Page 43 of Hauling Ashe

“Shouldn’t be leaving such a pretty thing unattended,” he warns.

“Went to play her a song when you stepped up.” There’s a warning in my voice. I’d never leave such a beautiful woman alone and yet I did, didn’t I? I booked her a separate room and headed to my own because I’m angry at someone no longer alive and not worthy of my resentment.

“Didn’t see your claim.” His message is clear. He noticed Mae the second she walked in, and I wasn’t with her.

“He’s the one who owns the Prius,” Mae interjects. Her eyes sparkle at the admission although it’s not the truth.

Shifting to eye me better, the biker’s gaze scans me up and down and he mutters, “Pussy car.” I’d like to agree with him, but I don’t in order to keep the ruse with Mae. I could add some snide comment about getting pussy in that car, but I don’t say that either. I hold his gaze. Dark eyes narrow on mine. One punch and he’d take me out. My last bar fight was a long time ago, and even then, it was only the one time. But I’ll take the hit for Mae if that’s what comes of this encounter, because only over my dead body is she leaving with this man.

“Got it,” the biker huffs, tipping up his chin and dismissing me. He glances over his shoulder at Mae. “Make sure he takes care of you, sweetheart.”

Mae’s gaze returns to me. “He does,” she lies. The fib is like a stab to my chest. I’ve been an awful person today, and I should explain myself, but I can’t. I don’t know what happened.

Biker Dude pushes off the bar and stalks back to wherever he came from, and I pull up the stool beside Mae. My eyes roam the side of her body. The dress wraps around her, accentuating her curves. She’s wearing thick wedges, and the strap on the shoes matches the color of her dress. She’s overdressed and out of place in this small-town bar, but her appearance is also making her stand out. She’s a ray of sunshine in this dark haven.

“Come here often?” I ask, and she chuckles.

“That was almost worse than his line,” she says.

“But you were falling for his line, weren’t you?”

“It’s nice to be hit on.” Her eyes lower to the counter and her fingers run along the side of her tall, thin glass before she looks up at me again. “I didn’t see you when I came in. Were you playing the piano?”

“No. I used to play but I don’t anymore.”

“Why not?”

I glance over at the instrument. “I just don’t, I guess. When I moved home, I tried but it felt like every note was a reminder of what I’d given up. What I quit. I hated being a quitter. I didn’t own a piano. I had a harmonica and I’d steal out back to play it until I lost the instrument.” I could have gone to Grandfather’s home for a piano. I could have returned to my parents’ condo on Lake Shore Drive, but I didn’t want to go back.

“Harmonica?” She smiles.

“I’m full of a lot of hot air.”

She chuckles.

We silently sit at the bar for a minute until I ask, “Would you have really left with him?”

Mae turns her head, peering over her shoulder in the direction of Biker Dude and friends. “I might have been in a little over my head with him.” She weakly smiles back at me.

“But it was nice to be hit on,” I comment, an edge to my voice.

She shrugs and I want to still those shoulders. “It’s nice to feel wanted by someone, even if it is only a flirty pick-up line. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by talking to me.”

“Mae,” I groan. “You’re beautiful. He meant all his innuendos about road trips on him.”

“Road trips on him?” Her brows rise.

“Come on. I heard it a mile away. Riding the road on his bike. He wanted you to ride him.”

Mae tips her head and shifts her eyes in his direction. “Really?”

I scoff. “You can’t be that gullible.” The word upsets her and those blue eyes cloud over. I’ve hurt her again.

“And how would you hit on a woman?”

“I wouldn’t,” I quickly retort.

Mae watches me and I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. “Is that why you’re always telling me not to hit on you?” Her voice lowers, cautious and curious.