The next day she was gone.
“I was embarrassed,” she says.
“You had no reason to be. We were both hurting. Sometimes people do things out of character when they’re hurting.” I give her a reassuring smile. “You have no reason to be embarrassed around me, wildflower. One little kiss between friends in a moment of insanity shouldn’t be enough to destroy a friendship.”
Our eyes linger.
It wasn’t one little kiss between friends, and we both know it. We both felt something more that night, but taking it further is not an option.
Her smile is slow as she processes what I’ve said. “You’re right. Thank you.”
We both relax.
“Now that’s out of the way, how about I grab us another couple of beers and you can tell me all about your current guy.”
“That’s going to be a short story tragedy… Bronte doesn’t have a current guy, she is a dating disaster. The end.”
I can’t help my chuckle. “No boyfriend? A beauty like you?”
“No. And stop with the flattery. You don’t need to try and make me feel better about the whole kiss thing. I’m good now.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes. And you know, for a tough motorcycle club president, you need to work on your poker face a bit more.” She drains her beer. “What about you? Tell me about Jack’s lucky lady.”
I scoff. Well, there’s an oxymoron.
“There isn’t one.”
She looks surprised. “Really… oh, I see.”
“What does that mean?”
“You like to keep your options open. I totally get it. No doubt the clubhouse is full of opportunities for a guy like you when temptation strikes.”
“A guy like me?’
“The president. Don’t forget, I grew up in that club. I’ve seen the club girls. They’re fucking hot patooties.”
“Hot patooties?” Jesus, she’s cute. I shake my head. “I think you’ve got it all wrong, wildflower. The clubhouse is business, and I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
It’s true—I don’t touch club pussy.
Whether she believes me or not, I don’t know because she changes the subject.
“What about Bam and Loki? Either of them settled down?”
I have to laugh. My twin boys are twenty-four years old and are showing no signs of settling down any time soon.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She smiles, and I have to stop myself from thinking it’s the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.
As the night wears on, we talk some more over beers, mostly about her travels, but despite really talking for the first time in years, she’s skimming the surface.
Holding back.
Painting a façade.
Even so, I decide not to press her. She’s the type to dig in her heels if you attempt to push her into anything.
Inevitably, the conversation drifts to Cooper.
“You know, Rosana and I thought you two would end up together someday. We thought we’d walk in and bust you guys mid-kiss or something.”
“We both knew early on that nothing like that was ever going to happen.”
“Did he ever get his first kiss?” I ask cautiously. I have a million questions about him that will never be answered. So when the opportunity arises to find out just one of them, I jump at it.
Her smile fades and she hesitates. “Jack…” Before she says anything, I can tell by the look on her face what she is going to say. “You know he was—”
I cut her off. “I know who my brother was. He was just learning it for himself.”
Her lashes drop. “He knew, Jack,” she says gently. “He got his first kiss, just not from me. Not from any girl in Flintlock.”
I nod. I didn’t think so.
She hesitates. “Are you okay with that?”
“Are you asking me if I was okay with my brother being gay?”
“Are you?”
“Honey, the only sex life I give a rat’s ass about is my own. Gay, straight, or whatever, if Coop had lived, I would’ve loved him just as I had always loved him, more and more every fucking day. Lord knows, there’s enough fucked-up shit in this world. No point anyone getting their goddamn panties in a twist over that shit.”
Never did understand why anyone would worry about who someone chose to love.
Love is love and all that.
I put my beer to my lips and drain it, feeling an all-too-familiar ache in my chest.
What I would give to see my kid brother again.
What I would give to see him bring someone home to meet his family. And if that someone was another guy, then who gives a fuck?
When I think how cautious he was telling me about his choices, the regret plumes in my blood like poison. I get it. The MC world he grew up in is one of bravado and testosterone, and as far as towns in the US go, Flintlock is a little behind the times when it comes to open-mindedness, although she is more progressive than some.
But to think he struggled to tell me.
It’s like a knife going right into my heart.