Page 4 of Clashing

Chapter three

Roxy

Scarlett

T he art show went better than I hoped. I showed up with over ten large pieces and a handful of smaller ones.

I came home with one small drawing. That was a huge success for an artist, and I made lots of good contacts thanks to René, a gallery owner in town who encouraged me to move so I could immerse myself in the art community and be featured in her gallery.

I met her last year when she scouted talent at my college exhibition.

We’d hit it off, and she loved my work. All positive things.

Of course, René was also the reason I had a ceaseless nagging in my head. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, twisting my fists around it. The show went well. I had no reason to overthink. Yet, one single interaction with her stood out amongst all the praise.

“Thank you so much for helping me get in,” I’d said to René.

She looked stunning as ever in her black high heels and long, red dress. Everything about her, from her gently waved mahogany hair cascading along her spine to the way she glided toward patrons, screamed class . I did my best in the little black number I bought from an off-price department store.

“You didn’t need my help.” René swirled sparkling wine in her glass, her nude nails scraping against the smooth texture. “You’re doing great. I can’t wait for your masterwork.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you finally figure it out. You’re already amazing.” She smiled and tilted her glass toward me. “Outstanding, even. Once you figure it out, it’s over for everyone else here.”

“Figure what out?”

“You know, whatever it is Scarlett needs.” She gestured vaguely. “What she wants. There’s something holding you back. You’re the only one who can figure out what it is. You’ll see what I mean.”

What I wanted and needed? I’d already figured that out. Or I thought I had. She had me questioning my own decisions, and not even blaring music on the drive home quieted my thoughts.

All my needs were provided for. I had a place to live, a somewhat steady income, plus I had Dan.

What else could a girl possibly need? As far as wants .

. . Everyone wanted something they didn’t have.

Once upon a time, I’d wanted a life that included a family.

I’d wanted a husband who couldn’t take his hands off me and a kid I’d spend all the time with that my mom never could with me because she had to provide for us by herself.

Assuming I can have a kid with the PCOS and endometriosis .

I’d thrown all those hopes out when I swore off men, but it wasn’t as if my new life was something to scoff at. I got to live in California, next to a father figure I adored, doing what I loved. It’d be greedy to want more.

I huffed and shook my head. This was getting to me too much. René was a distinguished collector. She knew her shit. Whatever she meant, I needed to figure it out, but I didn’t need to get existential about it.

As I approached the bar, I turned early. Dan was working, and that meant his house and garage were empty. I pulled into his driveway and texted him that I was ten minutes out. This was my only chance.

I crept up to the rustic house with faded white paint chipping off the siding.

The single, recently planted tree in the front yard provided minimal coverage, so I moved quickly until the side fence shielded me in case Dan took out the trash.

I fumbled with my spare key for the side door leading into the garage and twisted it in the lock.

The resulting creak when it opened made me wince, though logically, Dan couldn’t hear it from inside the bar.

Dust greeted me, and I wrinkled my nose as I batted at the stale, hot air. He must’ve forgotten to turn the light off today because the dim bulb in the middle of the garage illuminated floating particles.

I approached the covered motorcycle that hadn’t been ridden in years but was still his baby. Yanking the cover off, I coughed at the dust that lifted with it. My nose tickled until I gave in and squeaked out a sneeze.

“What are you doing in here?”

I screamed and turned. Ryker stood a few feet behind me, boots covered in dust. My heart restarted. Then my brows pulled together. “What are you doing in here? I have a key.”

He held up Dan’s blue carabiner. “So do I.”

My shoulders deflated. Was he not only a regular but also Dan’s friend ? That made him an even worse idea. “Oh. Question still applies.”

He crossed his thick, tattooed arms, and I needed to fan myself for more than the hot garage air. “I asked first.”

“Yeah, well, Dan’s practically my family, and this house goes to me, so you’re almost trespassing if you don’t tell me why you’re here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “My buddy’s bike needs work, and Dan said he had some spare parts.” He jingled the keys at me. “Told me to take my pick of anything. Specifically asked I don’t touch the bike you just uncovered.”

I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Yep. He doesn’t like anyone touching Roxy.”

“But you’re here touching Roxy.”

“Technically, I touched Roxy’s cover. Not Roxy herself.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “What are you doing, sugar?”

I rolled my eyes. “Enough with the sugar thing. What I’m doing is none of your business.”

He shrugged. “Fine.” He hefted some piece of metal up and made his way to the exit. “I’ll ask Danny.”

“No!” I ran in front of him and held up my hands. “Don’t do that.”

He cocked his head. “Thought this place was practically yours. What do you have to hide?”

I sighed and gestured to the motorcycle. “Don’t tell Dan you saw me. I came to take pictures of Roxy so I can make something for Father’s Day. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Ah.” He observed the fogged-over lightbulb. “The lighting’s shit.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to hear this prehistoric garage open, so I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

“Got a flashlight on my phone.” He set down his hunk of metal. “Want a hand?”

I’d like both your hands on me, please and thanks. I cleared my throat and shook my head. “I’m good.”

“Do you know how much you’re like Dan, or do you two enjoy pretending one is more stubborn than the other?”

“I’m not stubborn.”

He arched a brow. “You’re trying to get pictures of that old bike in this shitty lighting, and you have an easy way to get help but won’t take it. Remind you of anyone?”

I scowled and moved around him. “Fine. Hold up your flashlight. Just don’t say anything to Dan.”

He whistled low. “Wow. Keep talking sweet to me, sugar. Gets me every time.”

“How long have you known Dan?” I circled the motorcycle to find the best angle. Charcoal drawing, definitely. It would fit the rest of his aesthetic. “Hold the flashlight here.”

Ryker came up behind me and raised his phone, shining the flashlight on the bike. “Right here?”

“Yeah.” I gulped. He stood less than a foot away, his body heat adding to the sweltering room. A heat that grew with the addictive aroma of leather and scotch.

“I’ve known him since he took over the bar a few years ago,” Ryker said. “Knew his old man before that.”

“So, you guys are friends?” Translation: Are you friends and off-limits to me? Not that it mattered. No men. I needed to get that tattooed on my face so I’d remember.

“I’d like to think so. Don’t believe many people hand over the keys to their house without a little trust.”

I gnawed on my lip and held up my phone for a picture. “Fair enough. How old are you?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

Sort of. “You’re old, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Twenty-nine. You?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Fuck,” he muttered.

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing at all.”

I peered at him through slitted eyes, but he gave nothing away. “Angle your light to the left, please.”

He shifted the phone. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” I moved to snap different angles of the bike. I hadn’t decided exactly how I wanted it to look, but I had time. “Hold.”

The man’s patience unnerved me. Given most of my boyfriends lacked it, him possessing a quality I would’ve appreciated pre-trauma didn’t help the no men mantra I continued chanting.

He waited while I took a dozen pictures, then moved the light again and waited through another dozen.

By the time we were done, I was due at Dan’s.

He’d get nervous if I didn’t walk in soon, and worse, this guy being decent wasn’t helping my resolve to remain celibate for life. Vibrator excluded, obviously.

“I got what I need, thanks.” I picked up the cover, and Ryker took the other end. Together, we re-covered Roxy. My phone vibrated. Dan was probably worried. Pulling out my phone, I then opened my messages. Unknown: Can we talk?

My eyes widened. Was that—

It couldn’t be. Well, it could. Todd had my number.

Did he get a new number? Oh God. My chest tightened, and I rubbed it like that’d stop the muscles from tensing.

I could barely breathe, and I hated it. He didn’t deserve to have this power over me, but it wasn’t necessarily him.

It could be anyone. A wrong number, maybe.

“Hey, you all right?”

“What?” Breathless, I snapped my gaze up. That asshole made me anxious states away. This was exactly why I swore off men, and here I was, ogling a different one.

Ryker’s brows drew together. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“No,” I squeaked and pocketed my phone. He narrowed his eyes. My stomach turned, and I forced a smile. “I’m running behind on when I told Dan I’d be back. He gets worried.”

“Right.” Ryker’s expression twisted in suspicion, but I held my ground. He nodded to the covered bike as he picked up his hunk of metal. “You ever ride?”

I snorted. “No. I don’t ride.”

His mouth tilted in a smirk. “Motorcycles, or anything?”

Heat flooded my face and chest.

He sniggered and turned for the door. “See you around, sugar.”