Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance (6 page)

Jasmine gave a pretty smile, mother always said a great smile was like a great key – it would open all doors. “You look good,” she commented, “I was wondering if you had forgotten or something.”

“Thanks sugah, you look good yerself,” he eyed her from toe to top – lingering a half-heartbeat on her chest. “Just got caught up at the shop’s all – you wannah go for ah drink after this yah think?” He gestured toward the bar across the street, a couple of motorcycles and cars parked next to it.

Jasmine laughed. “We’ll see.”

Dale glanced over at the homeless man and Jasper, turning back to face Jasmine, he whispered, “God that guy smells awful, get ah job right?”

Internally cringing, Jasmine raised her brows, “Uhm, yeah, right,” what a dick thing to say; Jasmine’s hand twitched, wanting nothing more than to slap the man. Someone did not raise him right, she thought.

Seemingly sensing the awkwardness, Dale nodded his head and led the way inside. Jasmine glimpsed a rather expensive looking golden watch around his wrist; it looked as though it could have easily gone for a grand.

Five minutes later, they were seated at a booth secluded away from other customers. A niggling feeling pricked away at Jasmine’s mind.

The waiter arrived then. He was dressed formally, with a sharply parted head of brown hair and a clean cut face. “Good evening, I’m Tom and I’ll be your waiter today.” He extended the menus to the two.

Dale moved in his side of the booth, his lips parting about to speak.

While this was happening, Jasmine gave her pretty smile, sweet as the songbird. “Hi there,” Jasmine plucked the menu from the waiter’s hands between her delicate fingers; she noticed the waiter admire her turquoise fingernails. “We’ll just need a couple of minutes, if you could get us two waters to start that would be perfect.”

“Sure thing, I’ll get you some complimentary breadsticks while you wait.”

Jasmine batted her lashes, noticing Dale’s bemused (possibly miffed) reaction. “Perfect.”

The waiter left and the two were once again in only the company of each other. Dale had an absent look on his face, folding his hands against one another on the table.

Picking up on the awkwardness, Jasmine shifted in her side of the red booth. It’s not particularly comfy, she mused. “So,” she said, “everything alright?” She smiled and gave a little laugh.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” he spoke, scratching behind his ear. He sounds distant, almost empty.. “Just not used to ah woman bein’ so forward, I guess.”

Well the waiter
was
looking at me. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she brushed back a strand of her raven hair. Jasmine’s nipples could only partially be made out, but she noticed the man looking.

Waving a hand casually, Dale said, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Tell me somethin’ ‘bout yerself sweetharht.”

He’s handsome enough I guess, but maybe if he just took better care of himself and worked out more, “Oh, well I don’t have much to tell really,” Jasmine confessed. Sharing is always so hard when you keep yourself locked away. Her eyes fell back on the man’s tattoo that was peeking out – though she could only see a part of it, it looked like a dark, interlocked loop of some sort.

“Nonsense, how’d yah get in the medical field?” Dale looked over his shoulder at their waiter approaching with bread and water.

Jasmine politely waited for the man to leave first. She plucked a long, thin piece of golden crusted bread in her delicate hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she could smell the lovely aroma of butter, and the garlic sent a needful pang straight to her stomach – she could feel herself salivating at the anticipation of her first bite. Nibbling on it daintily, her bones were flooded with warmth and ecstasy bloomed against the back of her head. God that’s good.

The tiniest of moans escaped Jasmine before she placed the already half gone breadstick down. I just want them to reproduce so I can eat all their garlic butter bread babies, man this guy would freak out if he could hear my internal monologue. That would suck. “Well,” she started, “I guess it just always called to me really, it was my Dad’s suggestion that I work in the ER.” Not true.

Jasmine idly examined her menu; Dad never wanted me to do that. She thought back, briefly, on that disappointment she had given her father, but forced it from her mind, not wanting to linger.

Dale ate away at the bread with an impressive gusto. The man clearly likes his food. There was something in his eyes though, but what was it? “Cool,” he grunted between bites, his eyes landing on Jasmine’s breasts.

Heat curled against her chest, unsure as to whether she should be repulsed by his constant staring or simply enjoy it. “Why the interest in fixing cars? I mean, aside from being a guy,” I guess all men are basically the same thing. All they appreciate are tits, cars and rock – not specifically in that order. Although there was that one dude who drank exclusively appletini’s.

Dale chugged down his glass of water, beads of condensation forming on the outer rim and rolling down to its bottom; ice clinked against his teeth before he pounded it down onto the table. He wiped his mouth, “Mostly fix bikes,” he said, “I mean cars too yeah, but Steel Knights’r always comin’ in and havin’ me fix somethin’.”

Her heart shot up into her throat and rooted itself there – Jasmine had never felt so flushed in her life. Does he know Luke? “That’s interesting,” she replied, “do you know any of them? The bikers, that is.”

The waiter was walking back to them now.

Nodding his head, Dale said, “Yeah ah couple.”

“Who?” Don’t say it.

“What’s it matter to yah?” Dale’s eyes narrowed inquisitively, leaning forward slightly against the hardwood table; which was black and wonderfully lacquered.

Heat spiraled in all directions from her chest, like her skin was fire made living. Leave it alone. “Just curious,” she shrugged, keeping as plain a face as possible – looking away from the man and over to the waiter. Maybe that will throw him off.

The waiter arrived and greeted the two once more, pouring full their glasses of water. Jasmine ordered a dish of Pasta con Broccoli and suggested to Dale the Cannelloni. He seemed dour about it, but took her advice regardless. The waiter left and the two sat in silence for a brief moment.

Dale played idly with his glass of water, turning it on the table. “John, Luke and Matthew – they’re in the most I guess.”

Jasmine’s heart tapped faster and faster still.

“Only reason I even suggest we go to this place is cuz of ‘em,” Dale rested an elbow on the table. “Like to hang out at the bah ‘cross the way.”

Every breath felt heavier than the last and a pang of sorrow stabbed against her. There was so much blood that day.

After some time the food finally arrived and the two ate in relative silence, only bringing themselves away from their dishes for moments at a time to fill the awkward quiet.

Jasmine gingerly sipped her water, placing it down on the table and clearing her throat. “I’ll be right back,” she announced, a smile on her face.

It was good to have a man’s company, she wasn’t sure of him, especially after the way he treated that man at the front. But she knew he had some level of interest in her, or at least her body. After what had happened with Luke, even though she wasn’t sure what she wanted – Jasmine felt like she had to do something just to deal. “Try to behave yourself while I’m gone,” she joked, picking up her purse.

Dale’s lips curled into a half-hearted smile and he chuckled dryly. “No promises.”

After finding her way to the bathroom and taking care of herself, Jasmine admired her figure in the mirror. She was wearing a black dress that had V straps which wrapped around her shoulders, revealing a circle that exposed her sun-burnished bust in magnificent fashion. She tousled her raven hair, looking back into her dull green eyes.

Maybe we should get a drink, she thought. But he’s definitely not getting any tonight, at most a kiss . . . or two. Jasmine turned her head, placing a pair of delicate fingers on her heart shaped face. She batted her eyes; her cheekbones were one of the few things she truly liked about herself. When she returned to her table a numb kind of sadness assailed her and a flash of anger twined itself up her spine. She felt naïve for wanting to ask the waiter where Dale had went; her throat felt choked by an invisible hand. She placed her delicate hand on the table. Air seemed to move right through her, she wanted to curl up in that moment and cease the pain of being.

I just don’t understand.

Jasmine placed a series of bills on the table, going through the motions and cursing the man in her head; cursing herself for screwing things up again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Luke

The bottle of Jack was disappearing faster than Luke had hoped it would, his head slumped against his arms – the world around him felt like it was just a breath away from inverting. You’re absolutely pathetic, Luke thought. Able was always the strong one, he never sought the company of booze or strange; he just faced his shit head on.

Shiv after excruciating shiv, his mind turned page after page of memory. Luke was bone weary.

There’s no more light. No more flame in the darkness.

The bartender, Tony, moved over behind his polished wood counter, looking down at a wasted Luke. “Alright,” he said, the word annoyed him, everything annoyed him – even breathing seemed a laborious chore. Dark thoughts tapped away at his mind. “Give me your keys, Reynolds, I’m cutting you off.” Screw yourself, Tony.

The words came out in a slur, “You take these keys,” he struggled to straighten himself, wobbling a bit, “I’ll bust your head in.”

Tony had the fear in him, it was something that Luke had an intimate knowledge of – he’d seen Luke at his worst and the both of them knew what he was capable of. He motioned with his hand for the keys. “Come on now,” he pleaded, “I’m trying to help us both here.”

“Can’t help me,” Luke snapped, shoving the bartender’s hand away in a burst of candescent rage. It felt good to be angry, better to be furious than sad, it was much too much a burden to bear alone.

Alone, he thought, it echoed throughout his mind, teasing him, taunting him, and in that moment he could picture the emerald sea – the water so vivid and clear; it called to him, like a siren’s song so seductive and pure and enrapturing. He wanted to be lost in
her
embrace, to feel the beauty that she radiated so effortlessly, so clueless to it, she seemed – she was the coming dawn, casting its fingers of light against the cold and bitter night. He cursed the world as he got up from his bar stool, hating the fact that his breast swelled at the very thought. She had all but killed him, how could he forgive that? How could he still want to forgive that?

Closing his eyes for a moment, trying his best to balance his person, Luke swore that he could smell the sea. Ah, it was sweet, so very sweet and it pricked at his nose with the bite of salt. It pulled him back into those days that felt like only yesterday, standing in the widening gulf betwixt hate and love – he shook his head, thinking back on that horrible sight of Able’s lacerated face.

Opening his eyes he waved back without looking at Tony, “I’ll walk,” he shouted in a drunken stupor. “Put it on my tab.”

I’m just a liar, he thought. Good for nothing, good for letting my— Luke had to fight back the stinging in his eyes, he dared not put any more weight to the grave pictures in his head. He raked a hand through his messy unwashed hair. It had been several days since he showered, the boys had tried to help him – for that he was thankful. They were his brothers always.

Luke walked toward the entrance door of the leaky tavern, the smell of uniquely pleasant and musky cigars filling his nostrils; billiards clacked against one another. He eyed one of the young men, maybe seven years his junior – the dark, disgusting feeling of wanting to hurt someone, anyone other than himself, crept up.

Don’t. He stopped in his tracks, the pain surging through him effortlessly – a white-hot rage billowed up his backside.

Don’t do it. Luke could feel Tony’s eyes on him, but he turned from the door to face the pool table – his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he watched the two men make their shots.

Three strides and the bloody memory slammed into his mind.

His hand found the cue stick, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned white.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jasmine

As the rain poured down with an uncaring assault, her cab on the way; Jasmine’s heart jumped into her throat when she saw him
across the street. He was standing beneath the canopy of the bar, trying to light his cigarette. Her yellow umbrella strained beneath the downpour, and she noticed his difficulty in standing, having to lean against the wall to balance his person.

Luke, Jasmine pined, a nervousness and anxiety curling against her stomach. No, she reminded. He wants you to stay away – he doesn’t see you, you should just go. But maybe you should say something? What if he gets hurt? Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and ride home like that.

Her body locked in its place and the world seemed heavier when their eyes met.