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Itoss the pack of cigarettes in the trash before I walk into the breakfast joint to speak with Pasha. I need to quit these fucking things, or I need to quit Oakley. I can’t have both.
Pasha is already sipping on an iced tea at the table when I arrive, and I take a seat across from him, flagging down the waitress and ordering a tonic espresso before addressing Pasha.
“Well, I’m assuming because you’re sipping on that tea like we’re on a goddamn cruise that there isn’t any bad news,” I say.
He nods. “Things are fine for us, but I can’t say that for the Triple Six Angels.”
“Oh?”
He grins, as though he’s been waiting for just the right moment to drop this news. “I heard a couple of Stone’s boys got arrested the other night. They pulled over an undercover cop car without realizing it and they managed to snag a couple of them before the rest fled. I don’t believe they got Stone, though. That would’ve been more exciting.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, they’ve really overstepped their boundaries, and that’s karma coming back to bite them in their dirty asses. I’m guessing Stone will be keeping a lower profile from now on, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. I doubt he’s forgotten what I did to his brother.”
“No, you’re right about that. You need to be careful,” Pasha says, his expression dropping. “And the girl, how is she?”
I shrug. “She’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“What’s it to you?” I ask, raising my voice when I shouldn’t. I’m already regretting tossing those cigarettes. I swear I get so damn pissed off without them.
Pasha puts his hand over his heart. “I swear, I’m just checking up on you, boss. You’re the rope that ties us all together, and you’ve been spending an awfully lot of time with that girl. I just want to know that you’re alright.”
“She’s just a woman, Pasha. Don’t be so theatrical. She doesn’t have the power or the intent to bring down our Bratva Family, and I’d suggest you forget about her. I’m just fucking the bitch, not marrying her.”
He looks doubtful but doesn’t press me on it further.
In truth, I’m not sure whether my involvement with Oakley is turning out to be a mistake. She’s taking up so much of my mental energy that I’m starting to let myself slip. Even today, I slept over at the bar when I didn’t intend to. She might find it endearing, but for me, it’s a slippery slope to letting my guard down and giving myself an early funeral.
Theatrical or not, Pasha is right that I need to be aware of what I’m doing. Oakley will need a lot more attention from me if she becomes something more than a fun time and subsequently another jealous ex-girlfriend. I can handle a bitch throwing rocks at my Harley, but I don’t know what I’ll do if she starts professing her love to me.
Or if I say it first.
Fuck, I need something stronger than a tonic.
Pasha proceeds to dive into the details of our operations, elaborating on the money we’ve collected and the deals we’ve made with various club and bar owners. It all seems so boring to me when I have Oakley in my life.
Who cares about money when there’s a beautiful woman with perfect skin and hair like silk waiting for you to visit her again? I could go there tonight, and she’d welcome me with open arms, acting like nothing could ever be the matter and the worries I have exist only in my mind.
It's as precarious as it is reassuring.
I barely listen to Pasha as he drones on about numbers, people, and the one bottle girl he fucked one time in the VIP section of one of our clubs. The only thing I can hear is the sound of Oakley’s laughter as she climbs onto the back of my Harley and we ride down the open road.
I’d kill to start every day like we did this morning. Just sitting with a cup of coffee and talking about nothing sounds like the perfect life, and I could do that every day with Oakley. I could do anything as long as it was with her.
Pasha orders lobster but I decline to eat anything, instead leaving early and taking a ride down to the Vegas strip to look for a gift to buy for Oakley. I feel like she deserves a little thank you after putting up with me and the way I behave. I know it’s not easy.
I find a little stuffed bear that’s so soft that it feels like it’s made from the hair of some divine creature. The shop stitches Oakley’s name into the front, and they add a heart without asking me.
I’m almost hesitant to give it to her after that. Will she confuse this gift with a confession of love? It’s only supposed to be a cute little thing, a token of my appreciation.
I hold the bear in my hands for so long after I buy it that the fur gets sweaty. I just can’t stop looking at it. I’ve never bought anything like this before, and it feels weird to carry it around, but at the same time, I can’t imagine leaving it in the saddlebag on the side of my motorcycle.
I hold it in my hand for the entire drive home, placing it on the plush velvet chair that I usually sit and read in when I get home. I almost want to keep it, but I know Greg and Pasha would lose their minds if they saw it in my house.
Fuck, maybe I am crazy, but as long as I can blame it on Oakley, I think I’m allowed to be.
23
