Page 7 of Hash

That’s another thing.

It’s always at my place. Not that it’s a bad thing, I love my house and I want the person I’m seeing to be just as comfortable there, but he hasn’t invited me over to his place once. There hasn’t even been an “Oh hey, we should switch it up and chill at mine tonight,” and I decline or we happen to end up at mine. I also haven’t asked, but should I have to?

I still haven’t met a single friend or one of his brothers from his club. In fact, he doesn’t even mention them other than in his saying he has club business to get to in passing. That’s weird, right? Even when we’ve gone out for drinks and Frankie has joined, he hasn’t invited anyone from his crew along.

Have I had blinders on this entire time?

Oh God, what if it’s me? Is he embarrassed of me?

I know the cherry cola colored hair, double nose piercing and a septum piercing throws people. I see the stares. But I always thought a biker would be down with that.

“Sounds good.” I keep a smile on my face even though I feel like I’m dying inside. It’s a different kind of pain to be in love with someone when the signs just smacked you in the face that he clearly doesn’t feel the same.

I’ll give him a chance to answer my questions tonight, but if it goes the way my gut is telling me it’s going to go, I need to end this.

A heavy knock sounds on my front door, scaring Frigg, my black Maine Coon cat. She’ll come back out of her hiding place once she realizes it’s Hash. She always does.

Flipping both of the locks, I heave the thick oak door open. “Hi,” I greet, trying to push the awkwardness I feel from knowing what I need to ask him.

“Forgot to ask you about dinner, so I stopped and grabbed a pie.” Hash holds up the pizza box as he slides around me and comes inside. “I know how you like your pizza.”

“Detroit style?” I ask as I shut the door and follow him into the kitchen.

“With ham, mushrooms, and onions.”

Of course, on the night I want to have a serious conversation with him, he goes and brings me one of my favorite foods, making tonight feel that much worse because he does actually pay attention to me on some sort of deeper level. But how deep that runs for him is the question.

“Thanks.” I smile softly at him as I grab us each a plate and place a slice on mine before grabbing a beer for him and a freezer door cosmopolitan for me. “How was your day?”

There.

That was good.

I sound normal. I just hope my face isn’t giving away how fucking nervous I am. But can you blame me? I’ve never had to do this, let alone with someone I’m this into.

Hash shrugs as he swallows his bite. “Can’t complain. I got to see your sweet ass. You have a good day at work?”

“Can’t complain.” I mimic him as I shrug my shoulders, earning me that little smirk I love. “I didn’t have any nasty vaginas today, so I call that a win.”

A loud laugh booms out of Hash mid bite sending him into a coughing fit. “What the fuck?” He wheezes out as he pounds his fist on his chest. “Jesus Christ, I swear I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

“I aim to please.”

“They smell bad or something?”

“Or something.”

“Explain.”

“Do you really want to know while you’re eating?”

“Baby doll, if you’d lived the life that I have, you’d have very little surprising you.”

I take a second to really study Hash. The hard lines on his face are the kind that come from living rough, not from age. The walls in his eyes hold secrets that he’s probably buried so deep he’s forgotten that they’re there. I believe him. I bet nothing surprises him anymore. Especially when it comes to vaginas. The Dirty Devils are known for getting around, but…

“I don’t doubt that, but have you ever gone down on a girl to find literal poop up in there?” I ask just as Hash takes a swig of beer.

Beer sprays across my kitchen from Hash’s mouth.