Diesel
The clubhouse is hopping. Everyone’s drinking, laughing, and having a good ol’ time. Earlier tonight, the Pres made the official announcement about the MC moving to Whiskey Run, Tennessee. It’s been in talks for months now, and even though it was supposed to be under wraps, word got out, and everyone knew about it. But now it’s official. In two weeks, twenty of us are moving to the other side of the country. Myself included.
We all knew it would happen sooner or later. When Walker moved his Ghost Team of mercenaries to Whiskey Run, we knew we’d eventually make the move. We’ve worked with the Ghost Team a lot in the past, and Walker already got things in order for us to make our way there. We leave in two weeks, and so the pressure is on.
I’m not sure what I think about it. I hate change. I like structure. I’m sure it’s from my life growing up in different foster homes, never knowing where I would be sleeping the next night. Or maybe from my life in the military. You never knew what was going to happen there. Since I joined the MC, yeah, there are days where things happen out of the blue or I’m sent on missions that make me have to be flexible, but for the most part, I’m here at the clubhouse, working on my bike and living a calm life.
While everyone is preparing for the move, I’m realizing that I have exactly two weeks to make some leeway with Brandy. She’s been working at the clubhouse for the last month. She’s a club girl, but she’s different. She’s not like the cherries. The exact opposite actually. The cherries do anything to make the guys happy; Brandy does whatever she has to do to avoid us. She does her job, and she does it well, but she’s not interested in talking, flirting, or anything else.
The times I’ve tried to talk to her, she’s answered me in a clipped voice and then went on her way. But that hasn’t swayed me. I’ve watched her, and the more I watch her, the more I want to make her smile. She’s a hard worker and doesn’t ever seem to stop. Whatever Scout, one of the guys that runs the bar area and her boss, asks her to do, she does without hesitancy. She gives everything one hundred percent. But I’d be lying if I said that her work ethic is what attracts me to her because it’s so much more than that. She’s beautiful with her curvy waist and the way her jeans are snug against her ass. She has half the guys here watching her as she works her way between the tables and back to the bar area.
Even now, as she’s grabbing empty bottles up and wiping off the table, I can’t take my eyes off her. I think she knows it too. She never does anything to encourage me, but sometimes when she looks at me, I watch as her eyes widen, and she bites onto her lower lip. Every damn time I want to reach out and run my thumb across her lip to soothe it, but I don’t dare. No, she’s going to have to come to me because I’m pretty sure if I push her too fast, she’s going to run.
I ignore the guys at the table and walk by her. I don’t say anything—hell, I don’t even touch her even though my hands are trembling at the thought of it. No, I slow down my pace when I get next to her. She lifts her eyes and stares at me, partly in fear and partly in wonder. She doesn’t trust me, not yet, but she will. I just have to keep my shit together.
I force a smile on my face and try to keep it friendly instead of predatorial. “You doing okay tonight?”
She takes a deep breath and answers me with a hitch in her voice. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Her eyes never leave mine, and it’s like she’s waiting breathlessly to see what I’m going to do. I’m not sure why she came here to work because she’s not comfortable around men, but the fact that she is here tells me she’s brave beyond reason. It’s a good thing that our club doesn’t believe in hurting women – ever – under any circumstances. I nod my head at her and keep walking, not letting myself be drawn into the heat that her body puts off just standing a few inches away from her. “That’s good, honey. Real good.”
When I do walk past her, I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s let out a sigh in relief. I’m a big man. Way bigger than her, and I can’t help but wonder if that freaks her out a little bit. I pick up the pace, knowing that being this close to her is too tempting when all I want to do is turn around and take her in my arms. But even as I hightail it past her, I can smell the scent of her vanilla and honey shampoo. My hands tighten into fists at my sides because I can’t do what I want to do. I can’t touch her, taste her—hell, I can barely talk to her.
I push through the front doors of the clubhouse and make my way outside to my bike. I need a breather. Some time away to get my shit together and come up with an idea on how I’m going to get her talk to me. I thought about roses and chocolates. I shake my head because I can already hear my brothers busting my balls over it if I do it. But something tells me that Brandy’s not the type to fall for candy and flowers. No, she’d probably tell me thanks and then walk away. She obviously doesn’t trust easily. I’ve never been this tied up over a woman before, but there’s something that tells me she’s worth it.