Page 62 of Clashing
I moved my motorcycle to the main parking lot and shuffled inside the bar. Danny hired another person since he was still on the mend, so Tammy was training some new guy I’d only seen a couple times. She told him to let me in anytime, regardless of whether or not Dan’s was open.
Once she poured me a drink, Tammy continued her training while I tried to work out what the hell to do. Several whiskeys later, the liquid courage sank in, and I resolved to talk to Scarlett tonight. When she returned.
Time ticked on. People filled the bar. Some ordered food and left. She didn’t show and my guys kept sending me disapproving frowns. Some of them were aware I was about to break things off and weren’t happy. They thought she was good for me. She was, but that wasn’t the problem. I wasn’t good for her. Being with her would be selfish.
I went to the bathroom and stared into the mirror reflecting the wall where I’d had her six times.Not helping.I splashed my face with cold water and returned to my seat. I almost started to worry when another hour passed, and she didn’t show.
Nick noticed my fidgeting and took a seat beside me. “What’s up?” he asked, lifting his glass to signal another refill.
My leg bounced. “Wondering where the fuck she is.”
“She’s here.” Nick inclined his head to the stairs. “She arrived like an hour ago while you were in the bathroom.”
I scowled and rose from the stool. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because no one wants you to break things off.”
“Not your decision.”
Nick said something else I didn’t catch and had no patience for. I had to focus on telling Scarlett this had to stop. That nagging inside me whisperingmaybe we could be moreneeded to die. Icouldn’tbe more.
I made it to the top of the steps and didn’t bother knocking. She almost always had her headphones in, anyway. Opening the door, tomato, parmesan, oregano, and other heavenly aromas wafted into my nose. Scarlett stood at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a pot.
“Hey, I’m making food.” She held up the spoon with sauce on it. “You want some?”
“Nah,” I said, although yes, yes I did. It smelled incredible.
“Come on.” She pouted and held a hand under the spoon, then carefully carried it over to me, blowing on the sauce. “Try it.”
“Fine.” I gripped her spoon and hand and tried to ignore the electricity sparking between us while I sipped the sauce. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Right?” She returned to the pot and resumed stirring. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“Fine. That’s easily the best sauce I’ve ever had. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“Dan and my mom. For this specifically, my mom.” She stood on her toes and reached into a cupboard for two ceramic bowls. “She worked at this Italian restaurant for a while. A legit one. Owned by Italians who’d immigrated. They taught her all their recipes and secrets, and she taught me.” She shoveled food into the bowls. “So, this is almost-authentic Italian cuisine.”
She really is the whole package.For the first time in a long time, I wished I were different. Years ago, I wanted to be different but lost my resolve after serving overseas. I lost hope for anything good. I lost the belief I deserved anything good. I definitely didn’t deserve someone as amazing as Scarlett.
She retrieved forks and brought the pasta to the kitchen table. We sat, and I grudgingly ate the best pasta I’d ever had. Damn her.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “How’d it go?”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Her tone implied it surprised her as much as it did me. “I thought it‘d be terrible, but it wasn’t. We didn’t get too deep into anything yet. I don’t know. Is it fucked up to say it’s nice to not feel so alone? I don’t wish it on anyone, but I wasn’t the only one there. It made me feel less crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. Don’t ever think that.”
“It’s a little easier not to feel that way now.” She stared into her bowl for several seconds, then shifted her gaze to me. “Thanks for encouraging me to go.”
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing to me.”
She was off tonight. I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering what the hell was on her mind. She clearly wanted to speak, and she’d never held back before. Her eyes darted away, her mouth opening and closing several times.
“Spit it out, Scar.” I swirled noodles around my fork and raised it for a bite. “Promise I’ve heard worse, whatever it is.”
“I have feelings for you.”
