Page 78 of The Belle and the Biker

I put my hand on her arm. "Tawny, no. Ladies do not hit gentlemen."

"No, but they do hit smug, nosy assholes."

"In fact, they do not. They simply cut them dead. Socially!" I add quickly. "That means to ignore someone who's beneath your notice."

"I like my version of cutting people better. You society types are no fun at all," she huffs.

We start walking again.

"Also, it was obvious," Crash says. "Tawny's not sitting like she usually does. She's wearing pink nail polish. She bought new T-shirts that aren't obscene. She's cut her swearing down by fifty percent. And I haven't heard her burp in days. I hope she doesn't explode."

Tawny starts to flip him off and then shoves her hands in her pocket, looking miserable.

"Let's go practice your dining skills," I say to her.

We head into a French restaurant, where we are seated at a table with a snowy white tablecloth and formal settings.

"Is that what it's supposed to look like?" Crash asks, peering at the tableware.

"No," I say. "I like your way better."

"Are you making fun of me?" he asks with a surprising note of vulnerability.

"I am absolutely not making fun of you. That dinner you made for me was the nicest thing anyone has ever done because it came from the heart."

He relaxes a little bit, smiling.

Throughout the entire meal, Tawny exceeds my expectations. She sits like a lady. She doesn't raise her voice, she does not swear once, and she holds her silverware in the Continental style.

She also looks like a condemned woman eating her last meal. She's chewing delicious Boeuf Bourguignon like rubber, staring down at her plate with a blank look.

"You know what?" I say to her. "This isn't working."

She throws down her dessert spoon with a clatter, earning us a reproving look from the silver-haired couple at the next table over.

"I knew I couldn't do it."

"No, you're doing it perfectly. That's not the problem. The problem is, you hate being like this. It's not you. Trying to act like a lady has sucked all the joy out of your life. You're loud, you're outrageous, you're fun. That's what Axl likes about you. And whatever problem Axl is having, I am sure it's not with you."

Tawny fixes Crash with a glare. "Is it?" she demands.

"It has nothing to do with you."

Her eyes flash with anger. "So there is a problem. And you know what it is, and you won't tell me."

Crash pushes his chair back and hesitates. "Something is going on. He and I have spoken briefly. I can't violate a brother's confidence, and I don't know that much anyway, but…I think things are turning around."

Tawny's anger seems to leak out, and her shoulders slump. "So… he's all right?" she asks quietly.

"Yes. He's getting better. And even saying that is more than I should. But I swear that he has no problem with you whatsoever."

She stares down at her half-eaten meal. Then she looks up with a grin. "Whew! I am so mother-humping glad we're done with this shit." Tawny shoves her chair back. "Tawny's back, ladies and ass-faces! That's you, Crash. Can I start by punching the stuck-up blonde glaring at us all through lunch?"

Crash gets an odd look on his face. "Where?" He stands up and sees something across the restaurant that makes him scowl. "No need to cause trouble," he says in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "Let's go." He pulls out his wallet and throws two hundred-dollar bills on the table. Our lunch was a hundred and twenty, tops.

"Do you want to wait for some change?"

"Nope." He pushes me toward the front door with his hands on my shoulders. Tawny hurries along next to us.

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