Page 38 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

Iwasn’t about to sit around waiting for Rebel to show up at my shop. Knowing her, she’d probably disappear for a couple of days just to avoid hearing my mouth. Instead, I drove over to her place to check on her stubborn ass. After climbing out of my Escalade, I made my way up the walkway and knocked on the front door. Rebel cracked it open wearing an oversized T-shirt, basketball shorts, and a pair of fuzzy house slippers. Her locs were pulled into a messy bun, and she looked completely unbothered by the chaos she’d caused the night before. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before letting out a yawn.

“Morning. You here to fuss...” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, “...or eat breakfast?”

I folded my arms.

“Hell yeah, I’m here to fuss. You stole that man’s motorcycle.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know I took it to the shop first thing this morning. I even sent you a text.”

“I had to pay that man cash and promise him free service at my shop for a whole damn year.”

She gave me a sheepish grin. “’Preciate you looking out, bestie.”

“You really don’t see the problem, do you?”

“Nah, ‘cause I returned it. I even filled the tank.”

I stared at her. “You’re proud of yourself, ain’t you?”

“Damn right.”

“One day you’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”

She grinned. “Nah.”

“How you figure?”

“’Cause you’ll be too busy fussing to die.”

“You know... you really ain’t got no damn sense.”

I shook my head and stepped inside her place. The smell of weed hit me almost immediately. We settled onto the couch, and she handed me the blunt. I took a long pull before leaning back, spreading my legs as I got comfortable. As the smoke drifted toward the ceiling, my eyes wandered around the room and landed on the pictures. Most of them were of Rebel and Rose, with a few of the three of us mixed in.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I reached over and picked up one of the picture frames from the coffee table. We couldn’t have been more than thirteen in the picture. The three of us were standing outside our very first concert, all smiles, wearing oversized jerseys and baggy jeans like we thought we were the coolest kids alive. I chuckled to myself and carefully set the frame back on the table. When I looked up, Rebel was already staring at me.

“So...” she said, twisting one of her locs around her finger. “Why’d you kiss me at the game?”

I shrugged. “It was the Kiss Cam. I wasn’t about to let us get booed.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

She leaned back on the couch, staring at the television for a few seconds.

“You think it was just ‘cause we were caught up in the moment?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wanna find out?” she asked.

“Find out what?”

“If the kiss was really all that... or if the crowd had us trippin’.”