Page 4

Chapter four

Mia

H ave I been sleeping in the sweatshirt Knox let me borrow since the night he took me home? Yes. Am I embarrassed that my schoolgirl crush may be turning into something weird and creepy every time I inhale his scent on the collar? Also yes. But it’s not every day the man I fantasized about from the first time I saw him at fourteen loans me an article of clothing. Granted, at fourteen, my imagination was much tamer than it is now, but can anyone really blame me? The man smells like sex incarnate, laced with a hint of motor oil.

True to his word, Rusty came to tow my car first thing the next morning. Thankfully, my grandmother has a couple spares, so instead of driving the little red sedan that I usually do, I took one of her luxury cars to the school. I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy the hell out of the plush leather interior, but I was nervous as hell the entire way to and from work. God only knows what it would have cost to get fixed if someone had accidentally rear-ended me, or if a stray rock had hit the windshield, or any other thousand things that could have happened. If this is the stress that comes along with driving a high-priced vehicle, I’ll stay happy with the perfectly sensible and economical car that I’ve had since I graduated college.

When my car was returned to me, Rusty asked if I’d driven through any construction sites, which I thought was strange considering there isn’t construction work being done around town at the moment. When I told him I hadn’t, he thought it was odd, seeing as I had a couple nails in my tires. Apparently, the reason my tire had gone flat was from puncture holes. Then, when I asked him for the invoice, he looked at me like I had some unexplained growth protruding from my forehead.

“It’s been taken care of,” he told me.

“That’s not possible. I didn’t get anything from your garage or the tire shop,” I replied as he got back in his truck.

“Talk to Knox. He covered it all.”

Rusty slammed the door and was obviously uncomfortable while I was standing there with my mouth hanging open, confusion and surprise running through my mind. Why would Knox take care of everything for me? He barely tolerates me. Not leaving me to freeze on the side of the road last night is one thing, but paying for a tow and a new tire is too much.

I should have called Lucy or Charlie to get his number so I could thank him, but I didn’t. Leave it to them to read too much into it or something. Or leave it to me to somehow give myself away as a creepy weirdo who’s been sleeping in the sweatshirt he lent me. Or changing into it when I get home from work.

Honestly, at this point, I’m a little worried about myself.

Good thing I’m going to see him tonight to give it back—and bake him a pie or maybe some cookies as a thank-you. I hate showing up to birthday parties without something in hand. This way, I don’t have to agonize over what to buy the biker, who I know next to nothing about other than the fact he likes to ride, makes growly noises on occasion, and cranks up my heart rate every time I’m within a twenty-foot radius of him. Also, nothing says thank you for handling something for me that I could’ve absolutely handled myself—but it was nice not having to for once—like baked goods.

I rummage through my cabinets to see what I have on hand and realize there’s only about half of anything needed for cookies or a pie. Looking at the clock hanging on my wall, I curse the time, realizing there isn’t enough of it to run to the store to grab more ingredients.

Walking across the expansive yard to the main house, I open the French doors of my grandmother’s white colonial home that leads to the kitchen.

“Grandma?” I call into the house. “Are you home?”

“In the sunroom,” she calls back, and I make my way through the hallway and past the dining room, living room and library and find her sitting in her white wicker rocking chair with a book in her hand, surrounded by her plants and flowers that she keeps healthy and blooming all year round. This is one of my favorite rooms in the house, and hers, too, if the amount of time she spends in here is any indication. The room is still encased in glass that she uses to weatherize it every winter so her plants don’t freeze. Once the chilly temperatures let up a bit more, she’ll take the glass panels down to allow the warm air inside.

“What are you reading?” I ask, taking a look at the paperback in her hand.

Years ago, I bought her an e-reader, but I’m not sure she even took it out of the box. When I asked her about it, she said she loved the convenience but preferred the feel of a book in her hand and the smell every time she opened a new one. Can’t argue with that.

“Some historical book about Scottish royalty,” she says with a completely straight face.

I read the cover of the book that has a dashing, shirtless man with long, wavy hair holding a woman in a flowing gown as though he’s about to kiss her.

“ The Highlander’s Embrace . Sounds educational, Grandma.”

“It’s very educational, my dear. The things I'm learning about kilts…” She leans back in her chair and fans herself with the book before shooting me a wink.

I huff out a laugh and shake my head. God, I love this woman.

“I need to borrow some stuff to make cookies if that’s okay.”

“Of course, Mia. You don’t have to ask. As long as you leave me a few,” she says, setting her book on the small glass table beside her and standing from her chair.

“You don’t have to get up. Stay and enjoy the sun.”

She waves me off as she passes by. “I’d rather spend time with my favorite granddaughter.”

“I’m your only granddaughter,” I reply, following her down the hallway back toward the kitchen.

“Good thing, too. It would be awful of me to have favorites if I had more than one.”

When we get to the kitchen, my grandmother begins pulling various items from the pantry and refrigerator.

“It’s fine. I can do it, Grandma.”

I notice everything she’s pulling out are ingredients for my lemon raspberry tart with cream cheese glaze, which also happens to be her favorite.

“Oh, I’m just helping you get started.”

I chuckle and begin organizing the items on her white marble countertops.

“Who is this for anyway?” she asks as she pulls two mugs from her cabinet and puts water in the kettle for tea.

“I’m going to a party at the Black Roses clubhouse tonight for Knox’s birthday. Tanya is making a big deal out of it, and I don’t want to show up empty-handed.”

“Knox? Is he the gentleman who gave you a ride home on his motorcycle the other night?”

“He is,” I say with a laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him referred to as a gentleman by anyone.

“Nice boy and his mother is an absolute gem. Great football player, too.”

One thing many find shocking about my grandmother is her love of football. When my brother played, she made it to every game. Even after he graduated, you could still find her in the stands on Friday nights, cheering for our local high school.

“What time is the party?” she asks.

“In a couple hours. I’ll have enough time to bake this, then finish getting ready.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Tanya and her boys,” she says as she fixes us two cups of Earl Grey. “I should invite her over sometime. It would be nice to have company. Being an old lady trapped in this big house can get lonely.”

It takes everything I have in me to stifle my laugh. There are many things that I could say to describe my grandmother, but old lady and trapped would never come to mind. But I know a setup when I see one.

“Grandma, would you like to come with me? I’m sure Tanya would love to see you.”

“Oh, well, if you insist,” she says, giving me a half smile as she takes her tea to the little café table in front of the large window in the kitchen that overlooks her expansive backyard.

“I do.”

“Well, you’d better make more than one tart then.”

We pull up to the clubhouse with not one, not two, but three tarts for the party. Once my grandmother told me that not everyone is a fan of lemon, I set about making a strawberry and vanilla tart. In reality, I think she wanted both, but it still got in my head. All I could think about was Knox making that face that people make when they try something you baked. They want to be nice, so they smile, but then you see that grimace before they try to discreetly throw whatever they ate in the trash.

I may be overthinking this a tad.

When we walk into the clubhouse, me carrying two dishes and my grandmother carrying the third, I’m struck with how normal and festive this is. There are streamers and one of those colorful metallic Happy Birthday banners hanging behind the bar. A few kids are running around, and I see the families of some of the men who work at the shop. Nothing like the biker party I was afraid I’d be walking my grandmother into, even though Charlie said the party wouldn’t become more adult-focused, shall we say, until later.

Tanya is setting food on the large table that runs along one of the walls when she sees me and my grandmother. Her face lights up and she walks over to us, wrapping me in a warm, if not awkward, hug, considering I’m holding two dishes.

“Hi, sweet girl. I’m so happy you could make it.” She turns to my grandmother. “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Dawson.”

“Tanya, I've told you a million times to call me Elaine,” she chastises with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

My grandmother laughs and shakes her head.

“Don’t be too hard on the girl, Elaine. It’s not often you find kids with manners these days.” This comes from a man I recognize as Ozzy’s grandfather, Arthur Lewis, or Gramps, as he’s most often referred to. If memory serves, he founded the Black Roses when he came over from England with his wife who has since passed. I recognize him as the man in the stands at all of his grandson’s football games, cheering louder than anyone else in attendance. Back then, I wondered what it would be like to have a family so outwardly and unabashedly supportive that they didn’t care about the looks other parents would shoot them.

“I’m hardly a kid,” Tanya says, feigning insult.

“Talk to me when you reach my age, sweetheart,” Arthur shoots back. “Not that Elaine looks like she could possibly have a granddaughter who’s already graduated college.”

“I’m well past graduation,” I say.

“Blasphemy,” Arthur declares. “Let me take that from you, Elaine. You come sit with me, and we can catch up.”

My grandmother actually giggles when he takes the dish from her hands, then holds his arm out as if he’s properly escorting her to one of the tables set up in the clubhouse.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she says as I watch them walk away.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a harmless flirt,” Tanya says, chuckling beside me.

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” I reply, and Tanya laughs even harder.

“Come on. I’ll put this on the table.” We head over to the spread that’s already set out, and she removes the lids from the pans. “What are these?”

“Raspberry lemon tarts with a cream cheese glaze.”

“That sounds delicious,” a deep voice says behind me.

Tingles shoot up, or maybe it’s down my spine. I don’t know which direction they're flying, to be honest, but I feel like I'm lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

“I made a strawberry one, too, just in case you aren’t a lemon fan,” I blurt out. “Not everyone is, and I wanted to make you something as a thank-you. And a birthday gift. Happy birthday, by the way.” Shut up, Mia.

“Oh my God, Knox loves lemons. He used to eat them like oranges when he was a baby. I thought it was the weirdest thing,” Tanya says, looking at her son with love shining in her gaze. “Sorry.” She waves a hand in front of her face, and I notice a slight sheen in her blue eyes that match her son’s. “I always get emotional around my boys’ birthdays.”

“Well, here,” I say, practically shoving one of the tarts into Knox’s chest. “This one’s yours.”

Knox looks surprised by my sudden assault on him with a tart pan. I nervously laugh before looking down to find a fork on the table, then hand it over to him.

“Enjoy,” I say as he takes the fork from my hand, probably afraid I’ll shove that at him and accidentally stab him or something.

I turn on my heels and walk away, silently berating myself for that incredibly uncomfortable show of…shit, I don’t know what the hell that was.

“Hey, girl,” Lucy says as I practically plow right into her. “I think you need this.” She shoves a cup in my hand.

“What is it?” I ask, lifting the cup to my lips.

“Sprite and—”

I take a giant gulp before she can finish.

“Irish whiskey. Heavy on the whiskey.”

It burns going down but helps me refocus all the same. Being around Knox for thirty seconds scrambled my brain, but I’m a grown-ass woman. I’m not some weak-kneed fourteen-year-old girl who gets twitterpated being so close to her high school crush, for God’s sake. Okay, fine, apparently that’s exactly what I am, but it doesn’t mean I can’t pull my shit together and act like the adult I’ve grown into.

“Why is Knox looking at you like he’s utterly confused?” Charlie asks, walking up to us, her gaze ping-ponging between me and the biker.

“It might have something to do with me shoving a pan in his chest.” I take another swig of the drink Lucy so mercifully handed me a moment ago. “Or it could be that he's afraid I’m going to have an menty-b at his birthday party because, for the life of me, I can’t open my mouth around the man without being completely awkward.” Taking another gulp of whiskey, I realize the cup is nearly empty, and my lips tip down in a little pout.

“Could be,” Charlie replies, giving me a pitying look.

“I don’t know why you two dance around this. Just bang it out already,” Lucy says.

“Thank you for your completely unhelpful advice,” I say, shaking the cubes in the now-empty cup. “But the only thing I need is another one of these.” I let out a breath and look at my two friends, who have seen the way I turn into a bumbling idiot around the man. “Knox doesn’t have those kinds of feelings for me. He thinks I’m the same gawky teenager I was when I first met him. He doesn’t even like me.”

Lucy and Charlie give each other a look that says I’m full of shit.

“I don’t think that’s the look he generally shoots you, my sweet, naive friend. Do you ever wonder why not a single one of these guys has made a pass at you? Or why when you show up to the clubhouse looking like an absolute smokeshow out of your normal school librarian clothes, they keep their eyes purposely averted from that delectable ass?” Lucy asks.

I look down at myself, wondering what the hell she’s going on about. I’m in a light-pink sweater that hangs off one shoulder paired with dark jeans and heeled boots to give my shorter stature some height. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen women wear around this clubhouse. Though, these are my favorite jeans that even I have to admit makes my ass look fantastic. But still. I’m not, nor have I ever been, someone people consider sexy . I’m cute, which is fine with me.

“I’m not always dressed like a librarian. It’s not like this is my first party here, either. They’ve seen me plenty of times wearing something similar.”

“And yet they all keep a respectable distance,” Charlie says, nodding as though she agrees with our delusional friend.

“I figured it was because we’re friends. Like it’s some show of respect or something.”

“Oh, it is,” Lucy says with laughter lacing her words. “But not because we’re friends. Because Knox said you’re off limits. None of these guys are going to go against their VP.”

“That’s crazy, though. He’s never hinted that he sees me as anything more than a nuisance when I’m around.”

I think back to all the times he’s been stoic and silent in my presence, never giving me a smile or any sort of acknowledgment. Then I think back to the way it felt to be behind him on his bike. About how he squeezed my hands that were clasped at his waist. How he waited until I was inside my house before he drove away.

“I can only tell you what Jude told me,” Lucy replies

“What are you telling people about me, Lucifer,” Jude says, coming up behind Lucy and grabbing her around the waist before he pulls her back into his chest.

“Girl talk,” she tells him before she turns her head, placing a kiss on his lips.

Loud sounds of laughter and a dog barking are enough to break them apart, and we all turn to watch Colby, Maizie’s son, running through the clubhouse with a small ball of yellow fur chasing after him.

“Hopefully they tire each other out,” Maizie says, walking up to the group of us as we watch the scene unfold. Colby drops to the floor on all fours and starts barking at the puppy like he’s a dog himself. He laughs hysterically when the dog starts jumping all over him, licking at his face. All the while, the five of us look on with smiles on our faces.

“Who’s dog?” Charlie asks.

“Wyatt’s. And believe me when I tell you Ozzy is none too happy about it,” Jude answers.

“Well, if he ever needs someone to take the puppy to the park, I’m sure Colby would be ecstatic,” Maizie says.

“They say every boy needs a dog,” Lucy says to Mazie.

“But not every mother needs another living, breathing responsibility in her life. Doggy dates are one thing. Keeping another living creature alive and well is something else entirely.”

“Fair,” Lucy says before turning to me. “You want another?” she asks, pointing at my drink.

“God, yes,” I reply, and she grabs my hand, leading me to the bar.

A few hours later, after the food has been devoured and the clubhouse erupted in a melodious rendition of “Happy Birthday to You,” I find my grandmother sitting at one of the tables with Arthur, Maizie, and a very tired-looking Colby.

“You about ready to get going, Grandma?”

She looks at me with a smile in her eyes. “I don’t want you to have to leave, dear. Maizie was just saying that she needs to get this young man home. I’m sure she can give me a ride.”

Maizie looks surprised that she was volunteered, maybe even a little uncomfortable with the suggestion. “Of course, Mrs. Dawson.”

“Please, call me Elaine. You’ll make me feel old.”

“Nonsense, Elaine. You haven’t aged a minute since the days we spent freezing our asses off at the football games,” Arthur interjects.

“You’re good for my ego, Arthur Lewis,” she says, standing from her seat and grabbing her pocketbook. “I’m serious about having you over for coffee. I expect a phone call from you next week.”

“It’s a date,” he says, sharing a smile with my grandmother that goes on a little too long.

“Come on, son. Time to go,” Maizie says, rubbing Colby’s back.

“Can Pepper stay the night at our house?” he asks before crouching down next to the dog sleeping at his feet.

Maizie smiles at her son, then turns to me. “Wyatt let Colby name the dog. His name is now Pepperoni—Pepper for short.” She turns back to Colby’s pleading eyes. “Not tonight, but I’ll make sure to let Wyatt know you want a sleepover soon, okay?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh. I’m sure Wyatt, not Pepper, would love to be invited for a sleepover at Maizie’s. The fact that those two haven’t seen what’s right in front of them is crazy to me.

My grandmother stands and gives me a kiss on the cheek before walking to Tanya, who’s talking with Knox and Trick and thanking her for inviting her. At that, I do laugh, considering the woman invited herself through me.

“I think I want to be Elaine Dawson when I grow up,” Maizie says, watching the regal way my grandmother commands the attention of everyone around her, including the former Black Roses president—both of them—and the tall vice president standing next to her.

“You and me both, sister.”

I give her a hug goodbye and turn to Arthur who is watching my grandmother being led out of the clubhouse with her arm looped through Colby’s. My heart twists for a moment, thinking that my grandmother deserves great-grandchildren of her own. Not that she’ll be getting them anytime soon. Between me and my brother, who should probably stay far away from even the thought of having kids, the poor woman will have to settle for being the honorary great-grandmother to my friend's kids.

“Tanya and I are headed out, too, Dad,” Trick says as he walks up to the table. “Time to let the kids have their fun.”

“You know, there was a time when we stuck around for the fun,” Arthur says.

“And our time has come and gone,” Tanya replies as she walks up and lays her head on Trick’s arm. “Plus, I'd rather not see what my sons get up to when I’m not around, thank you very much.” Tanya turns to me. “I’m so happy Elaine came today, Mia. She is an absolute riot.”

I smile at Tanya. “I didn’t have much of a choice, but I’m glad she came too.”

“Well, she’s welcome anytime.” She turns back to Arthur. “You ready, Gramps?”

“Oh, fine. Take my old bones home,” he says, standing from his chair.

When they leave, I look around and find Lucy and Charlie at the pool tables with Linc, Jude, and Wyatt. Jude is sitting at one of the bar tables, sipping on a beer, when I walk over and have a seat on the other side of the round table.

Lucy is, of course, wiping the floor with Wyatt as she attacks every shot with practiced efficiency.

“You gonna play next?” I ask the Englishman.

“He’s still sore about the last time he lost to me,” Lucy supplies after sinking the eight ball and holding out her hand to Wyatt. He rolls his eyes and hands over a twenty, slapping it into her palm.

Lucy shoots him a gleeful smile. “Pleasure doing business,” she says while folding the twenty before shoving it in her bra.

“I thought I was getting better,” Wyatt says sullenly.

“You are, sweet cheeks. Just not good enough to beat me.” Never let it be said that Lucy isn’t a boastful winner. She looks at Wyatt’s pouting face and scrunches her nose. “Okay, now I feel bad about taking everyone’s money.”

“Why?” Jude interjects. “They’re the stupid arseholes who lose it.”

Lucy pretends to think about that for a moment. “True.” She shrugs, then looks at me. “Let’s go, sister, you're up.”

I groan and shake my head. “Come on, Lucy. You and I both know I don’t have a shot in hell at even getting any balls in the holes.”

Jude snickers and I send him a withering look. “You’re a child.”

“I’m aware,” he answers.

“We can play teams. I’ll give you Jude, and I’ll take Wyatt. That keeps us pretty evenly matched,” Lucy offers.

“Hey,” Wyatt protests, but none of us pay his offense any mind.

“Lucifer, I’m perfectly happy sitting here with my beer, watching you wipe the floor with everyone,” Jude says, then takes a long pull from his bottle.

Lucy sticks her tongue out at her man. “You’re no fun anymore.”

“Careful, love. I have no problem hauling you over my shoulder and showing you how not fun I am for the rest of the night.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is,” she responds.

Before either of them can say anything else, another voice is heard over the noise of the clubhouse.

“If I have to stay, you have to stay,” Knox tells Jude as he comes to stand next to my chair. “Mia and I will play you and Wyatt,” he tells Lucy.

Oh shit.

“It’s okay, really,” I tell him. “I suck at pool, and Lucy has a mean streak when she wins.”

“She doesn’t scare me,” Knox says with a cocky tilt to his lips.

“No, I don’t suppose she would,” I mumble to myself before exhaling a deep breath. “Okay, fine.”

Knox holds out his hand to help me from my seat, and I slip my slightly damp one into his palm. There’s no reason I should be having this reaction to him. I’m either a blubbering idiot around this guy or a sweaty mess. There is no in-between.

Lucy grins and begins racking the balls in the little triangle as Knox and I head over to where the cues are hanging on the wall.

“When I tell you I’m not good, it’s not because I’m some secret pool shark. I really do play like shit,” I warn Knox.

“Honey, I’ve seen you play. I know how terrible you are.”

The frown on my face makes him laugh. God, that’s a good sound and not one I hear much from him.

Now that I think of it, all the times I’ve been here, I’ve yet to see Knox with a cue in his hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play, though.”

“I grew up in this clubhouse. When Ozzy and I were kids, there wasn’t a lot for us to do, so he and I would fuck around with trick shots. I’m a little rusty, but I think we can give Lucy and Wyatt a run for their money.”

I love my friend and would destroy anyone who would hurt her or cause her harm, but even I have to admit it would be kind of fun to see the smug smile wiped off her face if Knox and I actually won.

His optimism perks me up, and I smile up at the tall man. “Let’s do this.”

Wyatt breaks and no balls go in, but there’re a couple set up that don’t look like too difficult of a shot.

“Ladies first,” Knox says, tilting his head toward the table.

I find what looks to be the easiest shot and bend over the table, steadying the cue in my grip. Pulling the stick back, I aim it at the cue ball to thrust it forward. It hits one of the solid balls and…misses. To her credit, Lucy doesn’t display the arrogant smile she usually has on her face any time anyone else misses a shot when playing against her. Wyatt goes next, hitting one of the striped balls in a pocket, then misses on the next.

Knox takes his shots, and before I know it, he’s sunk three balls before he misses again. This time, Lucy does, in fact, shoot him a smirk.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Lucy says as she eyes Knox.

“Oh yeah, love, I may have never mentioned that Knox was the only brother to offer any sort of challenge when we used to play,” Jude says from his seat at the cocktail table.

“Slipped your mind?” Lucy asks, giving Jude a mean side-eye.

“Yup,” he responds before taking another swig of his beer.

She lines up her cue and takes two shots before missing the third.

“You’re up,” she says with a smile toward me.

I bend over, and just before I take my shot, I feel a warm and rather large presence behind me.

“Here, let me show you,” Knox says before he leans over me. He adjusts my hold on the cue stick, and I’m immediately tense.

“Breathe,” he says in my ear, and I do, taking a long, steadying breath, then releasing it on a slow exhale.

“Good girl.”

And with that, I fucking melt into him. All the tension I was holding leaves my body, and when he backs up, I take the shot and the ball goes in.