Truly, Madly, Whiskey(7)
He leaned forward to eat the fry at the same time she did, and they ended up nose to nose, their mouths a fry apart.
She licked her lips, and he lowered the fry, clearing the way for the kiss he’d been fantasizing about for months.
“I had to drive Jed all over creation,” she said softly.
It took him a second to realize she was answering his question.
“I’ve got a ton of designs to work on for the boutique now that we’re trying to make and sell our own costumes. And I haven’t had time to get my car inspected, which I need to do before I get a ticket. Tonight was a total time suck. Not now,” she clarified. “Earlier. With my mother and Jed.”
She dressed and acted tough, but there were brief moments like this when she let her guard down just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the vulnerable woman behind the walls. He wanted to take her in his arms and protect her and love her at once. But she’d finally let him in, and he realized he still owed her an answer to her question.
The truth came easily. “You asked if I was this way with everyone. I’m this way because it’s you.”
He watched her assess his response with a skeptical expression. Did she sense the honesty in his confession? Seconds passed like minutes, minutes like hours. Months of pent-up sexual energy sparked between them. He slid his hand beneath her hair, drawing her closer. She was looking at him like she wanted to dissolve into him. Finally. He leaned in for the kiss, and just as quickly as their passion built, coolness descended over her face, lowering the sweet curve of her lips as she leaned back, putting space between them.
She turned her body toward the table, and lowered her feet to the floor, sitting up straighter and leaving him to wonder what the hell had just happened. He’d been this close to taking the kiss he’d been craving for months.
“Crystal…?”
The shrill ringtone for the Dark Knights Motorcycle Club he and his brothers were members of, and his father headed up, broke through his confusion, and he whipped his phone out of his pocket. His heart thundered—from their almost kiss or the club alert, he couldn’t be sure.
He answered the call, listening to his oldest brother, Bullet, relaying the information about Trevor “Scooter” Mackelby, a seven-year-old boy whose mother had caught the attention of one of the club members when she’d posted on Facebook about her son being bullied. The Dark Knights had “adopted” him into their club and had sworn to protect him. There had been an incident at school, and now Scooter was afraid to go to sleep. Tonight the club members would rally around Scooter’s house, staying until morning, to ensure he felt safe.
“I need to drop Crystal at her car and grab my bike,” he said to Bullet. “I’ll meet you there.”
He stepped from the booth and threw cash on the table, wishing he could delve into their almost kiss, but there was no time. “I’m sorry, sugar, but duty calls. I’ve got to take off.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Duty?”
“Club business.” They hurried out to the truck, and he explained about Scooter on the way back to Truman’s to get her car. His great-grandfather had formed the Dark Knights, and his father, who went by the road name Biggs, for his six-five height, was the president. Bear and his brothers had been brought up to respect the brotherhood and honor its creed.
“‘Love, loyalty, and respect for all’ runs as thick as blood through our veins. A blessing and a curse.” He went on to explain how they’d connected with Scooter and gave her examples of when they’d helped in similar situations in neighboring towns.
“So, if a kid or an adult is bullied—”
“Or abused,” he corrected her.
“Or abused, you guys all sit outside his house until he feels safe?”
“Essentially, but not always. It depends on the situation. Schools, teachers, even the police, can’t do much when it comes to bullies. The victims are left feeling weak and vulnerable. We empower them to tell and to know they have support. By getting involved and showing up in force—outside their house, for example, or around their block, or escorting them to school or work—the person who is hurting them realizes the victim is not alone and vulnerable. We’re there to protect them.”
“But what if they’re abused and not bullied, by an adult?”
Bear ground his teeth together to ward off the anger the question incited. “We’re there for those cases, too. And when they go to court, we escort them. The whole club, on our bikes, in front of and behind their parents’ cars. And we line up in court to show our support.”
“Intimidating the abuser?”
“That’s a nice side effect, but our goal is to empower the victim and make them feel safe.”
He pulled up in front of Tru’s house and climbed from the truck, coming around to open Crystal’s door and help her out. “Think of it this way. If they call a social worker at ten o’clock at night, they’re not going to get an answer. Once they’re ‘adopted’ by our club, they’re a member for life, and we stand by them no matter what time of day or night. It all started a few years ago, when my father met a family who had lost their son to suicide after he’d been bullied. They were from Florida, but it opened his eyes. He brought the mission up to the members, and now it’s part of who we are.”