by J. P. Oliver
Adrian Cole.
“Hey,” he said, grinning up at me. He had his jacket slung over his arm. “Mind if I sit?”
With you; that the was unspoken part, obvious in his question.
I nodded, sitting back down on my bar stool. He took Winston’s spot, and I immediately preferred it that way. He set his empty beer bottle on the bar top and nodded to Kat as she took it and asked, “Want another, hon?”
“Please.”
“It’s on me, Kat,” I told her.
Adrian glanced at me, a small glint of interest in his eye.
I don’t know why I did that; I didn’t think I had any reason to try and impress him.
“So,” he said, “you come around here often?”
It was a cheesy question. I knew it and he knew it. Softly, I chuckled, and his lips screwed into a self-aware smile.
“Yeah, actually,” I said, the songs changing in the speaker overhead: hard rock to something a little softer, a little cooler; “Season of the Witch”. “I know the family who runs this place.”
“That right?”
Adrian grinned, and my eyes took a chance, glancing at the curve of his lips.
“I never asked you,” he said, shifting towards me a little on his stool. His knee brushed the outside of mine, just soft enough to pass off as an accident, “about your tattoos.”
“Oh.” I turned my arm over where it had been bent on the bar.
“Yeah, like this one.”
I tensed as his fingers brushed up my forearm, over the ink. He smoothed his thumb over the face of an iris, blooming. This was closer than most familiar people were with each other, and it had been long enough for us to count as near strangers.
“What’s that about?” he asked, glancing up at me, fingers drawing away.
I missed the electricity of them once they were gone.
“Irises,” I said, glancing at them. “Tennessee’s official flower, y’know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yeah.” I grinned. “I don’t know. Just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“All tattoos seem like a good idea—at the time.” Adrian smirked, shifting against the old leather stool. “You regret getting it?”
I shook my head. “No. It just seems sort of sentimental. In retrospect.”
“That’s kind of nice.”
“I guess so.”
Adrian took his fresh bottle from Kat, fingers wrapping around the neck. They were long. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a sip. I tried not to notice the bob of his throat as he tipped back and swallowed.
“You know, I’m glad I ran into you yesterday,” he said, setting the bottle down, finger moving through the condensation on the bar.
I chuckled, brow raising. “That right?”
“Mmhm.” His green eyes traced over me, sensuously, dangerously slow. I felt vulnerable all of a sudden, like he was mentally stripping me in the middle of the bar. Around us, people moved and passed around tables like a river current. A crowd gathered at the dark wall shouted and cheered, but Adrian never looked at them, eyes only interested in me. “Seemed appropriate. I’ve liked you for a while now.”
I paused, studying his face to see if he was serious, unsure what to do with that information.
Adrian seemed serious. With a grin he took another sip and shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice rasped and private. “You don’t have to respond to that if you don’t want to. It felt like the right time to say something, that’s all.”
It wasn’t awkward like it probably should have been—not because of me, but because Adrian seemed so relaxed about it. Confident and unbothered. It was the type of front I tried to put out, but rarely felt like I succeeded in creating. Fake it till you make it, my ass.
“So you’re back in town,” I said, deciding small talk was better than worrying about feelings. “Just visiting.”
“Just visiting,” he confirmed. “Missed my folks. Missed this place. Thought it had been long enough and it might be nice to get out of the city for a while.”
“City boy,” I chuckled.
“Only half a city boy. I couldn’t quit the big, bad mountains forever. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
He met my gaze, leveling it with a private warmth. We might have stayed like that for who knows how long, before it was broken by the sound of some tourists quitting a game of pool.
We both looked over at the abandoned table.
With a nod, Adrian asked, “Wanna play?”
“This is just sad at this point.”
I chalked the end of my stick, surveying the table. It was looking bleak: Adrian had stripes, I had solids, and, well, the table was mostly solids. Adrian was an unexpected pool shark and I was rusty.
“I can still save this.”
“If you win this,” Adrian laughed, hand slipping into his back pocket, “it’s only because you’re hustling me.”
“It’s only hustling if we’re betting something,” I said.
“Fine.” He took a step closer, hip leaning on the wooden edge of the pool table—the only modern fixture in this place. “If I win, you buy me a drink. If you win—”
“When I win,” I corrected.
He blew out a breath, grinning. “If you win… well, what do you want?”
Silence. We studied each other’s faces, his gaze questioning. Happy to leave it a mystery, I bent over the hard angle of the table, stick sliding smoothly through my fingertips. It was a tricky shot, but with a little luck and some simple geometry…
I rammed my stick against the white ball with a thundering crack. It curved slightly—just enough to knock one of the striped balls into the left pocket.
Adrian made an impressed noise.
“Told you I can still save it.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
Adrian smoothed past, pressing himself between me and the pool table—but the space was liminal, so our bodies brushed against one another. I ignored the flicker of interest in my body.
The bar was getting more crowded with the hour. I would have normally been gone hours ago, but one game with Adrian turned into two, and then another rematch, and then this game, which would probably end the same as every other had: with him beating my ass. Adrian picked out his shot and lined his body up carefully, not wanting to disturb any of the other balls in the process. The shot meant bending over low to the table to get to the middle.
And bend he did.
Maybe it was wrong to let myself indulge.
But he looked really fucking good like that. His look was severe, with all the tattoos, spiked hair, the piercings—and I could confirm for sure this time, after talking all evening, that he did in fact have a tongue ring, which was incredibly dangerous. He was dressed in black: slim black jeans and some T-shirt for some obscure band. And maybe I was just imagining things, but he looked like he was popping his ass out a little on purpose. Not that I was complaining.
He took his shot.
The ball bounced off the side, knocking into another, depositing it effortlessly into the pocket. Adrian stood with a proud little smirk. He took the toothpick out from behind his ear and nipped it between his teeth.
“Your turn.”
“Nice shot,” I laughed.
Pride colored his smile, as his gaze flickered, occupied with something happening across the bar. I looked, too: a small group of men were coming in. They all had various jackets on, but with the same patch, signifying they were part of the Raptors Motorcycle Club. They had a chapter here in North Creek, nothing too prominent. Among them was Marion Blake, and my little brother, Dominic Savage.
I waved for Dominic’s attention, but was cut off by Adrian clearing his throat and looking for another shot on the table. “I go again, right?”
“Uh… yeah.” I nodded to him, stepping closer. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged it off. His eyes never left Marion.
I knew
that he and Marion had a history. Back in high school, Adrian and Marion sort of knew each other, when Marion was less leather and more bookish, an easy target for bullies. Adrian stepped in once when it got way out of hand, their teasing notched up to straight beating.
Nobody touched Marion after that day, especially when he and Dominic became best friends. I watched them at the bar now. It was rare to see one without the other. Dominic was taller, just a little over six feet, with dark hair, jet black and sweeping where it was kept longer on top. He was the only one without a Raptors patch.
Marion turned, as if sensing eyes on him, and glanced directly at us.
Adrian glared in return.
“You sure about that?” I asked.
Adrian sighed. “They’re from a rival biker club.”
“You’re in a club?”
He nodded, grinning wryly. “Falcon Grim. Born to ride.”
Marion nudged Dominic and said something neither of us could make out through the din of the crowd. Dominic passed him a beer, and with a single gesture, their entire party was making their way towards our pool table. Toward us.
I took a step closer to Adrian, feeling a flare of protectiveness as they rounded the other side of the pool table. Marion took a swig and set his bottle down, grinning at the two of us.
“Oof,” Dominic laughed, glancing at the table. “This is pretty bad. Who’s losing?”
“That’d be me.” I said as he slid up next to me. “What are you doing here?”
“What?” he asked. “Me and the boys were just out. Thought we’d stop by. I’m not allowed to come say hi to my big brother?”
“Not when he’s on a date,” Marion chuckled.
“Not a date,” I corrected with a grin, pretending that didn’t make the back of my neck heat up just a little bit.
“Not a date,” Adrian confirmed. “Just some pool.”
Adrian confirmed. “Just some pool.”
Marion Blake was the same age as Adrian and Curtis, same grade, and had bulked up significantly since high school. Nerd no more, he wore his leather Raptors jacket with pride. His light blond hair was cropped short in a military style. He had a full sleeve on his right arm, assorted tattoos that formed a wall of color. When he looked at Adrian, the interest there was curious. He smirked, dimples showing.
“Hey, Adrian,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Not much.”
“Like he said,” I jumped in, “just some pool. Which I am getting mercilessly destroyed in.”
“Wanna go doubles?” Marion asked, gesturing between himself and Dom. “We make a pretty mean team, and you look like you could definitely use some help…” He took a step around the table towards Adrian, fist extended. “Right?”
The moment was tense.
Adrian nodded silently, and the two fist bumped.
“Nice.” Marion clapped and nodded to Dominic. “Grab me a stick? Let’s rack ‘em up.”
I grabbed the triangle rack off the hook on the wall, dipping to grab the balls from the gutter, arranging them carefully inside as I watched Adrian for any sign that something was wrong. I found none. He seemed just a touch more relaxed. Marion stuck a cigarette between his teeth and felt along his jacket.
Adrian nodded to him and took out his lighter. Tossed it to him.
Marion nodded back appreciatively and lit up.
It was something: things were a little easier going once we broke, and as we lost ourselves in a game of doubles, I found that Marion wasn’t exaggerating. He and Dominic did make a pretty mean team. Even with Adrian on my side, we weren’t enough to take them down, but the game was close.
Adrian and I lost with one ball left.
“And that, ladies, is how you win at billiards,” Marion sighed, pool cue resting on his shoulders, hands hung over each end.
Adrian wrinkled his nose. “Who even calls it billiards anymore, grandpa?”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Cole.”
Adrian picked up his bottle and drained the last sip. “I’d never.”
Dominic held out his hand. “Here. I’ll take it back for you?”
“Really?”
Dom nodded, grinning. “Yeah, sure. I’m headed over to the bar, anyway.” He turned to Marion. “We ought to get back to the guys before they think we ditched.”
“Again,” Marion chuckled. He set his and Dominic’s cues on the pool table, nodding to us. “Good game, you guys. You ever feel like getting your asses kicked again, you know who to call.”
“Ghostbusters?” I asked.
Adrian chuckled at that, plucked his leather jacket off his chair.
We locked eyes for a moment, sharing a grin.
“I’ll call you,” Dom said his farewell.
“What do you think?” I asked, taking the rack off the hook and flipping it over. “Wanna go another round?”
“As fun as that sounds,” Adrian said, stepping up to me, the space between us slim, “I’d better get home. I don’t have a spare key and my folks like to turn in by midnight. I’m not looking to spend my second night in North Creek sleeping on the porch.”
I laughed and thought about offering a space in my bed instead.
I didn’t say it, though.
“It’s only 4:00 p.m.”
He smirked. “I’ve got to check on them.”
Naturally, we both gravitated towards the exit, leaving the din of the bar behind. The air was brisk. It was late enough in the season that I could see my breath in the Speakeasy’s outside light as he wandered slowly through the packed, dirt parking lot.
“We should do this again sometime.”
I glanced at Adrian, who was just turning away from me, grinning.
“Yeah,” I said, stopping at my car. “That’d be nice.”
His footsteps stopped, too, arms crossed over his chest.
“What about dinner?”
“Dinner?”
Adrian shrugged. “Well, this was fun, right? I mean, as much as I love playing pool, it might be nice to not be… interrupted next time.”
The insinuation was blatant: next time, just us.
“Dinner then. Tonight. At my place.”
“Your place.” Adrian nodded, turning back towards the bar. “It’s a date, Savage.”
I paused, watching him go, confused. “Hey!”
He turned over his shoulder, grinning. “What?”
“You’re not parked out here?”
“No.” He turned to me, full body, walking backwards with his hands in his jacket pockets and laughing. “I just parked my bike back there. Night!”
I nodded at him, pulling the car door open. “Night.”
He just came out to the parking lot to walk you to your car.
I slid into the driver’s seat with a small, dumb smile and started the engine.
Dinner at my place. It’s a date.
6
Adrian
I have a date with Victor Savage.
It was surreal to think things had just gone so well. He was an easy guy to chat with, and an easier guy to have a good time with. As I walked back to my bike—one of several lined along the side of the Speakeasy—past the locals chain smoking, I replayed the conversation in my head. Over and over: It’s a date, Savage.
With a sigh, I let go of a breath I’d been holding deep in my stomach, and grinned.
The engine of my Harley purred, coming alive beneath my legs.
It’s a date.
“Hey! Cole!”
I flicked my boot against the kickstand, righting my bike as I glanced over my shoulder. The door of the Speakeasy was swinging shut, and Marion Blake was trotting across the gravel, waving me down. I nodded in recognition, muscles tensing—preparing for anything.
“Hey,” he exhaled, standing just shy of my bike.
I shut the engine down. “Hey.”
“So you and Victor Savage?” he asked.
The conversation had a weird flavor to it; not insidious, but just… awkward.
“Right, right.”
Marion shifted weight from foot to foot, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
I gave him a once-over, brow quirking. “I’m gonna head out—”
“Wait.” He blew out a breath, a curl of faint white. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re square. We’re good. I never really liked Troy anyway.”
My fingers tightened around my bike handles. Eyes wide, it certainly wasn’t what I expected to hear from Marion, of all people—nor did I expect him to just bring Troy up, either.
“I mean. You know. Most people didn’t like him, so it should all blow over.”
“Oh.” I nodded carefully, all of this slow to register. “Thanks.”
I could believe that much. There were probably three things I knew well enough about Troy Sanders: he was a member of the Raptors, he was a provocative asshole, and he was stone-cold dead. I was grateful for Marion saying so—he didn’t have to do that.
“The only thing is his family,” Marion continued, scratching his jaw. “They were a close one, y’know, so… we won’t be coming after you, but I’d keep an eye out for them. None of us really knows what they’re thinking about it so…”
“Yeah. Of course, uh—”
“And, don’t worry too much, all right?” Marion’s smirk was small. “You looked like you were on the edge of taking a shit all night. You can relax here; North Creek’s a neutral zone, you know that.”
“I know,” I said, and I did. What with the Savage-Crosses owning about half the town, it was best for all of us—Falcon Grims, Raptors, whatevers—to keep out of trouble when in their jurisdiction.
“Well.” Marion shrugged. “I oughta get back in there.”
I nodded, watching as he turned back for the bar, calling out before he could get too far: “Hey, Blake.”
He raised a brow. “Cole.”
“Thanks.” I revved my engine, backing out of my spot along the wall. “The heads-up on his family… that means a lot.”
“No problem.”
The surprise ebbed away from Marion Cole’s face as he saluted and walked back to the bar, passed its patrons and smoke and bouncer as I took a right out of the parking lot, headed into North Creek’s golden hour, light with promise.
