by Jessica Ames
While I doubt it is just ‘that’, I don’t counteract his words. Part of me just doesn’t care what the Club is into. Simon was a high-flyer. On paper everything about him sounded perfect, and look how that ended. And Dean… he’s a gentleman in leather and denim.
Dean leans forward on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped between his legs. “You want more?” He gestures at the pizza and I hold my plate out to him to add another slice, crisis averted.
Conversation turns to easier things and we both relax as we chat. Talking to Dean feels easy, natural—like I’ve been doing it forever. I find myself opening up more about my life, telling him about my job and the shelter and Holly. He listens intently and I get the feeling he’s filing all my words away for later use.
When we finish eating, I collapse back against the cushions.
“Oh my God, I don’t think I can eat another bite.” Which is a shame given there is still over three quarters of a pizza left. I expected Dean to eat more than he did, but his appetite was bad yesterday, and it doesn’t seem to have fully returned today.
“How much was the pizza?” he asks, as he reaches for his wallet on the end table at the side of the sofa.
“It was my treat.”
“Darlin’…” is all he says, but I shake my head at him.
“I don’t want your money, Dean.”
He opens his mouth then closes it before saying, “Next one is my treat then.”
It’s said so flippantly I’m not sure if he’s being polite or if he means it, but secretly I hope it is the latter because Dean is quickly becoming my drug of choice.
Chapter Thirteen
As February moves into March, the weather picks up and the last of the frost gives way to a milder warm front. It’s been over a week since I last saw Dean, which is a relief but also leaves me feeling strangely out of sorts. It’s weird not seeing him or his bike parked on the driveway opposite. He told me he’s travelling to another Club further north on what he called ‘a Club run’, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back, but he texts me every day. They’re mostly random messages about the weather, about riding, about general life stuff, but he’s the first person on my phone every morning and the last person every night. I should put a stop to it, because this is developing into something more than just neighbours, probably more than just friends, but despite my misgivings I can’t and I don’t want to. I like knowing Dean is around, I like hearing the details of his life, and I want to hear more.
Thankfully, work is busy, which keeps my mind occupied, but it also means my volunteer day at the shelter is swallowed up by an extra shift at Pearson’s. I should have told them to shove it and gone to Hope House instead, because Bob spends the entire day barking orders at me and being generally unpleasant. By the end of the day, I’m wrung out and irritated.
When I finally make it home, I pull my car into the cul-de-sac and my heart soars when I notice Dean’s motorcycle is parked outside his house. He’s home. I want to see him, to talk to him and find out what he’s been up to, how his Club run went, and to moan about my shitty day, but I don’t want to presume that feeling is mutual. So I head inside, dumping my handbag on the sofa before I flop among the cushions. My bum has barely settled before my phone pings.
DEAN: You didn’t knock on.
I frown at the message. Did he want me to? I consider my response for a moment, unsure how to play it.
ME: What’s stopping you from walking across the street and knocking on for me?
I smile at my brazen reply and wait for his response. Nothing comes back. Maybe I went too far? With Dean I can never tell.
The doorbell suddenly rings.
My head snaps in the direction of it. Did he… did he come over? I push up from the sofa and glance through the living room window to see it is in fact Dean waiting at the door. I can’t help but grin. I really didn’t expect that to work. Slowly, so not to look too keen, I pull the door open, but I can’t stop the expression from deepening on my face.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he mutters back.
He’s wearing black combats tonight and a long-sleeved Henley, the button undone to reveal the tattoo on his chest.
“You didn’t have to come over,” I say. “I was only messing about.”
He leans an arm against the door jamb, a cocky, confident stance that has my heart racing, but he doesn’t move to come in. “You don’t want me over?”
Crap. Did I inadvertently say that?
“No, of course I want you over.” To prove my point, I step aside, giving him an invitation into the house. He takes it, closing the door behind him and making sure the lock catches.
“You eaten?”
“I only just left work and I was so tired I drove straight home.”
“I’m shattered too. I just finished a four-and-a-half-hour ride from Edinburgh on three hours sleep after spending nearly a week bunking in the same room as Logan who snores like a fucking steam train. I can’t be fucked to cook, so please tell me you want to eat. I’m thinking I still owe you a Chinese.”
He follows me up the hallway and into my cosy living room that is a world away from his clean, modern décor. He takes a seat on the two-seater and pats the cushion next to him. I take it, aware of his proximity, aware of how much I like that proximity.
“Chinese sounds amazing right now. I’m so tired I don’t think I have the energy to make even a piece of toast!”
He pulls up the online menu on his phone and we choose a few dishes that we can mix and match between, and then he calls them to place the order. We pick a movie to watch, but it fades into the background as we catch up on each other’s week.
I’m just making my way through some egg fried rice and kung po when he says out of the blue, “Thursday night.”
I frown at him. “What about it?”
“Self-defence lessons. We’ve missed a few now; it’s time to get back on it.”
He wants to continue to teach me to fight?
“Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up on the bike. Make sure you wear boots.” He rubs a hand over his beard. “I’m thinking of opening it up to the other girls in the Saxons. Clara, Sofia, Kenzie… There’s a few who would benefit.”
Oh…
I have to admit I feel a little deflated that he doesn’t want to continue the one-on-one sessions with me again, even though it’s probably for the best. “Oh, okay. That might be a good idea.”
“Yeah, I want those girls able to take care of themselves when none of the brothers are there. That whole thing with you and that bloke made me think about their safety too.”
I have to admit that warms me. “Okay, well, provisionally I’m going to say Thursday is fine but if things are busy with work I may have to cancel last minute. They keep dragging me in on my days off. I had to cancel my shift at the shelter today.”
His jaw gets tight.
“You don’t have to jump to their tune,” he tells me. Dean sees everything so black and white but the real world is not like that.
“I do if I want to keep my job.”
“There’s other jobs out there, Liv.”
“Not with my skills, there isn’t,” I say before popping a prawn cracker in my mouth. “And this is the only thing I’ve found that remotely interests me. It’s not that bad. It’s just busy.”
“Well, don’t let them railroad you into doing more.”
“I won’t, Dean. It’s a one-off. I’m not giving up volunteering at the shelter; it’s important to me, and they know that.”
He chews on a spring roll as he watches me. “Good. Don’t let people push you around.”
I let people push me around my entire life, until I came to Kingsley. I’m not about to let that cycle repeat.
“I won’t. Like I said—it was a one off. They have this big sales deal going through—” I wave a hand. “—I won’t bore you with the details.”
“It’s not boring; I like hearing about your life,” he tells me softly,
his eyes scanning my face.
Without any warning his hand comes out and cups my jaw. I freeze at his touch, and then slowly raise my gaze to him. The air between us is heavy and I can barely breathe as he stares at me with soft, liquid eyes.
He moves forward and I swear to God he’s going to kiss me. And I panic.
“Dean… stop.”
He stills for a beat and then he draws back.
And just like that the moment is broken. And the atmosphere, which had been electric, is now thick, the way it feels right before a downpour.
Shit, shit, fuck!
Have I just screwed this up?
My brow furrows as he takes his attention from me as if nothing happened. He doesn’t look at me again as he takes a bite of his spring roll and methodically chews it. And I feel my heart shatter.
“Dean…”
He turns to me, his eyes hard but his lips pulled into a wry smile. “It’s fine, darlin’. I’m tired; I misread the situation. It won’t happen again.”
I feel tears clogging my throat. My emotions are in knots because I don’t want to lose Dean; I need him in my life. But going there romantically…? Loving Simon was never easy and always painful. I can’t do it again.
And as I sit there watching him eat all I can think is I just blew my chance with him.
And that scares me half to death.
Fuck my life…
Chapter Fourteen
I don’t expect Dean to keep our self-defence session, but he does. He’s outside the house on Thursday at seven on the dot. He’s nothing if not punctual. I expect there to be awkwardness between us, but there’s not—not on his part anyway. He acts as if nothing happened the other night and that’s almost worse than him giving me the cold shoulder.
Logically, I know we’re better off as friends—even though the word leaves me feeling empty. I’m not ready to consider being with someone again; I’m not sure I ever will be. Holly thinks I need to take the plunge, find my happily ever after, but she’s one to talk; she hasn’t been in the dating game for years.
“Hey, Liv,” he says as I approach the bike.
“Hey,” I say, with a small smile. He’s talking to me, he turned up. Maybe we’re okay.
I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or relieved he didn’t kiss me—and I realise how screwed up that is. I don’t know how to be with a man like Dean—or any man, in fact. Not after Simon. I’m stronger now; there are days when I feel like I can take on the world, but I’m not fixed. The damage Simon did to me can never be fixed. It’s etched into my heart, my soul. He broke me in ways I can’t even explain and all the counselling in the world can’t repair that damage. All I’ve done is plaster over the cracks, but they’re still there, beneath the surface. I don’t know that I can ever love again, or be loved in return. Who could ever love someone with this much baggage?
“You getting on?” he asks and I jolt.
“Oh. Yeah. I just need to secure my bag.” Taking his lead, I act normal—well, as normal as I can, considering I’m hyperaware of everything he’s doing.
I’ve got my gym stuff on and my boots. My trainers, towel, water and deodorant are in the small rucksack I use when we go to the clubhouse to train. I move to the pannier and put it in, making sure it’s secure, as I have numerous times before.
The ride to the clubhouse is, as always, exhilarating and for the duration of it I forget about almost-kisses and sexy bikers. I understand why Dean loves this bloody motorcycle so much because it’s something else being on the back of it. The freedom, the adrenaline—it’s almost too much and I’m shaky when I climb off in the clubhouse’s car park. He has to steady me.
He would normally make a joke about my sea legs but he doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say a word as he climbs off, taking the helmet from me and securing it to the back of the bike. I regret coming tonight; I should have cancelled. I wish he would talk to me about what happened, rather than keeping silent, but it doesn’t seem to be on the cards.
I twitch, more out of surprise than anything else, when his hand goes to the small of my back, urging me to walk. Immediately, he withdraws his touch and I want to kick myself. Everything I’m doing is making this shit worse.
He starts walking and I follow him, falling into step by his side, trying to ignore the tight set of his jaw. As we pass a row of picnic tables there are a few men sitting around. I recognise Jem, Rabbit and Weed, who glance in our directions. Whatever vibe Dean is giving off means they don’t shoot any catcalls in our direction.
Shit.
He leads me to the back of the building and to the gym area.
“Dean—”
His eyes soften as he looks at me. “Let’s just get through this session. Then we can talk, okay?”
It doesn’t help my anxiety levels. I hate that there is tension between us.
“Why can’t we talk now?”
“Later,” is all he says, and when he unlocks and pushes the door open it becomes apparent why. The room is not empty. I forgot he said he was throwing this open to the other girls in the Club this week, and a fair few have turned up for Dean’s masterclass.
Dean’s hand goes to the small of my back and this time I don’t flinch as he urges me forwards, towards them.
“Ladies,” he calls for silence and they all fall quiet. “Okay, so we’re going to warm up then go through some moves.”
The women’s eyes move from him to me and I shift under their scrutiny.
“Forget the moves, Dean,” a girl with dark hair says to him, even though her eyes are focused on me. “Introduce us to your friend.”
“Sofia—”
She holds up a hand and moves towards me. Sofia… wasn’t that who Dean was avoiding when he saved me at the charity event?
“I’m Sofia. This is Mackenzie, Evie, Clara, Sammy and Jamie.” I recognise some of them from the charity event. Sammy is the woman with the bright pink hair who visited our stall wearing the Property of Ghost jacket.
“I’m Olivia—Liv.”
She smiles and I feel some of the tension leave me as she turns to Dean and says, “Continue.”
“Thanks for the permission,” he mutters. “As I was saying… we’ll do a warm up and then I’ll teach you some moves. You girls need to be able to take care of yourselves.”
“Why? That’s what I’ve got Ghost for. Well, that and other things,” Sammy says with a naughty grin, and the others laugh.
“Yeah and Ghost’ll kill any man who touches you,” Dean tells her, “but let’s avoid getting touched in the first place, yeah?”
She stops laughing. “Yeah. Sure.”
Dean goes to get changed out of his jeans, leaving me with the girls, who are eyeing me curiously. It’s Clara who finally asks the question the others are itching to throw out.
“How do you know Dean?” She leans over, stretching her calves out, her blonde hair curtaining her face for a moment.
“He’s my neighbour.”
“Are you two…” Sammy waves a hand, “you know, together?”
“No. We’re just friends.” Although I’m not sure we’re that at the moment.
Before they can interrogate me further, the door reopens to the changing room and Dean strides out, looking edible in his shorts and tee.
I try not to think about that as he sets us up in different spots around the room and we start to learn some moves. He’s a good teacher—patient, reassuring. He clearly adores all the girls in the room because he puts up with their mouthing off—and they do a lot of it. They’re hilarious and they involve me in all their conversations—even though I’m an outsider. It helps me to forget Dean’s mad at me—for a short time, at least.
I realise pretty quickly that Mackenzie can’t speak and uses sign language. I thought she was deaf, but Sofia explains her vocal chords never developed properly when she was in vitro, meaning she can’t make sound. She can hear, though. Mackenzie—or ‘Kenzie’ as the other women call her—jokes along with the gir
ls and gives Dean a hard time through her signing, which Dean (to my surprise) does back to her. I had no idea he could sign. The girls translate it all for me.
I never thought having female friends could be this much fun, but these girls are a riot. At least they’re taking my mind off Dean, and what happened between us; I’m grateful for the distraction.
I’m paired up with Sofia first, then Jamie to practice getting out of certain holds an attacker may put on us. We spend more time laughing than anything else, but we do eventually get the manoeuvres right—at least, right according to Dean. He watches all of us, but I see him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, his eyes soft—not hard. That enables me to breathe a little easier.
“Okay, ladies.” We stop what we’re doing and look to him. I’m hot, sweaty and a little shaky from the exercise as I push up from the mat and stand. “Liv, can you come up here?”
I blink at him and don’t move until Sofia gives me a nudge in the back. Why does he want me to come up to him?
I move to him and he turns me so that he’s standing behind me, both of us facing the girls. I can feel his heat at my back. It’s a fight not to lean my tired body against his chest.
“You’ve learnt some moves today that will help you when faced with a bigger opponent. But you’ve learnt them with the ability to plan and the time to react. Most attacks won’t be that straightforward. An attacker isn’t going to wait for you to be in position before he strikes, so you have to be prepared to react even when you don’t expect an attack.”
One hand skims over the bottom of my spine and a shiver runs through me at the touch. Without meaning to I relax into him.
Then without warning he puts his hands around my neck, collaring my throat completely.
“Surprise attack,” he says in my ear. “Get free.”
And something snaps in me. It triggers something, some deeply buried memory of Simon doing the same thing, grabbing my throat and pushing me against the wall or onto the bed. Without warning I’m dragged back into memories that I don’t want to revisit.
