Chasing Claire (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club)

by Marinaro, Paula

“Good. Been okay, Reno,” she said softly back.

  “Well, uh, you look good.” Reno’s eyes were fixed on her face. Drinking her in.

  Just as Jules walked into the room, Reno saw Claire blush hard, her pupils dilate, and her nipples pop out like meringue tips against that pretty white shirt of hers.

  “So Glory’s got a gig?” Jules was obviously trying to keep his tone even.

  With feigned innocence Claire fixed her big blue eyes on his. Reno knew what this was about.

  “Yeah, she does and she’s really excited about it. I’m really proud of her,” Claire said with enthusiasm.

  “Gianni’s crew again?”

  “Ouch.” Claire pulled back slightly under Jules’s sudden increased pressure.

  “Sorry, darlin’.” Jules lessened that pressure instantly.

  “So . . . Gianni’s crew again?” he repeated.

  “Yeah. Gianni’s crew,” she answered, then quickly added, “Haven’t seen you around the house too much lately, Jules. We still have a fishing pole sitting in the corner with your name on it,” Claire spoke softly to him. None of the brothers liked the idea of Glory working for the mob. That point had been made loud and clear. But Claire was still hopeful that Jules would stop being so damn ridiculous about the whole thing. After all, Prosper was okay with it and he was the boss for chrissakes. Maybe Jules just needed a little help to get his head out of his ass.

  Jules grunted and pressed a small antiseptic square against the open scrape on her leg.

  Claire let out a sharp breath, then she bent way over and panted. Her soft breasts hit her thighs and her skirt rode way, way up on her smooth legs.

  She looked up suddenly, and focused her wide blue eyes right at Jules. Then she said pointedly, “Little trick that Glory taught me. Blowing on it always makes it feel better.”

  “Gimme that damn Band-Aid.” Reno grabbed it from Jules’s hand and pressed it gently against Claire’s knee.

  Claire smiled brilliantly at both of them, now satisfied that Jules had all but forgotten being pissed at Glory for accepting the job for Gianni’s boys, and had started remembering a few of the things that he loved about Glory. Claire decided she had better leave on a high note.

  “Thanks, Jules. It feels better already. I need to get going. Do you want me to tell Glory that you’ll be dropping by soon?”

  When Claire reached the door she paused and looked back at Jules, whose mouth was still hanging open.

  “Well?”

  Jules hesitated only a fraction of a second, then called out, “Yeah, tell Glory I’ll be around soon to . . . uh . . . to . . . uh . . . to take her fishing.”

  Claire nodded and flashed Reno a look of total triumph. She had gotten Jules to cave in. No one ever got Jules to cave in. Reno hadn’t missed that and returned her look with such an expression of disbelief that she almost burst out laughing right on the spot. “I’ll let her know,” Claire called out to Jules, flashed him a bright smile, and sashayed right out the door.

  Claire held her composure until she drove through the gates of the compound. Then she rolled down the window, turned up the tunes, and let the priceless expressions on the faces of two rough, tough outlaws dance through her mind.

  As she sped down the highway, she laughed out loud.

  CHAPTER 19

  Reno’s breath is warm against my bare skin. I arch slightly as his hands move up to my hair and bury themselves in the tangled mess. Tugging on the back of my head gently, he imprisons me. I tremble as his mouth moves over mine. I feel the heat of that kiss everywhere. His voice is a gentle rumble, whispering against my ear, “You’re mine, baby . . .”

  The jarring ring of the alarm clock woke me up and brought me back.

  I didn’t want to be back. I wanted to be where I had just been, in Reno’s bed.

  Oh God.

  In Reno’s bed.

  It was the third night in a row that I had had that dream or an equally steamy variation of it. Running into Reno unexpectedly at the clinic had caught me off guard. For the following few days, all I could do was think about him. When the alarm woke me up, I stayed in bed for a few extra minutes and willed myself back to that delicious dream state. To my great disappointment, instead of drifting back to wonderland, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. Not only did I end up feeling pathetic and sorry for myself, but I had also managed to make myself ten minutes late starting my day.

  The morning had just gone downhill from there.

  Now, I was sitting in the driveway, kicking at the tires of the Jeep, swearing my head off, and cursing Diego and his damn gift. It really wasn’t very fair, or very nice of me, and it didn’t even make me feel any better, but I kept on kicking and swearing anyway.

  Because really? Really? Goddammit! The stupid thing wouldn’t start and I was going to be late. It was my first day of college, and I was as nervous as a mouse in a cat’s house.

  And I had just spent the entire morning filled with self-doubt.

  Maybe I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough. I didn’t even know what to pack for lunch. Did people even use brown bags anymore? What if I got lost on my way to class? Or worse, what if I sat down in a class, only to discover that I was in the wrong one?

  On and on and on I went, just like that.

  Doubts assailed me and I came dangerously close to losing my nerve. That Glory was not home only made matters worse. I had no one to bounce the fears off of. No one to tell me that I could do this. No one to give me an “Atta Girl.”

  And I really needed an “Atta Girl” right about now.

  It was pretty safe to say I was losing my brave. And fast.

  After managing to pull myself together for maybe a minute and a half, I made the colossal mistake of calling the college registrar’s office with one single, simple question. Instead of just answering that one single, simple question, the very bitchy receptionist referred me to the class’s online course syllabus.

  And that was the worst thing of all, because . . . I had absolutely no idea what a syllabus was.

  Then the Jeep wouldn’t start.

  But that was not all.

  Nope, that was not all.

  On this, my very first day of college, fate just had to step in and throw one more whammy at me. When I called the clubhouse for help with the Jeep, out of all the people who could have possibly picked up that phone, Reno just happened to be walking by.

  Damn Prosper, and his stupid resistance to cell phones.

  When I heard Reno’s warm familiar voice, I felt those flood gates open. Feeling totally frustrated and overwhelmed, I started to heave and stutter. Reno, unable to make sense of the conversation, kept telling me to calm down, which everybody knows is the worst thing that you can say to a woman who is on the verge of hysteria. After about five rounds of, “Babe, you have got to rein it in,” I was able to sputter out something that I hoped sounded like, “the Jeep won’t start.”

  Reno seemed totally confused. And I couldn’t blame him.

  I had no idea what I was talking about.

  I hung up the phone, slumped against the Jeep, and waited for somebody to send someone to fix this. It was no use to try and hold back the pity party any longer, so for the next five minutes I gave the tears full permission to run down my cheeks and drip off my nose.

  Then I got into the Jeep and tried again. When I heard the click of that stupid engine, I collapsed in total defeat.

  After what seemed like hours and hours, the club utility van pulled into the driveway, driven by a prospect I had seen once or twice before. When I turned my tear-stained face to him, he looked at me sheepishly through the windshield and motioned to the cable wires that he had in his hand. He wanted me to pop the hood.

  I looked at my watch for the hundredth time, and felt sick with disappointment. I did not have time for this. I reached down and pulled up the release lever. Then I laid my head against the steering wheel and let the tears flow.

  “Aw, baby, don’t cry
.” The voice cut through my crying jag.

  I looked up just as Reno reached through the open window and unlocked the door. Then he pulled me gently out of the car and into his arms.

  I heaved and sniffed all over the front of his leather cut.

  “Claire, honey. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he said softly, rubbing my hair and patting my back.

  I nodded into his chest, and wiped my nose noisily.

  Still heaving, I managed to get the words out. “I . . . am . . . going . . . to . . . be . . . late . . . for . . . my . . . first . . . day . . . of . . . school.”

  I felt his chest rumble.

  “It’s not funny,” I heaved and tried to pull away.

  He pulled me tighter into him.

  “No, Claire, it’s not funny. It’s great. You and this school shit.”

  Except for that one incident in the clinic and the other time when Reno and I had glared at each other from across the field, I hadn’t seen him at all, and as far as I knew, he hadn’t seen me.

  “You do? You know?” I sniffled and looked up at him.

  “Of course I know. Just because I’ve been acting like a dick doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” He looked at me and ran his thumb down the curve of my cheek.

  Then Reno said this: “Claire, I don’t know why it took me this long to get what a prick I’ve been, but I’m there now, and it feels like shit knowing that I hurt you. I’m sorry, baby.”

  And there it was.

  Maybe there was more to talk about between us, maybe there wasn’t. Maybe there would someday be a Reno-and-me that made sense, maybe not. I just knew that I missed what we sometimes used to be.

  “I’m sorry” is always a good start to finding your way back to something that you thought might have been lost forever.

  I put my head against Reno’s warm familiar chest and felt the rest of the tension in me release. And that last part had nothing to do with being late but everything to do with finding myself back in his arms.

  “Let it out, baby, give it to me.” Reno just kept rubbing and patting.

  Then when my sputtering and heaving had died down to just small gulps, he pulled me away from him and brushed away my tears with the back of his hand.

  “Alternator’s gone, boss,” the prospect called out to us. “Won’t be able to do much with it today. Orders are to get the van right back and ready for a shipment.”

  Big heaving sigh. I shrugged my shoulders in resignation. “Well, that’s it then, game over.” I brushed away the rest of my tears and felt the corners of my mouth fall down. Disappointment streamed over me like a cold winter rain.

  “Honey, the game hasn’t even started yet.” Reno grabbed my hand and led me to his bike. He must have followed behind the van. I had been too deep in my own pity party to hear the rumble of his pipes.

  “What time do you have to be there, Claire?” He strapped the helmet on my head.

  “Eleven o’clock.” I looked at him with hope in my eyes.

  “Plenty of time, baby. Just wrap your arms around me and hold on tight.”

  Then Reno started his engine.

  And, having all the faith in the world that he would get me exactly where I needed to be and when I needed to be there, I did it.

  And he got me there.

  Not only on time.

  But with a full ten minutes to spare.

  CHAPTER 20

  Once we pulled onto the campus, I got nervous all over again. Reno turned into the parking lot and killed the motor. I got off the bike and stared at the sight before me.

  The central campus consisted of a few large brick-covered buildings and a grassy area called the quad.

  I thought about the many scholars that had stood where I stood now, on the edge of something wonderful and terrifying. The structures themselves intimidated and impressed—aged, ivy-covered, and beautiful.

  Damn.

  After all the headaches, and fears, and self-doubts about doing this thing, a thing that was way, way out of my comfort zone, here I was.

  I had really done it.

  “Thank you for getting me here, Reno,” I said formally.

  “You are welcome, Claire. Happy to be of service,” he said back to me, just as formally.

  Then we grinned at each other.

  “Reno?”

  “Yeah, Claire?”

  “Do you know what a syllabus is?” I pulled at the heavy backpack on my shoulder.

  “Sure, Babe. Everyone . . .” He stopped when he saw the expression on my face.

  “It’s an outline of the important information of the class. It gives you shit like due dates, assignments, and other stuff you need to know,” he finished and grabbed the backpack from me.

  I nodded. That made sense.

  “Do you know where your first class is?” he asked me.

  I handed him everything that I had printed off the Internet.

  He looked over the pages, then he looked up at the buildings facing us. Reno grabbed my hand and off we went through the pretty cement arches.

  Reno walked me to the front of the building of my first class. My nerves did jumping jacks in the meantime.

  “I can stay and see you through this.” Reno stood close to me, his hand on the small of my back.

  “Thanks, Reno, but I got this,” I muttered. I eyed the four imposing structures before me. There was also a sign on the corner of the last building that I had not noticed before. It said “North Campus / South Campus Shuttle” and it had an arrow that pointed to a narrow alleyway.

  So there was more. I sighed thinking I was never going to find my way.

  “You got this, Claire?” Reno increased the pressure on my back.

  I answered with a confidence that I came nowhere close to feeling, “Of course I do.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Then he leaned in and whispered. “Where’s your next class going to be?”

  He had me there.

  “I can ask someone, or go in the general direction,” I said with more certainty than I felt.

  Just then, the doors to three of the four buildings swung open wide and what seemed to be a million people poured out in a quickly streaming mass.

  “Okay, Babe. Check it out. Ask someone.” Reno folded his inked biceps.

  I tried. But nothing came out. I just stood there in the middle of it all, ridiculously opening and closing my mouth like a baby bird.

  Reno let that go on for about a minute and a half.

  “Hey man, can you tell me where this is?” He placed himself in front of the dreadlocked guy who was about to walk past us.

  Without completely stopping, the guy glanced at the printout and said, “Uh, I think it’s over in North Campus somewhere. Not sure. You might hafta take the shuttle. Wish I could help, but I got maybe two seconds to piss and grab a smoke before my ass needs to be sitting in World Lit. Good luck, man.”

  Then he disappeared into the sea of scholars.

  Reno arched an eyebrow at me.

  I took another look at the imposing buildings and the crowds. Then I thought about the ten minutes between classes, and the braided guy who seemed to know what he was doing, but still didn’t have enough time to pee, smoke, and help me out.

  I looked back at Reno then. Dark aviator glasses hid his eyes. He stood a head taller than the crowd hurrying past us. His biceps stretched and strained out of the MC cut, its leather branding him a Hells Saints outlaw. He stood out like a column of fire in a deep pool of water, beautiful and burning bright.

  “Reno, don’t go,” I said suddenly. As the edge of panic closed in on me again, I tugged on his arm and held on for dear life.

  He hesitated for only a second. Then he said, “Babe, you have to get moving. You’re running out of clock. You’re on the second floor, room number 25B. I’m going to wait for you right here and you’ll be out in about forty-five.” Reno untangled himself from me. Then he actually shoved me toward the building.

&nbs
p; Geez.

  I looked back at him one more time before the pressing crowd pushed me through the door.

  Reno smiled at me.

  Then he winked.

  Taking that smile and that wink with me, I headed into my next big thing.

  CHAPTER 21

  What the hell were you thinking?” I asked myself for about the millionth time. It had been a few weeks since that first day of school and I was swimming against the academic tide.

  And that was on a good day.

  On a bad day I was drowning in it.

  I looked through bleary eyes at the pile of reference books before me. I had been in the college library all morning and had made little progress. The big red D slashed against my first psychology research paper glared back at me in reproach.

  “Hope springs eternal.”

  I almost laughed out loud when I saw the quote from Alexander Pope flash across the laptop screen. Thank you, Mr. Pope, and whoever had the foresight to program in those inspiring words as a stock screensaver. I shook my head, closed the computer, and reached for the bottle of pain-reliever that I kept in my school bag. The new laptop had cost me a small fortune. I had bought it straight from the college bookstore. It came with all the right software, a faux leather bag, and a kick-ass sleeve. It also came with unlimited tech support and a generous warranty.

  Even more important than all those great features came the sense of promise and belonging that had filled me when I opened the computer and placed it on a desk for the very first time. Having it had made me feel like I fit in.

  Lately when I opened the laptop I just felt dumb.

  This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. I was officially a college student, and I was trying my best.

  But there were definitely times when my best was not good enough.

  I had to remind myself that all this was still relatively new to me and that I had had small triumphs along the way. There were times when I did not feel like a complete idiot and not all of my grades had been Ds. As a matter of fact, most of my grades were not Ds.

  But they were not As either.

  I was determined to keep trying my best. On the days when everything came together, I was filled with a sense of happiness and pride that I had never experienced on this level before. And really, I was learning so much. Attending these classes had also helped me turn a negative into a positive. In order to survive a childhood with the perpetually depressed and barely there Jack Winston, Raine and I had had to be organized, skilled at observations, and filled with a fierce determination to succeed. It turned out that these qualities were exactly what I needed to rock the college world. Unfortunately a strong academic background was also needed to rock the college world.