Loving Me, Trusting You(12)

Beck waves at us and grins, but I turn away without acknowledging him. Gaine gives him a nod of his chin and spins back to face me.

“Because I like you, Sawyer.” He tries to smile, but I don't return the favor. Instead, I focus on his pinched nose, his rough lips, the speckle of stubble across his jaw and throat. Usually, Gaine keeps himself nice and clean and smooth. It's one of the things I like about him. I wish I could tell him, ask him to shave it all off, so I can run my fingers down his throat, but we don't have that kind of relationship, he and I. He'd like that, sure he would, and that's what this is all about. I don't know why he's chosen now to pursue me at full speed, but he has and it's already getting old.

“And I like you, too, Gaine. As a friend. Don't be as clueless about me as I was about Austin. We're friends, and we have fun together. That's that.” I notice I've knocked out another beer. When did that happen? The soft, yellow lighting in the room is starting to blur at the edges and the dirty wood floors don't seem so trashed. I smile and push aside my empty bottle to make room for another.

“Then as a friend, I'm worried about you.” Gaine pauses and licks his lips, looking around the room like he's trying to sort out rival spies from the local clientele. “How did you … take care of Walker?” I laugh and the sound isn't pretty. I wish I could laugh like my mamá, toss my head back and not care that I'm broke and single and alone, just let my hair hang and smile while the sound of bells peals from my throat.

“I'm not talking about that with you or anybody else. Now leave me the f*ck alone.” I close my eyes and let my lashes rest on my cheek, sipping my drink and swirling the liquid around on my tongue. I swallow it quick and try not to choke as my mind conjures up images of Walker lying unconscious in a pool of red. I can't decide if it's a dream or a nightmare.

“You sure you don't want to party it up with us?” Beck asks, appearing out of nowhere behind my left shoulder. I ignore him completely, but the man can't take a hint worth crap. “Couple of the college kids are home for the summer and want to live it up with some real, live bikers.” He winks at us and flicks his tongue over his lower lip. “Couple of good lookin' fellas over there and a few girls that'd make their mamas cry if they saw the skirts they were wearin'.” I turn to glare at him and spot the group surrounding the table next to Mel. She's flipped a nice, little 180, grinning and pulling at the silver hoop earrings she's been wearing for days. The bitch is as shallow as a puddle and half as deep. Figures. If anybody could get over the death of their husband and the surprise of his betrayal in less than a week, it'd be her. Not that I think Mel is over hurting. Pain doesn't disappear that fast, no matter how far you go or how fast you run. I should know better. I'm the one that got raped by my own husband.

My hand clamps around my beer and I spin away from Gaine, snatching my coat and sashaying over to the group. There are a couple guys with big shoulders and easy grins, a girl in a trench coat that hits her mid-thigh and does little to hide the tattoo on her left leg, and a set of skinny bitches in slinky red and black dresses that don't exactly look like they belong here in Wilkes, Small Town, USA.

“You guys looking to have some fun?” I ask them, liking the way their gazes turn towards me and sweep me up and down and back again, absorbing, glorifying what and who I am with a single glance. I smile.

“We want to take a ride on your bike,” one of the guys says unashamedly. He has nice eyes and bright blonde hair, but he's stupid as shit. I can already tell. I nurse my drink and bite my lip, noticing the way his gaze holds on the line of cleavage peeking up above the neckline of my gray wife beater. I like this old thing, even if it's riddled with holes and twice as old as I am.

“I don't do joyrides, kid,” I tell him, pushing Melissa over with my hip. She gives me a strange look but moves anyway, propping her hand on her chin. Gaine and Beck follow us over and only one of them is smiling. I'll give you a single guess.

“Mireya, I ain't done talking to you yet,” Gaine says, not caring that he's being eye f*cked by all six of the college girls. I keep drinking my beer and ignore him.

“You have such a sexy voice,” says the chick in the trench coat, touching his arm with her fingers. Gaine ignores her, keeping his eyes on me. “You're not from around here, are you?”

“This stupid f*cker is from New York City,” Beck shouts with an ugly belly laugh. “Thinks if he pitches his voice to match mine, he'll be hotter than two rabbits screwin' in a wool sack.” The girls start tittering and reaching out to poke at Beck's massive biceps. He, of course, laps up the attention like a dog in heat.

“You going to give us a ride or what?” says Trench Coat Girl. I rest my chin on my folded fingers and examine the rose tattoo she's got climbing up her leg like a trellis.

“We'll give you a ride, sweetheart, but it's not going to be on a bike.” The boys whistle and a couple of the girls snort with laughter, but this girl, the redhead with the twisted smile doesn't seem to mind. I look over at Gaine and push myself to my feet, enjoying the sway of a body slowly succumbing to bitter, brown poison.

I lean in close to Gaine's ear and brush my lips against his lobe. There's a small scar here that slices through his flesh and leaves a jagged, red mark. I have no idea where it came from, but that doesn't stop me from running my tongue across it, tasting the sweaty salt of his skin with a gentle flick.