Katie
Istood before a window overlooking downtown Albuquerque, dressed in tight blue jeans, a pink tank top, and white heels. On most other nights, dressed like this, the girls and I would have gone downtown, hit up a few bars, maybe gone dancing a bit before we headed home.
But tonight, our journey would take us a little further east.
“I still can’t believe you,” Tara said. “I thought I told you that this was an invite-only party.”
“And you sound so surprised that I could win over one of the guys, Tara,” I said with a prideful smile. “You know your girl can win over some of them.”
“Yeah, but you’re not one of the old ladies.”
“Old what?”
“It means you’re a girlfriend or a wife,” Elizabeth said from the bathroom. “We’re old ladies to Brock and Steele. So is Hannah to Garrett.”
“Though I wouldn’t remind Mason of that,” Tara said.
“OK, well, call me a young lady, then, because that’s probably what Zack saw in me. Even though, well, I’m older.”
“Wait, Zack?” Tara said, halting her pouring of a drink. “Zack was the guy you asked? I thought you had the hots for Connor.”
“I did, and I do,” I said. “It’s complicated, though.”
Tara arched an eyebrow at me as she finished pouring my drink.
“You’re not getting away with this one, Katie,” she said as she handed me a tall glass of wine. “You always pried into our business and wanted the juice whenever we were in our early stages with Brock and Steele. Now it’s your turn to talk about Connor.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Really? You’re going to throw some false modesty at us? We all know you love to gossip, Katie.”
It was, begrudgingly, true. I loved to know what was going on. I loved to keep up with everyone’s story. It was just entertaining, honestly, especially since all of us had so many stories and so many ties with different guys in the Black Reapers.
And now I was adding to the list.
“Connor came by the gas station a few days ago,” I said. “Showed up just to get some gas and pay with cash. You know I’ve had the hots for him for a while.”
“No, really?” Tara said.
“Of all the guys,” Elizabeth said, emerging from the bathroom in a blue tank top and light blue jeans.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I said in fake sarcasm. “Rude!”
“I just mean that Brock and Steele, though bikers, they, like…”
“What, look like normal white guys? While Connor looks like he wears a neon sign that screams ‘Bad Decisions’ and ‘I’m Going to Jail?’ I’m sorry, I like my guys to have a bit of a wild side to them; is that so bad?”
Left unsaid, of course, was trying to figure out why I liked my guys to be so dangerous. A therapist had once said I had, not surprisingly, issues with my father and how he was too stoic for his own good, but I found therapy to be too theoretical and not practical enough.
“Anyway!” I said when neither Rogers girl pressed the point. “He was kind of a dick, but I expected as much. There’s something to him that I can’t quite figure out. Like, I think he wants to be nice, but he’s afraid to be nice to me.”
“Or he is a dick, and that’s just all there is to it,” Elizabeth said.
Tara, though, didn’t look as convinced.
“None of the guys are true assholes. Well, OK, they can be enormous assholes, but I think they all have good souls at heart. But of all the guys, Katie, you know you picked the one that likely has the deepest and darkest issues, right?”
Not like he’s the only one.
