I’ve never seen someone pull over so quickly, but I appreciate it. The last thing I want is to be sick in my own car and have to clean it up tomorrow.
He rubs my back while I throw up—something I’ve never done in front of a stranger before—on a grassy area in front of a building. The sounds I make are horrible, and I hate that he has to hear them and be witness to my acting like a teenager, not really the grown woman I’ve claimed to be. It’s dark, so I can’t see where we are, but it’s quiet and private. I’m going to hate myself tomorrow when I remember this moment. I guess Knuckles saved me from ruining an Uber driver’s night, so that’s one good thing, I suppose.
I start coughing, trying to get everything out of my system. I’m surprised he doesn’t hide in the car; instead, he’s close enough to experience the horror with me. If the tables were turned, I don’t think I’d be doing what he is right now, especially for someone I literally just met.
What a champion.
I guess being a dad, he’s used to this kind of thing.
“I think I’m okay now,” I murmur, wincing at the taste in my mouth. I need to brush my teeth, have a shower, and then go to bed for the next few days. I also need to forget that this ever happened. That would be great. I just threw up in front of a sexy, kind man, one who asked me out but I rejected, and yet he’s still taking care of me. I didn’t know men like him existed. “Where are we?”
“I think we’re out front of a church,” he says, shrugging.
I just threw up on sacred ground?
Great.
We’re both going to hell.
3
“It’s not like I stopped there thinking, Oh there’s a church, what a great spot to throw up,” he tells me as I continue with the directions to my house. “You said you were going to be sick, so I pulled into the first spot I came across.”
“It’s just so wrong,” I groan, closing my eyes and laying my head against the seat. “Do they have cameras outside of churches? They’re probably going to play the video on social media, looking for me so they can publicly disgrace me.”
The media would have a field day with that one if they found out where I work. Especially since I wrote a piece last week on the vandalizing of sacred ground and how people have no respect anymore. Go me.
“Are you religious then?” he asks me, sounding curious. “And I think you’re being a bit dramatic. Tell them you were sick and were asking God to help you, I don’t know.”
I laugh at that. I grew up with a very religious father, but one who was very in and out of my life. I don’t go to church or anything like that, but yes, I am a believer.
I start to cough and he asks, “Are you going to throw up again? Because you’d better give me some fuckin’ warning. Oh, wait,” he murmurs, sounding happy all of a sudden. “This is your car. Throw up all you want.”
I narrow my eyes and flash him an evil look. “I’m dying here, could you be a little more sensitive?”
He scowls and grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going white . . .
Knuckles’s knuckles going white. I chuckle to myself. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to throw up again, I promise.”
Maybe it’s for the best that he’s seeing me like this, because he sure as hell won’t be interested in me anymore, and trust me, that’s a good thing for the both of us. It’s also less temptation for me, because the more I get to know him, the more I’m starting to like the man. Ace and Erin obviously vouched for him without hesitation for a reason.
Still, there’s something that’s telling me to hold back. Being single, I only have to look after and answer to myself, and I value my independence so much. I don’t want to get involved with anyone, or get any feelings, or attachment. It never ends well for me, and I don’t think I can handle another heartbreak. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but unlike most people, I can’t do casual, and I can’t do no feelings. I don’t really fit into this generation of dating. I don’t really fit in anywhere.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Twenty-seven, why? How old are you? You must be pretty old if you have two kids,” I tell him, before realizing how offensive that sounds.
He seems unfazed. “I’m thirty-three.”
“So you started young, huh,” I muse, nodding. “I guess men like you have had women throwing themselves at you since the day you reached puberty.”
“Men like me?” he asks, amusement in his tone.
“Yeah, you know. Good-looking. Confident. Tall. Badass. The kind that makes the pain of a broken heart almost worth it. Almost.”
I really need to shut up. I usually play it cool, it’s kind of my thing, but instead I’m blabbering on and letting him know I’m attracted to him, which gives him the upper hand, and I sure as hell don’t want that.
“That’s a lot of assumptions you’re making, Miss Reporter. Aren’t you supposed to do your research first to make sure you have the right information before you come to a conclusion?” he asks me, and my eyes flare as I realize he’s known all along that I’m a journalist.
He smirks, the silver in his ear glittering in the moonlight. “You think we let anyone into our clubhouse without doing some personal checks? After recent events, I guess you can say that we’re a little on edge.”
I’m assuming he’s talking about what happened to Erin.
“I’d never do anything to betray Erin,” I say. “And that includes her new family. So before you say anything about that, tonight was strictly off the record, and as far as anyone else knows, I wasn’t even there.”
Including me, because I may not even remember any of this tomorrow morning.
“Good to hear,” he murmurs, no concern in his tone. “Not that we were worried. There’s nothing anyone could have commented on tonight besides our skills on throwing a party.”
“Agreed,” I tell him. “You do throw a good party. It was also nice seeing Aunt Louise and Brock about to have a heart attack at everything they were seeing.”
Knuckles starts to laugh. “From what I’ve heard, Louise isn’t as sweet and straitlaced as you all think she is.”
I scrunch up my face. “Ew, that’s my aunt you’re talking about. Gross.”
“So your dad is Louise’s brother, right?” he confirms.
“Yeah.”
“Are you close?” he asks, and I wonder when this conversation started to get so personal.
“Not really, I mean we keep in touch and see each other when we can,” I explain. “He was in and out of my life growing up, so he wasn’t a constant for me, but I did love the time I got to spend with him.”
“I won’t even go on any long runs anymore,” he says after a few moments of silence. “Because I want to be in the city just in case my girls need me. I don’t care what it’s for, it can be something as small as they really want to get a fuckin’ ice cream and I’ll be there.”
I smile sadly. “Well, your girls are very lucky.”
Because it’s what me as a child would have given anything for.
“Thank you,” he says softly. “I don’t know if everyone shares your views though. There’s so much judgment when you have kids in my lifestyle. I think the world thinks we are training them to be criminals or something.”
“Like you?” I tease, grinning to myself. “I have to admit, you guys weren’t anything how I pictured. I guess I believed the stereotype, too. Most people need to see things with their own eyes to form an opinion, otherwise they just believe whatever they’re told.”
“The media definitely plays into that,” he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Although I’ve noticed your articles tend to be on positive stories, or stories that make people aware of the issues our city is facing.”
“You read my articles?” I ask him, stunned.
“I was curious.” He shrugs. “And when I saw what you looked like, well, let’s just say you aren’t completely unfortunate in that department either.”
I throw my head back
and laugh. “That has to be the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”
“At least I’ll be memorable,” he fires back, lip twitching.
“You’ll definitely be that,” I say, tone gentling. “You’re not so bad, Knuckles. I have to admit, when I first met you tonight I thought you were kind of . . .”
“Charming?” he offers.
“Infuriating,” I say without hesitation.
“Don’t you trust Erin? I’m her bestie. If I was a bad guy, I doubt she’d give me that title,” he tells me, sounding quite pleased with the theory he’s come up with. “Don’t get me wrong, I have my faults—we all do—but all in all I don’t think I’m one of the bad ones.”
“Are we talking about dating or in general?” I ask, yawning and covering my mouth with my hand. “Excuse me, I seem to be getting a little sleepy.”
“Both,” he replies, resting his elbow on the door. “How long until we get there?”
“Not long,” I tell him. “You keep going down this road for about a mile, then turn left onto Clint Terrace.”
“Okay. You don’t live too far away.”
“Nope. Weird, if it wasn’t for Erin, our paths would have never crossed.”
“If it wasn’t for my president having an illegitimate child, you mean,” he teases, and I gently slap his arm.
“Too soon to joke about that, I think,” I chide, narrowing my gaze.
“Nah, we joke with her all the time,” he tells me, laughing. “It’s never too early to laugh at a situation. Sometimes that’s the only good thing that will come out of it, this time, however, I think we were all given a gift when Erin came into our lives. She brightens up the place, you know? Gives it a woman’s touch.”
“I’m sure the place has seen plenty of women’s touches,” I add, making a sound of amusement.
“You know what I mean. Sex is just sex. Family is more important than all that wild shit that can go on in the clubhouse. And to be honest, it can get boring after a while too.”
“That’s refreshing to hear,” I admit, licking my suddenly dry lips. The more I talk to him, the more of the real him I see.
“My house is the one on the corner,” I tell him, pointing to the right. He pulls into my driveway and turns off the engine. I realize that this is now going to turn awkward, because he needs to call a taxi and wait for it to come pick him up. “Do you want to come in until the taxi gets here?” I find myself asking.
I can’t be rude, right? I don’t want to make him stand outside. I could make him a coffee or something while he waits. And you know what? I’m enjoying our conversation. It might be dangerous, but I’d like to continue it. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those nothing-off-bounds types of late-night, early-morning deep chats, and now I’m not ready to say good night just yet.
“No, that’s okay,” he replies. “I don’t mind waiting out here. You go on in and get some rest.”
Wow.
He really did just want to get me home safely, without expecting anything in return. I don’t really know what to say. Erin was right; he is a nice guy.
“Are you sure?” I ask him, suddenly wanting him to come inside.
“Yeah.” He nods, taking his phone and asking me for my address again so he can relay it to the taxi driver. I give him the details, then open the passenger door but don’t get out just yet.
“Your house looks nice,” he says to me. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I bought it about three years ago. And looks like sober me left the porch light on.”
“Sober you is very thoughtful,” he says, removing my keys from the car, which also has my house key. He places them in my palm, his rough fingers touching my soft skin. I raise my eyes to his, and we share a lingering look. Goose bumps appear on my arms, my hair stands on end. I lower my hand as he reaches out and pushes my hair back off my face. “You are some kind of beautiful, Celina. Even drunk, and after you’ve thrown up enough to flood a small country.”
Oh yeah.
I’d forgotten about that.
“A compliment, and then an insult,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “You’re a curious man, Knuckles.”
He laughs under his breath. “You have no idea.”
He opens his door and gets out of my car, so I do the same, wishing I hadn’t worn such high heels tonight.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your door,” he says, coming over to my side and helping me out of the car.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as we walk side by side, the cool air on my face. “Are you always such a gentleman?”
“I like to think so,” he replies, amusement in his tone. “But I’m sure there are others who will tell you otherwise.”
“Well, you can tell those people that I vouch for you,” I tell him, lifting the keys in the air. “And that means something, because I usually never vouch for anyone.”
“Well, I feel very special then.” He grabs on to my arm and holds me up as I nearly trip over and fall into a rosebush. “It’s like Bambi learning how to walk for the first time.”
“Bambi was a great movie,” I announce. “I cry every time I watch it. During movies is usually the only time I cry.”
“You don’t cry for real-life reasons?” he asks, coming to a stop in front of my door.
“I have to be really, really sad for that to happen. I can usually control my emotions.”
“I didn’t think emotions were meant to be controlled,” he replies, watching me struggle as I lift the key, squinting as I try to get it into the lock. “Come on,” I whisper to myself. “Get in the hole.”
“Do you want me to do it for you?” he asks, tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “The light is on, you know. I don’t know why you’re acting like you can’t see where the hole is.”
“Too many jokes,” I snicker, giving up and handing the key over to him. “Be careful of my pack, they may try to kill you.”
“Pack?” he asks, just as he pushes the door open, and my three dogs come running. Two of them, Snape and Carlton, both rottweilers, are friendly, but my third, Kobe, is not. Before he can latch on to Knuckles’s leg, I rush toward him and pick up the little hell-raiser.
“No, Kobe,” I tell the pug mix. “Don’t eat him, he’s not an intruder.”
“So, the rotties are friendly, and the rat is the guard dog?” Knuckles asks, sounding incredulous. “Does he have small-man syndrome or something, but the dog version?”
“Something like that,” I say, turning to face him with Kobe in my hands. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”
He nods. “The taxi will be here soon, don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, well, thanks for the ride,” I say, looking him in the eye.
“Anytime,” he replies, smiling and taking a step back, and then another. I wave and close the door, even though I don’t really want to. I like talking to him, it seems.
On a whim, I open the door again and say, “You can at least come inside and keep me company until the taxi comes.”
He shakes his head, grinning. “Okay, but don’t try to take advantage of me.”
“I promise,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. I wait for him to come inside and close the door behind us.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I say, patting each of my pets before turning back to him, noticing how he makes my entrance look small. He’s a tall, broad man, and I can’t help but eye the width of him. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee or juice, maybe?”
“Coffee sounds good,” he says, glancing around my place as we walk through the gray hallway and into my kitchen. I fill the coffee maker up with water, turn it on, and move to rest my back on the black marble counter, the two of us simply watching each other for a moment.
“Two sugars?” I suddenly ask, trying to lighten the atmosphere, because it’s starting to get a little tense. “Give me one second,” I tell him, then rush to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. I try to fix my hair in the mirr
or, and cringe at the mascara and liner smudged all around my eyes. I’m a class act tonight. After doing my best to get the makeup off, I return to the kitchen and make him a coffee.
“Do you get lonely living here by yourself in this big house?” he asks, arms crossed as he, too, leans against the counter, watching me.
“I’m not alone,” I say, nodding to my three dogs. “And it’s not that big of a house. Yeah, it’s a family home, but that’s just in case I do have a family. For now, it’s all mine, and I love this place. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it.”
“Are you used to getting everything you want?” he asks, and it’s funny because I was thinking the exact same thing about him. I don’t know why I get tagged with the spoiled stereotype, because I’ve worked for everything I have; nothing was given to me. My family isn’t wealthy, and there was no money, property, cars, or anything else handed to me. I’m a hard worker.
“No, but you clearly are,” I fire back, placing the hot mug next to him. “Don’t burn yourself.”
“I’m not the drunk one,” he reminds me, lifting the mug and blowing on the top of it.
“I’ve surprisingly sobered up,” I tell him, which isn’t the truth, but I’m feeling a little better now.
He opens my fridge, making himself comfortable, and cracks open a bottle of water for me. “Drink this.”
“Yes, sir,” I grumble at his bossiness, but drink the water anyway. I finish half the bottle in one gulp. Apparently I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. I jump up on the counter to sit, happy to be without shoes, but my feet still hurting a little.
“They’re well trained,” he comments, nodding toward my dogs, who are sitting just outside the kitchen, like there’s an invisible line they aren’t allowed to cross.
“For the most part. Do you have any pets?” I also want to ask if he lives in the clubhouse or if he has his own place, and how that works with kids, but I don’t want him to think I’m nosy, or that I’m interested.
Knuckle Down (The Cursed Ravens MC Series Book 2) Page 3
