her light freckles and her massive eyes, all of it adorable in her heart shaped face. “Everyone with the club has a tab here. No need to pay me. It’s covered.”

“For you,” I grunt like a caveman. I snatch the plate and the water, down everything in the glass, and set it back down on her tray.

Her eyes widen in astonishment. “That’s over a hundred dollars. I can’t take that.”

Classic. Just what I was talking about.

My stomach churns. I take a bite of the sandwich, shoving it into my mouth to prevent anything stupid from coming out, and nearly groan at the flavor explosion. I’m not particular about food, but this? Oh my god.

I hope that she’ll leave, just to spare me further embarrassment, but she doesn’t. She watches me eat, her eyes locked on my face in something close to fascination. Not because she thinks I’m a freakshow. I can tell she doesn’t. She’s too nice to go there.

“You have incredible hair,” she blurts. A slow, red hue creeps up her neck.

Christ, she’s as bad at this as you are. You two should get married. Have the world’s most awkward children. Wait. That will never happen. You’d have to tell her about me and then she’d run so far and so fast.

“I’m sorry.” She grasps her tray so hard her knuckles turn white. “That’s embarrassing. I mean, I always wanted to go to hair school, so I look at hair differently. Men don’t usually wear theirs so long. And yours is so thick.”

It’s not the only thick thing we’re sporting, sweetheart.

If I wasn’t eating the world’s most delicious sandwich, I’d walk gut first into something hard, just to piss Raven off.

“Why don’t you?” I murmur between bites. “Go to hair school?”

“Because I’m in pre-med.” It’s the way she says it, like the words have a foul taste to them, that tells me she hates it. Her face stays soft and kind. “My parents set up an education fund for me.”

“It has limited options?”

“No, I suppose it didn’t really. I could have used it for hair school, but they wanted me to do something practical. Something I can support myself on, not learning to be a hair stylist.”

“Is hair not practical?”

“They see it the same way as any form of art. I’d be a starving artist, in their minds.”

“Only three things are certain in life.”

Her lips twitch, and I find that I very much want to make her smile. My whole next breath hinges on it.

“Death and taxes.”

“And people who need haircuts,” I add, after swallowing.

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