by Jolie Day
It sure is pretty.
14
Joel
It takes several hours to recover from the hell of a hangover I got from Vegas, and they felt like a bitch on my bike. But even after the hangover’s gone, I’m left with unease rumbling in my gut. It’s still impossible to remember what made me and Charlie decide to get married. My memory hasn’t changed much from when we woke up and had sex in the middle of the night at the hotel. I just remember the image of her laughing and how beautiful she looked in the lights of the Vegas strip.
There’s a feeling that comes with the memory—it’s something warm and, I don’t know, sweet? I can’t describe it without sounding like a moron or teenage schoolkid with a crush—but it’s more than that. In those moments with her (drunken or not), I remember feeling like I’d found something important, and that I didn’t want to lose it. So, maybe the whole thing was my fault, even if I can’t remember how it happened. I can see how it might have been my idea.
I’ve been wondering if we saw Clay again at any point last night or if he knows what we got into. He met a girl and kept talking about her the whole trip back, not bringing up me and Charlie once. He didn’t act like he knew anything about what happened between us, so I kept my mouth shut and let him talk. Charlie made it clear she didn’t want anyone to know.
Once we’re back in the city, we meet up with Eric, Max, Vorn, and Ralphie at one of our usual spots—the diner.
I keep catching myself staring at Eric and thinking about him calling Charlie his ex-girlfriend, and that I’m not joking when I call her my wife. Well, soon to be ex-wife. Either way, I can’t share that with them, no matter how much I want to.
“Doing okay, Wolf?” Max asks.
I glance up to see all the guys giving me a questioning stare. I hadn’t realized I was just staring at the rain outside like an idiot, not paying attention to anything they were saying.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m good.”
They keep watching me, obviously unsatisfied with my answer. They know me well enough to know when something’s wrong with me. But also, not to keep asking when I’m not in the mood to talk about it.
“It’s a shame it’s raining.” I change the subject. “I wish we could go on a long ride.”
“We just got back from a long ride,” Clay reminds me, looking skeptical. “I’m wiped. Looking forward to a hot shower at home and my own bed.”
“I mean sometime soon, not now.”
Eric sips his coffee and leans forward. “Vorn. Ralphie. What’s the word on Saro’s Sons scum? The sooner I get all this cleared up, the sooner I’m back on this IPO deal.”
Vorn puts his arms on the table, leans in close, and eyes all of us. “Word on the street is they had nothing to do with it.”
I catch Clay shaking his head, almost seeming disappointed.
Eric seems relieved. As long as they leave us and his shop alone, he’s happy to avoid the drama. “Good thing there wasn’t any bloodshed. We don’t want another club war, not here.” He shakes his head. “But, the cops did say they thought it was just a random bum. I just didn’t want to be too quick to take their word for it. But if you’re sure…”
Clay’s the first to ask the question it seems everybody wants to know. “What’s the bum’s name?”
“Jorge Zahíno.”
“Never heard of him.”
Vorn arches his eyebrows. “I’ve heard the name. Supposed to be an evil motherfucker. Lone wolf. They say the guy’s got enough skeletons in his closet to start a graveyard. Keep an eye out for Zahíno, no fucking club wars. Not after everything. We’re good on that front for now. What about you, Ralphie?”
“Positive,” Ralphie answers. “If the Sons had anything to do with it, we would’ve picked up on it by now. Besides, you know those bastards. They’ll jump on any chance to gloat.”
“That’s true.” Eric nods. “Well, with that out of the way, I can help with the next meeting for the IPO. Where’s it at again?”
He stares back at me, but it takes a full minute for me to process anything he’s said. “Oh, sorry. Providence.”
“Perfect. You can sit this one out if you want, Clay. If it’s all right with you of course.”
“Nah, man. I’ll go.” He looks to me. “We’ll all go. Another road trip.”
“No, wouldn’t make it in time. We’re flying out in the morning. 6 a.m. sharp.”
“Okay. In that case, you and Eric have fun. But if you need me, just say the word.”
I just nod and go back to watching the rain outside. Breakfast goes on, but I zone out, missing most of the conversation. When the guys pay their tabs and leave, I tell Eric I’ll see him at the airport tomorrow. Max decides to stay behind with me. I groan and shift in my seat, knowing he wants to have another one of our little talks. But truthfully, he’s the last person I want to talk to.
Max knows better than anybody why marriage is a no-go for me. I grew up watching my mom continually being disappointed by my father, not to mention how he made me feel. I’ve never wanted to risk doing that to anybody, but I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t bring that same restless, wanderlust spirit to the table in a relationship.
“All right, I know something’s up with you,” Max grumbles over his coffee. “So, why don’t you save us both time and just spit it out?”
“Just fucking tired from the trip is all.”
Max raises his eyebrow. “Did you and Clay get into any trouble?”
“You’ve got no idea,” I mumble under my breath, not bothering to mention that Clay had nothing to do with it this time. I made enough trouble on my own. “You should’ve come. You would’ve had a good time.”
“Nah, I’m all right.” He waves his hand at me. “I’ll leave these long trips to you guys. Maybe take Regina on a weekend ride around Coney Island again.”
“Right. The old ball and chain keeping Max from going out and having any fun.” I chuckle, but realize he isn’t laughing with me, even though I’ve made jokes like this a million times before. He usually just smiles, like he’s keeping a secret from the rest of us. I always assumed it’s because he’s embarrassed. But this time he looks dead serious, enough to make me think I might have offended him.
“She doesn’t care if I go out riding with you boys. She’s usually the one trying to push me out the door and hit the road.”
I shake my head, not understanding. “Wait. So how come you don’t go out with us anymore like you used to?”
“I meet up any chance I get, don’t I? I don’t stay at home with her because I have to. I do it because I want to. She’s more than happy to let me go on longer rides, because she knows how important it used to be to me. That’s why you see me in Staten Island so much. But honestly, after all the gang trouble, deaths, and shooting that Alvarez bastard, I’m just as satisfied hanging around the house with the wife or having her hop on the bike with me and ride around town.”
I consider his words, never thinking about this side of it before. After seeing the way my father resented being at home with us, like we were holding him back from something, I never thought somebody could really be happy just staying in with their families.
“But how many days are ever really enough?” I argue. “How do you know when you’ve had enough time out there on your own?”
“You’ll know when. A lot of it’s got to do with finding the right person.” He leans back. “And listen, like I said, it’s not a death sentence, man. People like to make jokes about marriage, but me, I like married life. And if I ever get the itch for the open road to take trips for a few days or whatever, my wife wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. She’s got her bar to run and stays busy. It’s not like she’s given up her life ’cause we got married.”
I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. I always felt sorry for Max having to run home while the rest of us went out and had fun. I didn’t realize he actually preferred things that way, no matter how much he said it. It just didn’t seem like it could be the honest
truth.
An image of Charlie laughing in Vegas flashes through my mind, followed by that same warm feeling in my chest. But then I remember how upset she was about what we did. She’s obviously got no intention of entertaining the idea of us staying married. This whole thing between us is founded on her knowing she’s got her own life waiting for her in London. I don’t even know if she would’ve been so uninhibited and kinky with me otherwise.
I snap back to Max staring at me with a questioning expression again. “Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word on all that.” I stand up and pull on my jacket, laughing awkwardly to myself. “No wifey for me.”
Max leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at me. “Well, that’s not what I said. Quite the opposite.” He knows something’s still up, something I’m not telling him. Thankfully, he lets it go this time, but he does it with a smug smile—again, like he knows something I don’t.
“What is it?” I don’t want to walk out on whatever’s got him looking like the cat who ate the canary.
“Nothing.” But he sees I’m not budging this time until he spits it out. “You, my friend, are acting a whole lot like somebody who’s in love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I laugh out loud—maybe a little too loud—in a way that shows you’re an insecure little bitch. Bullshit. I decide I better get the hell out of there before Max catches on to any other crazy fucking ideas that might be rolling around in my brain.
When I ride away from the diner, the rain’s cleared up some. No matter how sure I am that this accidental marriage has to end, it doesn’t stop me from replaying every second with Charlie over again in my head—the way she looked on the side of the road with her broken-down car. That I was the luckiest son of a bitch alive when she kissed me, and how fucking amazing her tight pussy felt squeezing my dick.
It gets me thinking: maybe this whole thing doesn’t have to be so black and white. It wouldn’t have to have anything to do with love. And if whatever arrangement we make doesn’t work out, we could always get divorced later. Hell, half the couples these days get divorced anyway, so we stand the same damn fifty-fifty chance as anybody else.
The longer I ride, the more I think I should at least offer the option to Charlie again, now that we’ve both had a chance to calm down. But then I remember what she said in the hotel about wanting to be married for real one day. I definitely wouldn’t want to hold her back from whatever that means. What would a “real” husband offer her that I can’t, anyway? The thought of seeing her married to somebody else sends a surprise jolt of jealousy through me. What the fuck?
It’s too much for me to wrap my head around, but I’m about to turn the corner to my home, not feeling better about the situation in the least.
I take a long hot shower and get in bed. I’m tired as fuck and desperate for sleep so I don’t have to keep mulling over all this Charlie business.
But of course, the second I try to close my eyes, her face is the first thing I see. I swear I can smell her on my skin and taste her on my lips, even though that’s impossible after the days that have passed. What is it about this woman that’s got me so thrown off my game? I start to get the sick feeling down in my gut that tells me Max might have been on to something. I can’t remember the last time I had strong feelings for a woman. Maybe I’ve just forgotten what it’s like. Shit.
After tossing and turning for hours, I finally give up and find things around the house to do—taking out the trash, polishing my bike in the garage, getting in a little workout. I also have the trip to pack for. But none of it makes me feel any better. It’s obvious that whatever’s come over me isn’t going to just go away. I’ve got to talk to Charlie.
I almost pick up the phone and call her right then, but first, I don’t have her cell number. Second, I have the final IPO trip to Providence coming up tomorrow. The damn flight’s scheduled for early in the morning, and I won’t see her at the office for two days. Maybe it’d be better to wait and give both of us time to think—and I could talk to her when I get back.
I know I’m hoping all these feelings will just disappear (because I don’t do fucking feelings!) by the time I get back, so I don’t have to deal with any of it. What are you doing, you idiot? You really prefer the safer option, you idiot? Shit. Shit. Shit. That leads right back to the life I know and am familiar with. Anything else puts me in unknown territory, and I’ve never been a fan of losing an ounce of control.
Then a scarier thought hits me. What if the reality of love is just that—not having control over it? The interview when Charlie showed up late, and I stepped in just in time. The meeting at the bar. Her walking in on me naked, and another chance meeting at a bar in Vegas. Almost forgot, me helping her on the road—everything kept putting us in each other’s paths whether we liked it or not. And to top it all off, at the hotel before whatever possessed us and made us think it’d be a good idea to get married.
I keep clinging to the idea that I can control all this, just shut off any feelings and handle it like a business transaction. But what if this whole thing is fate? And no matter how we try to run from it, we just keep ending up back on the same path?
15
Charlie
I sit on my couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table next to the sealed annulment paperwork. I’ve been sitting here staring at the envelope for hours, but for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to open it and sign the papers.
It’s absurd. The whole thing has had me so worked up that my stomach is in knots, and I keep getting hit with the worst waves of nausea. I’ve already ran to the bathroom twice today, thinking I would puke.
If I’d just sign those damn papers and get this thing over with, I’d feel better. And yet…instead, I sit and stare.
I’ve never been the type of girl who dreamed about what her wedding would be like one day. My Mum and Dad are split up, but she was still always the one to constantly put on the pressure about finding “a nice man” before “my biological clock ran out,” probably more so for her own desire for grandchildren than anything that had to do with me.
But for my lack of expectations, I certainly never thought I’d be the type to get married at random without even remembering it happening. Eloping—maybe. Or even a quiet destination wedding on some quaint little coast with just me and my groom and our closest friends. I never wanted the big fairytale wedding with fireworks and a 100-tier-wedding cake. And even then, those distant fantasies were always with an air of—maybe, someday, later (basically, when I haven’t slept with my boss and my career is in shambles).
I always had something bigger on my plate to worry about than dating or finding “the one.” And now it seems all of that has led to a husband falling in my lap without me even asking for it. I went to bed one night fully prepared to go back to London in six months and carry on with my career, and woke up the next day with an American husband and a ring on my finger. I didn’t exactly find the one, but I found someone.
I know. There’s no denying that Joel is exactly the kind of guy you would want this to happen with. He has the panty-melting badass biker attitude, enough to make a nun go weak in the knees (and other places), but then he has the massive bank account balance and stability of being a CEO to round him out. He’s tall and handsome, a great, phenomenal kisser, and hands-down—the best sex of my life. To top it all off—his assets aren’t too shabby, either. Is he even real? I mean, think about it. He’s hot, rich, and has a nice ding-a-ling, too? And knows how to use it? What the hell?
And while him being my boss does complicate things, he’s never once made me feel like my position at Embry Gear hinges on anything happening between us. No girl ever expects or dreams for this kind of thing to happen…but if it had to happen, I couldn’t have picked a better man to accidentally marry.
The problem is that while Joel offered to leave the marriage the way it is for me to stay, he didn’t mean we’d actually behave as a married couple. It’d just be a formality on paper f
or me to gain citizenship. And yet, I keep having these fantasies of introducing him to my mum, walking hand-in-hand in the park, and riding around the country with him on the back of his bike for holiday.
If him being my boss made our sexual relationship complicated, this marriage really upped the stickiness of the situation to massive proportions. We can definitely never sleep together again—I know that much for sure. I can’t allow myself to fall further into the fantasy of “what-ifs.”
What if our marriage was real?
What if Joel changes his mind?
What if we have a happily ever after?
I’m positive that will never happen. And more so, I cannot allow my position at Embry to be compromised by rumors if someone were to catch wind of our having any sort of relationship that isn’t work-related. And an even larger point: Joel doesn’t realize that my obtaining citizenship through marriage also requires check-ins from Immigration. If they learn the marriage is a sham, my status will be revoked, and I’ll be immediately sent back to London.
The more I ponder on each thought, the more confused I become. And once again, I’m at a loss. Double Sigh. Because if I could have my pick of doing anything in the world right now, it’d be to have him here in front of me so I could throw him down on my bed and ride him until our bodies gave out. Oh, damn.
My mind is a jumbled, chaotic mess of what-ifs, and I have no idea what to do. Why does Joel have to be so damn charming and sexy and—I stop that train of thought, because it will only lead me back to what I was previously thinking—riding him like a cowgirl, sans boots. Wait. The boots might be sexy…I slap my forehead to rid the mental images from my head.
Get yourself together, Charlie. Honestly!
