Page 31 of Spyder
“But doesn’t your club—”
“Not in town,” he tells me, his expression and tone firm. “We don’t sell it in town nor do we allow it to be brought into town either. We do everything we can to keep Blue Rock clean and free of that shit. We don’t want it in our streets.”
It’s not the answer I expected, but it’s one that I actually kind of like. It’s odd, but I feel a sense of respect for what they do. At least, as far as protecting the town. I’m ambivalent about their selling pot. And I don’t like the fact that they’ll beat somebody up to make their point. But all in all, the picture I’m getting of Derek and his club is vastly different than the one the rumors suggest.
There are still some things that concern me, but in most ways, I feel better about them. About Derek. He’s definitely not the trigger-happy murder monster Ruby was concerned he might be. I’ve heard enough from him tonight to know that my initial impression of him was spot-on. I truly believe he’s a good guy with a good heart. But he does love the image of an outsider as well.
“So, what do you think? Am I the horrible, murderous beast some people in town seem to think I am?”
“I’d say, probably not. I have to be honest and tell you I don’t like the idea of you running around roughing people up, but I don’t think you’re a beast.”
He laughs softly. “It doesn’t happen often. It’s rare, in fact. But if people think I’m a monster because I’m willing to throw a few punches to keep that poison out of Blue Rock, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
I give him a smile, the warmth in the pit of my stomach growing and spreading through my entire body. I glance at my watch and feel my eyes widen.
“Oh shit. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. The nurse is leaving soon. I need to go check on my mom,” I exclaim.
“I’m sorry to have kept you. I didn’t mean—”
“Come on,” I tell him with a grin. “Let’s go have a nightcap and continue this conversation. I’m intrigued.”
“Intrigued, huh?”
“Better than just telling you I have to go, then ghosting you, isn’t it?”
“This is true,” he replies then snags our waitress as she passes by. “Check please.”
Chapter Fourteen
Spyder
I stand at the bookcase looking at pictures of Bellamy and her family. There are pictures of her when she was a little girl—a time when her father was still alive, and her mother was still in good health. She looked so happy. So carefree. I saw hints of that girl at dinner tonight, but I got the feeling it had been some time since she was as happy and carefree as the little girl she used to be.
I hear her in the back, talking to her mother. Their voices are low murmurs, but they sound excited, and I hear laughter. It sounds like whatever rancor that existed between them when she left for Colorado evaporated and they’ve got a close relationship now. That makes me glad for her.
Turning back to the photos in the bookcase, I notice the absence of recent pictures. The newest one seems to be from Bellamy’s senior prom. She looked regal in her gown. Every bit the prom queen she was voted to be. And in her face, I can see the traces of the stunning woman she would grow to be. As her face floats through my mind, I feel my heart lurch inside of me.
Having dinner with her tonight had been amazing. It’s like all of the strained awkwardness that had existed between us as kids just dissipated. The conversation was easy. Light. And best of all, it was fun. She’s an intelligent woman, sharper than a tack, and has a great sense of humor. It’s been ages since I laughed that much.
And I know it’s only one date, but I couldn’t help but feel something inside of me shift. My heart felt like it opened to her in ways it hasn’t with anybody before. It’s probably part nostalgia and the remembrance of those feelings I once carried for her. They were intense back in the day, and tonight proved to me that time didn’t diminish them one iota.
I’m doing my best to avoid getting too wrapped up in her too quickly, but it’s not easy. The girl really does check off every box on that list of qualities I want in another person. Maybe even more so now than back in high school.
“Drink?” she asks.
“Coke, if you have one.”
“Coke?” she asks, raising her eyebrow at me.
“I think I’ve had enough to drink tonight. Booze-wise anyway.”
“I thought bikers were hardcore, balls to the wall, hard drinkin’ men.”
I laugh. “And I thought we already established that I’m not like most bikers.”
She smiles at me. “Look at me, stereotyping again.”
“You do that a lot.”
