Page 23 of Playboy’s Purgatory

With narrowed eyes, I tell her, “I’m not interested in gossip.”

Opal purses her lips slightly. “Maybe it’s really more like news? It’s not second hand and it’s the God’s honest truth.” She holds one hand to her heart and the other up like she’s swearing an oath.

She looks ridiculous.

“I’m not sure I’m interested in your news either,” I tell her while eyeing her warily.

“Come on,” she whines, “stop being a stick in the mud. It’s the good stuff,” she coaxes me like she’s a back-alley dealer or some shit.

I won’t be admitting that she has my interest piqued, but she definitely does.

When I don’t say anything, her eyes fucking sparkle with excitement. She claps her hands together and twirls around once like she can’t contain it.

“First off,” she holds her hands up and leans closer while lowering her voice, “I want to let you know just how much I admire you.” I feel my cheeks heat and my first instinct is to deflect whatever she’s about to say. “I can’t imagine being that young and deciding to take on a newborn.”

“The moment I held her, I didn’t really have a choice,” I admit, my gaze going distant with the memory. “She needed someone she could rely on, that was never going to be the girl who gave birth to her. It could have been my parents, but they already raised two kids.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t their responsibility and they didn’t trust themselves after Lola.”

Opals eyes go soft and I almost want to recoil from it. “It wasn’t your responsibility either,” her words are a gentle reminder of something I already know.

“Maybe,” I admit, “but it didn’t feel that way when I was holding her.”

“Right,” she nods, her voice firm, “I can’t talk about that anymore or else I might cry and it is not a good look for me. I get splotchy when I cry.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you get splotchy.” I grimace slightly, totally able to sympathize with her.

“I don’t cry often, but when I do, it’s not pretty.” She claps her hands again and leans over the counter after looking around furtively. She’s picked a good time to stop in; there’s a little lull happening right now. It’ll pick up again when school lets out soon. “On to the news,” she shouts happily.

When I motion for her to keep her voice down, she looks around again and shoots me a look like she’s asking who we’re disturbing at the moment. No one, but still.

Decorum. Or something.

“Fine,” she whines. “After you left the BBQ, Rumble warned Playboy, rightfully so, that if he ever treated another woman the way he’s been treating you that he’ll be in the ICU. Then Playboy basically scurried away like a dog who knows he’s done wrong.”

“Rumble’s nice,” I muse. “He wanted to talk about sourdough. Did you know he has a starter?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Oh no, was I not supposed to talk about the sourdough? Is that like not good for a biker’s rep or something and shouldn’t be talked about openly?”

“The man is obsessed and even though he might blush and act all embarrassed, he talks about his starter a lot. Last Christmas he gifted everyone a starter kit,” she informs me with a lovingly exasperated look on her face. “I gave it right back to him and told him to start it for me and keep it safe because he knows I’m not allowed near the kitchen. He just smiled and nodded like I gave him the best thing in the world for Christmas, and it was his gift to me,” she gasps.

“You know,” I tilt my head to the side, “that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Anyway, if you want to talk about yeast and whatnot, I’m not the girl for it, but stop in and see Rumble anytime.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Since the BBQ, Lola has been trying to spin the narrative, that you were always jealous and nothing you said was true, and what have you. No one is paying her any mind.”

I frown slightly. I’m not saying I thought she’d be kicked out, not necessarily, seeing as I’m not anyone to the club, but I’m a little disappointed. What was I really expecting?

“If she was smart, she’d put her head down and keep her mouth shut. If she keeps causing drama and making a fuss, she’s going to be upset when they vote and she’s out.” Opal shoots me a look and drawls, “I already know she’s not going to do the smart thing.”

“Odds are good that you’re right,” I agree. Then I let out a wary sound between acceptance and annoyance. “I really don’t care.”

Maybe I don’t want to care? I’m not even sure anymore. I just know there were too many times in my life when everything was wrapped up in Lola. I don’t want to live like that again. I can’t.

I fucking won’t.

Opal’s mouth tightens slightly but then I watch her let it go. I really don’t need to know the innerworkings of the club and what happens to her now. She told a few lies to a brother and the worst that happened was he said some bullshit to me. It’s not like I’m someone who matters to the club.

“Okay,” Opal breathes out, “I get it.” She looks at the flowers again and bites her bottom lip. “What are you going to do about the flowers?”

“I’ll let Vanessa decide about hers because I can’t make the decision for her. As for mine? I don’t want them,” I bite out the words.

“But they’re so pretty,” Opal protests.