by K. Ryan
Isabelle took a few tentative steps inside, taking her time as she surveyed the small space. I shuffled in behind her and on reflex, rushed to kick a pile of dirty clothes under my bed and then made a beeline for my makeshift kitchen, which was really just a stove and a sink, and started shoving some stray dishes into the sink when Isabelle's light laughter came up right behind me.
"Caleb," she called out to me. "Don't worry about it. I remember your dorm at the clubhouse looking way worse than this. In fact, this place is pretty clean compared to that."
I huffed out a laugh and ran a hand over my head. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure that was when I was just a stupid kid who only cleaned his room when his mom told him to. I don't really have any excuse now."
I flinched a little at the mention of my mom. God, I hadn't seen her in months. Maybe even a full year if I was being honest. No. I shook that off. I wasn't going to let any painful memories bring us down today.
She seemed to pick up on this shift in mood and padded lightly over to my bookshelf, calling over her shoulder, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
"Right," I chuckled and again, following her lead, moved closer until my shoulder brushed hers. "Besides, I'm totally living in the lap of luxury now. Can't you tell by all this space I've got?"
Her eyes followed my gesture out into the pretty small space, but she just shrugged. "It's not so bad. How much more do you need?"
"I guess you're right," I grinned down at her.
If I had any regrets about my shop, it was that I'd had to sell the house for some of the start-up cash I needed to get my business off the ground. It just hadn't made sense to basically pay two mortgages—one for the house and one for the building—and watching the house I'd bought for Isabelle, with all those plans we'd attached to it, slip right through my fingertips had stung more than I'd expected. But, then again, that was also part of the reason I'd been able to help her dad and I didn't regret that for a second.
When she leaned into me ever so slightly, my fingertips pressed into the small of her back. I just couldn't stop myself from touching her when she was this close and I couldn't apologize for something that came so naturally. Thankfully, she didn't shy away. If anything, she just leaned in even closer as her eyes scanned the contents of my bookshelf. She reached out to skim her fingertips along the bindings and murmured some of the titles.
"Huck Finn, Of Mice and Men, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, The Outsiders, A Lesson Before Dying, The Shining..." she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Classic lit and Stephen King, huh?"
"Hey," I nudged her in the side with my elbow. "Stephen King is classic. Don't make fun of me, Iz. I'm very sensitive."
Her lips curled up into that beautiful smile and her head dipped back a little as she laughed. "Sorry. I wouldn't dream of making fun of you for reading. This is just—I just didn't expect you to be this different, but in a good way. I'm so proud of you, Caleb. Everything you've done, how far you've come...I just can't believe it even though I know I should."
"I wouldn't give myself all the credit," I told her quietly. "I was just surviving. That's all."
"You did exactly what you had to do," she nodded and inhaled shakily.
"Hey, Iz?" I murmured.
"Yeah?"
"I really missed you."
She sucked in a shaky breath and I resisted the urge to run my thumb over her lips when they tilted up.
"I know," she smiled. "I missed you, too."
That was all the encouragement I needed and I closed the space between us to capture her lips, pressing into them with all the words right on the tip of my tongue I still couldn't say. Maybe she could taste them and taste what I needed to say to her, taste what I needed from her. Maybe that could be enough.
Her hands twisted around my neck, skimming up around my head, and it was all I could do to just grip her tighter, pulling her flush against my body and not pull her right onto my bed. It would be so easy to lose control right now and slide my hands down her body to take what I'd been denied for so long. But that wasn't why she was here and if I let things get too out of hand tonight, I could easily wake up in the morning to an empty bed and never see her again.
With this new conviction, I reluctantly pulled myself back and ran my thumb across her cheek.
"Can I make you dinner tonight?"
She laughed and I had to steel all my control just so I didn't ruin this moment by kissing her again. "Can I help?"
My eyes widened and my mind immediately jumped back to every single one of Isabelle's cooking disasters in the past. Chicken, spaghetti, lasagna, even homemade pizza—each one more horrific and traumatizing than the last.
"You know, Iz, I think my stomach's finally recovered from your cooking. Maybe—ow!" I ducked when she swatted at me again.
"Oh, shut up," she laughed again. "It wasn't that bad."
I just cocked an eyebrow her way. Enough said.
Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and she sighed. "Okay, fine. Maybe it was that bad, but I'm much better now. I can actually make an entire meal without getting anybody sick or burning down my kitchen."
"Tempting," I held my hands up. "But you're my guest. I'm gonna cook for you whether you like it or not."
"Oh boy," she muttered under her breath and whether I liked it or not, she sank down right onto my bed.
To be fair, there really wasn't anywhere else to sit, but I still wasn't prepared for the sight of her sitting there, waiting for...something. I took that as my cue to get my ass to work and after a quick inventory of what little food I had in my barely-existent kitchen, I got down to business. Isabelle observed me with careful curiosity as I got the sauce going and mixed up some batter before tossing the chicken in.
She leaned over my shoulder to inhale the aroma of tomatoes and Italian spices and her eyes widened. "Wow, that smells amazing. Since when do you know how to make chicken parmigiana?"
"Since always," I tossed back. "You just never got a chance to try it because you were too busy trying to kill us with salmonella."
She smacked me on the shoulder and shook her head, muttering, "Asshole."
"You know," I wagged my marinara-stained spoon at her as I spoke. "I worry about you all by yourself in New York. How have you managed to survive all these years anyway?"
"Just fine, thank you very much," she shot back. "I took some cooking classes and everything. But I guess some of us go grocery shopping a little more than others."
I laughed as I dumped the sauce and a shitload of mozzarella cheese on top of the chicken and shoved the dish in the oven. Little did she know that Saul kept all the fridges stocked—the one in our break room downstairs and the one in my apartment. Whatever he bought, I cooked.
When I turned back to her, I leaned up against the edge of the counter with my arms folded across my chest.
"So you've got cooking classes, a kick-ass art studio, the fancy apartment, and a dog," I surmised. "All the makings of a true New York woman. Now all you're missing is the accent."
"Hey, I can take care of myself. You don't even know the half of it. If anybody ever messed with me, I could totally take 'em."
"Oh really?" I cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Yep. You think Coop's all I got? I have a bat under my bed, I carry a knife in my purse, and I took a self-defense class with one of the assistants at the gallery a few years ago. I got a certificate from the class and everything. It's official—I'm a real badass."
"Huh."
While part of me was impressed, and a little turned on by the idea of her wielding a bat, the idea of her in an apartment all by herself didn't sit well with me. I didn't even want to think about any times when she hadn't been by herself, if she'd had anybody with her for the night...
"So, you know," she went on lightly. "If you need any protection, you know which girl to call."
That got my attention and I pushed off the counter to crowd her space a little, willingly playing along. "What makes you think I need your pro
tection?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've got at least two guns here somewhere you're not supposed to have."
Well, she had a point. Legally, I wasn't supposed to own a gun, but since both of those guns were technically licensed to and purchased by Jared, I wasn't too worried about that. Besides, once the ATF and just about everyone else realized the club had never and would never put any money into my shop, my side of town had gotten pretty quiet.
I cocked a playful eyebrow at her, liking the turn this conversation had taken. "Oh really?"
"Yeah, you haven't seen my moves," she laughed, grinning up at me like we were the only two people in the world and nothing else around us existed.
"Alright, alright," I pivoted around her to put some space between us and motioned toward myself with both hands. "Bring it. Show me what you got, Martin."
Her head tipped back as she laughed and waved her hands in front of her. "Your funeral. But this only works if you come at me."
My lips twisted into a wolfish grin. Yeah, I definitely liked where this was headed. When I took a few confident steps into her personal space, her hands came down to rest lightly on my shoulders, putting just enough pressure on them to keep me from moving any closer.
"So if you were coming at me from the front," she breathed, her voice thick and husky. "I would probably bring my knee up like this."
When her knee lifted up to my groin, just enough to brush up against my jeans, her lips twisted into a knowing, almost powerful smirk. Her knee lingered there for a few agonizing moments, moving up and down with enough sweet pressure to elicit a low growl from me.
"What else would you do?" I murmured into her hair.
"I'd probably go for your knee next," she whispered up at me. With that, the tortured pressure left from between my legs and she playfully tapped my right knee with her left foot, twisting her hip to press into my knee from a side angle.
"That's not a bad move," I chuckled hoarsely.
"I think it's pretty effective," she retorted, even though my hand was already making a leisurely trail from her ankle right up to the inside of her thigh. When my fingers skimmed around the curve of her hip, her eyes fluttered shut at the light contact. I wouldn't let things go much further than this, but for now? I'd let us have some fun.
"Anything else you'd do?"
"Blunt objects are good too," she murmured, her eyes still squeezed shut. "I could always hit you over the head with my phone or stab you with my keys or something."
A low chuckle erupted from my throat and I placed a featherlight kiss on her neck, reveling in the taste and the feeling of her sweet skin underneath my mouth. Using my hands to guide her where to go, I turned her around so that her back rested against my chest.
"What if I came at you from behind, huh?" I hummed into her ear. "What would you do then?"
Her breath was coming in more haggard now and I suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that my hands had curved around her waist, teasing her into doing exactly what I wanted.
"I'd probably do something like this," she pushed out roughly, lifting her left leg up to lightly tap the inside of my foot with her heel. That small amount of pressure against my foot was enough momentum for her to arch her hips right into my jeans, offering up sweet payback with just a little bit of friction.
"Uh huh," I groaned into her hair, digging my fingers even deeper into her soft skin. "That's pretty good, too. Anything else?"
"Maybe this," Isabelle whispered as her right arm reached up over her head and touched her elbow to my cheek. A moment later, her arm continued its ascent and wrapped around my neck, skimming up to run along the buzzed edges of my hair.
"I like your hair like this," she murmured in my ear.
"Yeah?"
It would be so easy to take this opportunity, one she was giving me so willingly, and let my fingers do exactly what they knew how to do, but we were both too vulnerable right now, too emotional and raw, for this to go much further. But after tonight? That was a different story.
"Hey, Caleb?" Isabelle's voice called out to me, pulling me from the push and pull of my thoughts. "Do you smell something burning?"
I jerked out of her arms and sped right to the stove, waving away the billows of smoke wafting from it. Oh shit. Of fucking course. When I opened the stove, only to be met with more smoke and the horrible stench of salty, burnt cheese, it only confirmed it: I'd epically screwed up dinner.
My eyes narrowed on Isabelle, who'd all but collapsed on my bed in a fit of laughter. "You distracted me on purpose."
That just made her double over with more laughter. "I swear I didn't! You messed up all by yourself."
I threw a hand towel down on the floor. "Oh, that's it."
When I advanced on her, she leapt off the bed and scampered playfully into my bathroom, yelping when I wrapped my arms around her waist and hauled her back into the main room. I tossed her lightly onto the bed and even as she laughed, she'd never looked more beautiful. Her hair fanned out on my comforter, all spread out and waiting for me to run my fingers through it, and all I wanted to do was fall onto the bed with her and let it happen.
But I pulled myself back, firm in my resolve to respect the little bit of room she'd given me to move here.
So I ran a hand over my head and blew out a deep breath as she sat up on her elbows, waiting for me to make the next move.
"What should we do now?" she asked, her breath still coming in and out in short rasps.
Pretty soon she'll be back where she belongs, I promised myself. Just not tonight.
If she stayed on my bed like this any longer, I'd...and then my mouth quirked up.
"I got an idea, Iz."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cosmic Love
Caleb
I never thought I'd feel this again. Never expected I'd be here, that she'd be here. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, the hum of my bike in my ears, and the wind whipped around us. This was the closest to flying I'd probably ever been—high on the rush, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and propelling me right up into the clouds.
Up until the moment she walked through my shop a few weeks ago, everything was running out of sync. Being with her again felt like all those missed beats and all those flubbed steps just didn't matter anymore.
Maybe the life I'd wanted, the same life that had slipped right through my fingertips, was reaching out again, just waiting for me to grab it and hold on with everything I had.
I was ready.
The only thing I was waiting on now was Isabelle.
She shifted against my back and leaned into my shoulder as we slowed to a stop light. Her warm breath surrounded my ear, and just like pretty much everything else about her, carried me away like undertow. I'd happily drown in her for—
The roar of motorcycle engines split through the night air and all the hairs on my arms stood on end. They were coming from the opposite direction, most likely from the clubhouse, but their cuts were unmistakable even from the distance. I'd grown up with that black leather, tracing the familiar lines of that devil horse on my dad's cut until I fell asleep.
Marcus was in the front, as usual, with Dom right behind him and Casey to his left. Tiny, ZZ, Heath, and Doc flanked behind them in a familiar formation I'd partaken in more times than I could count.
We sat on opposite sides of the intersection and it was almost as if time had stood still. Isabelle's arms tightened around me and Dom nodded from behind his president, but that was all the acknowledgement I got from any of them. Marcus's dark eyes flicked to me for a second, his lips curled up into a tight snarl, and then he shifted his eyes straight ahead to the road like he was trying to convince himself I wasn't really 40 feet in front of him. Like it was easier to just pretend I didn't exist in the first place.
When the light finally turned green, our engines revved and we moved forward, continuing on in opposite directions, now on separate paths.
By the time I pulled into Graf
fiti's, my hands were trembling around my handlebars and my nerves were fried. Somehow I still had enough sense to drop my kickstand, swing my leg around the side, and help Isabelle off my bike. I clung to her hand, squeezing my fingertips around her palm, searching for the strength I'd always managed to find when I was standing next to her, and she didn't let go.
I dug through my pocket with my free hand until I found my cigarette pack. It was clenched in my fist, but the second I glanced at Isabelle, I huffed and shoved it right back in my pocket.
"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath.
She tugged on my hand. "Caleb."
"I'm not doing it, Iz," I sighed. "Don't even try to tell me it's okay."
She just rolled her eyes and shocked the hell out of me by pivoting around, digging her hand in my pocket to pull out my cigarettes. I didn't even have time to react before she pressed the pack into my chest.
"It's okay," Isabelle told me quietly, her eyes shining up at me with an alarming mixture of mischief and concern. "Just this once."
Seeing as how this was a battle I knew I wouldn't be winning anytime soon, I obliged her and lit up a damn cigarette. The second that first hit of nicotine shot down my body I finally felt like the weight settling over my shoulders had slipped off, like I could breathe again—ironic, of course, given the fact that I was currently smoking a cigarette. But I needed it and she knew it.
The question was there; I could see it shimmering in her eyes and honestly, I'd expected her to ask it a long time ago: if the whole reason you left the club was to stay alive then why in the hell are you still smoking?
I'd been over all those other vices of my past years ago: drinking, weed, and women. Smoking was just the one vice I still let myself have.
But when Isabelle's lips parted, the question that fell from them wasn't the one I expected.
"Do you miss them?"
I blew out a puff of smoke, careful to angle my lips in the opposite direction. That was a loaded question and the answer varied from day to day. So tonight, I just opted for the easiest and most honest response.
