Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I was suddenly frustrated that I’d agreed to having a late dinner with Lily and Curtis after the kids went to bed.
Because the idea of Levee hooking up with some other girl to end his night made my stomach feel like there was a pit in it. Even if, objectively, I had no claim on the man. We had a little half hookup. It wasn’t like he belonged to me.
“I was actually thinking of ending the night at Teddy’s place, then dropping by my uncle’s in the morning. Hoping to run into you.”
“Teddy? The one who helped Curtis?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s a friend of the club. Has a penthouse in Miami. We crash there when we’re in the area sometimes.”
“Were you really going to try to run into me, or are you just laying it on thick?” I asked. “I’m fine with either answer,” I told him. Even if, in my heart, I was kind of hoping for the former.
“I had a whole plan and everything. I was going to bring bagels. Then say something about how I got too many. And then offer you one. That we wouldn’t even get to eating.”
“Oh, really? What would we get distracted by?” I asked, taking another long sip of my champagne.
“An in-depth discussion of the Impressionists, of course,” he teased, making a little laugh burst out of me. “And that would, inevitably, lead to an analysis of Expressionism and Surrealism…”
“Someone paid attention in art class.”
“I, ah, may or may not have looked up some art shit in the hopes of impressing you.”
“That is the cutest thing I’ve heard in a long time. And I heard a little kid refer to pasta as persketti this week,” I told him, charmed. No one had ever done art research for me before.
“It’s hard to beat persketti,” Levee agreed.
“So, in your research, what painting did you like best?”
“Well, I mean, the Home Alone one is always a hit.”
“The… Home Alone one?” I asked, squinting at him.
Levee reached out to set his cup into a holder, then pressed his hands to either side of his face, mouth open.
Another laugh escaped me at that. “The Scream,” I told him. “By Edvard Munch.”
“Yeah, that one. I kinda liked that one with the girl with the pearl earring in her lobe too. Kind of sad, but passionate look in her eye. What was that one called?”
“The Girl with the Pearl Earring,” I told him.
“Yeah, that one.”
“But I think I have a new favorite artist. She’s got a real pretty name, too. Jade…”
“Holland,” I told him.
“Right. That’s her name. Jade Holland. She paints a mean goldfish.”
“Do you have any pets?”
“Me, personally? No. The club has a tortoise and a macaw named Mackie. And we’re all in charge of taking care of them.”
“So, you’re at the club a lot?” I asked.
“I live at the clubhouse,” he told me. “Same with Coast and Kylo. And Velle and York. The older club members have moved on to other houses and shit now. Starting families and such.”
That was… surprisingly wholesome.
See, he wasn’t the only one who’d been doing some research. I mean it wasn’t every day you came across someone who said they were in a motorcycle club. And, quite frankly, I had absolutely no idea what that entailed.
The thing was, my research had ended up involving a lot of fictional content that likely made things out to be a lot grittier than it actually was in real life.
The general consensus was that guys who liked riding motorcycles sometimes got together into little clubs and hung out and rode together. Kind of their version of a book club or knitting circle kind of thing. A way to connect with people who had similar interests and passions.
None of the stuff I’d come across had ever mentioned the bikers actually living at the clubhouse, though.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a common thing, or if this club was more of the exception to the rule.
“So there are a lot of kids around the club?” I asked.
“Ton of ‘em,” he admitted. “All different ages now. Seems like every few months, one of the guys is finding a forever kind of girl and settling down. Not long after that, they start popping out litters.”
“Do you like kids?” I asked.
“Yeah. Think they’re more fun when they’re mobile and you can do fun shit. But they’re a good time. You love them, right?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t mind having a litter myself one day,” I admitted.
I’d always liked kids. But I figured that thing about feeling your clock ticking was utter nonsense. Until I first held Lily’s baby. Now, all I wanted to do was spend some time with her, soaking up the snuggles and smiles and that oddly sweet-sour baby smell.
“I can see that,” he said nodding. “Lot of kids in your family?”