Easier said than done, though. Like many things with me.
* * *
I pulled up to the coffee shop about twenty minutes later. It was a nicer coffee shop, one of those local hipster establishments that were probably used to catering to hippy moms and men with buns in their hair. I, with my balding hair, sharp jaw, and gruff demeanor, was most certainly not the target demographic for this place.
But, hey, like I ever gave a fuck what the “target demographic” of any place ever really thought.
I stepped inside and briefly caught a glance of the cashier behind the coffee bar, a white dude with blond dreadlocks that looked like he had shat himself when I entered. I was half a second away from remarking about judging on appearances before my eyes caught her.
Rachel.
But not just Rachel.
Rachel dressed up, looking so fucking beautiful.
I mean, holy fuck, she looked hot. She had makeup, a nice red dress, heels…if I didn’t know better, I would have expected that we’d gone into a cocktail lounge instead of a coffee bar. Maybe she just wasn’t one for alcohol. But either way, looking at this girl, my jaw literally dropped and my eyes widened. And that kind of shit never, ever fucking happened.
“Hey, Mason,” she said with a cheer in her voice.
I hadn’t seen her that prepped up since…well, that awful night so long ago. I couldn’t believe that she’d gotten dressed up for me. I was a fucking biker, not the prince of a foreign country.
How big a deal this must be for her to get dressed up like this.
Suddenly, I felt like I was under a lot of pressure. It was a fucking good thing I was king at handling pressure-packed situations, but this wasn’t pressure like someone who wanted to kill me. This was pressure like someone who wanted to kiss me.
It was a fucking odd feeling, and even odder to say that it was more nerve-wracking than a fight with the Bandits.
She came up to me and wrapped her arms around me. The hug was gentle and real, tender and sweet. I was…touched.
I was also feeling uncomfortable. I barely knew her. And what I did know of her suggested that she was fragile. Too fucking much. And besides her, I—
“You all right?” she said, a playful smile on her face.
“Yeah, yeah, body tends to shake a little after a long bike ride.”
Somewhat true in general. Most definitely not true for this specific moment here.
“Well, come, have a seat. We didn’t come here to taste test the coffee.”
No, we did not.
I followed her to the far table, which was thankfully pretty distanced from the rest of the coffee shop. I preferred not to have stupid hippies and “peace and love, man” types staring at me in horror while I discussed biking business. I also preferred not to be near them; people thought bikers smelled, but at least I fucking believed in a shower at the end of the day.
“So,” she said when we sat down. “What have you all been up to for the last decade? Like all of you?”
“All of us?” I quipped with a chuckle. “Let’s see. Everyone’s found love except me, but that’s fine. I—”
“How so?”
Rachel sounded glad to hear it. I indulged her.
“Brock and Tara, I think they went back a bit. Tara dated Steele for a bit and Brock got to know her that way. Tara’s sister, Elizabeth, wound up with Steele.”
“Wait, two sisters dating bikers? After one dated the other?” she said, almost laughing on her side of the table.
From a distant perspective, it was kind of funny. I’d just been too focused on making sure that the two never splintered the club to see the humor in the whole thing.
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t see that every day,” I said. “And then Garrett…”
