The fight to remain a “good girl” was becoming more difficult, especially now that our date had finally become a reality.
Eventually, like all fleeting thoughts and moments, the arousal slowly started to subside, but I knew it wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and I knew that at some point, assuming tonight did not go disastrously, I was riding on that bike.
And when that happened, it was all but inevitable that I would ride Connor.
The very thought got me wet and aroused. And we hadn’t even shared a drink yet.
* * *
We found parking downtown pretty easily. I only had to walk one block to Reapers, and Connor barely had to walk any further. I waited for him outside, watching him come to the shop.
He had his hands in his pockets, walking confidently but with a guarded edge, like he expected to be ambushed at any moment. When he got near me, he wore no smile on his face, but at this point, I suspected that a smile was less of a default setting and more of a rarity. I got accused plenty of “resting bitch face,” but Connor was probably even more guilty of resting asshole face.
The bar had changed a bit since I had last gone in. For starters, the photos of the Black Reapers in California were higher up on the walls, presumably to make it more difficult for people to vandalize or strike at. For another, the walls themselves were filled with deliberate graffiti, as if it was an attempt to make the place vandalism proof. It was, after all, much easier to mar something that tried to look perfect than something that insisted on being imperfect.
I had to admit, as much as I sort of liked the “high-end” biker bar vibe when I walked in, this felt more in keeping with what I imagined the typical customer base would be here. And for that matter, I liked it more myself. I liked places that offered the prospect of exciting action, and there was bound to be more of it here than at Copper Lounge or any of the other upscale places.
“Not bad, huh?” I said, putting a hand on Connor’s arm.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it like this,” he said. He did not look at me, nor did he show any facial reaction to my touch, though I swore his arm got goosebumps. “Let’s go get beer.”
We walked up to the bar—there were plenty of open spots, so we grabbed the chairs closest to the bathroom, the furthest away from the entrance—and waited until the bartender walked over. Connor ordered a Guinness; I ordered a margarita. The bartender looked at me askance, and I changed to a Guinness.Cocktail hour, this is not.
“So,” I said.
But I didn’t say anything else. I was waiting for Connor to say something, to start asking me questions about himself. But he looked at me like I was an idiot for not saying anything more.
“So, what?” he said.
He doesn’t have a lot of experience with dates like this, does he? Probably gets all the ass he needs at the clubhouse and never has to go on actual dates.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
I had to bite my lip from saying something sarcastic.
“Where are you from? Why did you come to Santa Maria?”
“I’m from Los Angeles,” he said. “Long Beach, actually. And I came to Santa Maria to get away from Long Beach.”
Hmm.
“Why?”
“Long Beach is full of shitheads who think that they’re so cool because they’re non-conformist, and it just makes them conformist to their own fake culture,” he said with a snort. “And they’re the worst kind of assholes you can imagine.”
OK, I should change the sub—
“I’m an asshole, I know that, but at least I’m an asshole for the good of the town,” he said. “The people in Long Beach are self-serving assholes. They don’t give a fuck about anyone other than themselves and their bank account.”
“Ah,” I said, hurrying to change the subject. “Well, I grew up here in New Mexico. I’ve been here most of my life. My parents owned the gas station that I own now.”
“Cool,” Connor said.
The beers came right out. I held mine out for a moment to clink glasses with Connor, but he seemed utterly oblivious to it and just gulped down about a quarter of it. I told myself that Connor just didn’t know any better, not that he was deliberately blowing me off, but it wasn’t the greatest sign in the world that he wasn’t opening himself up to trying new things.
“Yeah, it’s been interesting being here most of my life.”
