I flip her the bird, and she walks back to the kitchen laughing. It’s a pretty sound.
Once all the food is on the table and our glasses are filled with water, Maren sits. For a moment, we just look at the sizzling platter of steak. Finally, Maren breaks the silence. “Well, this is weird.”
“Not gonna disagree.”
“We should probably talk about it.”
I shake my head. “I think that is possibly the worst idea. I think it’s best if we aim to forget all about this as soon as it’s safe for me to leave.”
Her eyebrows lift as I grab a tortilla and begin to fill it.
“Let’s pretend we don’t know each other,” she says.
I raise my fork and point it in her direction. “Now, that’s an idea I can get behind.”
“No. Not like, let’s ignore each other. But, like, if you aren’t you, and I’m not me, and we just met in a bar.”
“What?”
She studies me for a moment. “You know. Fresh start and all that.”
“You’re serious.” No question mark as it’s a statement. I can tell she is.
“Deadly. Hi. I’m Maren Coralie Caldwell. I’m twenty-eight. I own and run a bait and marine store. I like painting in all mediums, but particularly love oils, even though it’s sometimes seen as outdated. My favorite food is a good lobster roll. I love eighties hair band rock, and my favorite song of all time is the classic, ‘When Love & Hate Collide’ by Def Leppard. And, apparently, I invite half-naked bikers into my emergency bunker in a hurricane.”
“In fairness, I wasn’t half-naked, and you didn’t invite me. In fact, I have the distinct impression you wanted to send me away.”
“Details, details.”
I take a bite of the fajita I just assembled, and it’s a fucking taste explosion. Tart salsa and guacamole. Juicy steak, with perfectly cooked peppers and onions that have all been seasoned to perfection. “This is so good,” I mumble through a mouthful.
Maren wraps her precisely made fajita. “Thank you. You need to introduce yourself.”
“This is a stupid game.”
“What else are we gonna do for the next twelve hours, Knox? You want to tell me how your latest illegal deal went and I’ll tell you how my plan to reduce store operating costs is going?”
“Feels like that might be safer.” But I like her mouth. I like how she doesn’t take my shit. “Fine. I’m Nathaniel Knox Navarro because Mom loved alliteration. Yes, Knox is my middle name for real. Became my road name because I’m a secret keeper. Like Fort Knox. I’m forty-four. I don’t like piña coladas. I’ll walk in the rain, but I prefer the feel of sun on my skin. And I’m always down for fucking in the dunes at midnight.”
For a second, Maren is listening, then?—
“Did you just…oh, my God, it’s that song that everyone knows the chorus to, but no one knows the verse.”
“It’s Vandal’s karaoke song, annoyingly. He’s the club enforcer and he’ll put it on and sing it, even when no one asked.”
Maren smiles. “Leo worked for my grandfather, but he’ll sometimes sing this song. ‘Quizás, Quizás, Quizás.’ Everyone knows the adapted English version as ‘Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.’ But it’s originally this Cuban bolero from, like, the forties. It’s an ear worm.”
We talk some more as we finish dinner and clean up. We stay clear of some topics, and we never once discuss her father or what my club does. But it’s there, an underlying hum between us as Maren tells me that the two men reappeared simply to tell her that they didn’t believe her that she didn’t know where Jackal is.
I shudder to think what might have happened to her if I hadn’t driven by.
By the time it’s obvious we need to hit the sack, the awkwardness has faded into something a little easier.
“It’s been a day,” Maren says, stretching her hands above her head until I see the slightest sliver of skin between her lounge pants and her top. It’s a reminder of what we did in the shower, and my cock stirs, which isn’t helpful, seeing as I’m only wrapped in a towel.
“I’ll take the couch,” I say.
Maren turns back the covers on the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The bed’s big enough to share.”
