Niner: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 11) Page 3

  Just treat him like you would treat your first customer ever. With a smile, some kind words, and an attempt to get to know him. Go back to the basics. Go back to the things that got you a thriving business in the first couple of months.

  So make it weirder with him? Do the things that wore off after those first couple of months? That’s your plan? Some plan, Carrie.

  I ignored the roaring thoughts in my head long enough to prepare the plate well enough for the man. I put it on a tray, sighed, and smiled as I walked out and brought it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I stood there for half a second, debating whether to ask—

  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  Well, that’s one way to do it. Just blurt out the question before you can consider if it’s smart or not. That’s not connecting so much as it is just being creepy.

  The man smiled.

  “I know you from somewhere,” he said, somewhat cagily. “But do you know me? Do you remember me?”

  “I…you do look familiar, but I can’t place you. I don’t mean to be weird about this, I’m sorry. I’ll let you eat in peace, you just looked—”

  “No, no, please…if you can, sit down.”

  He extended his hand as I pulled my chair back.

  “Lane Bentley. My friends call me Niner, but you can just call me Lane.”

  His hand felt warm—very warm, actually, almost like he’d been working on a hot surface all day.

  “Carrie Griffith,” I said.

  His eyes seemed to flicker at that. But unfortunately, I couldn’t say that I had the same reaction to the name Lane Bentley. I struggled to think if I knew any Bentleys from New York or Georgia, but nothing came to mind.

  “So you said you know me from somewhere,” I said. “Where do you know me from?”

  “It’s a long story,” he said.

  I waited for him to tell the story anyway. But no, he didn’t. He seemed to enjoy being a little coy with me right now. That was…fine? It was kind of fun, actually.

  “But tell me, Carrie, what brings you to New York? What’s the story of this place?”

  “Oh, Lord,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Well, I grew up in Georgia, but I wanted something bigger. At the same time, I wanted to bring some of the Southern charm to a big city. I couldn’t afford Manhattan, but Brooklyn was a much stronger possibility. So I moved here, took out a ton in loans, and opened a BBQ store. And that’s what you see now.”

  “SoCo,” he said with a short smile. “I know. I grew up in Georgia too.”

  So that must be where I know you from.

  Unless this is somehow a wild coincidence and I know you from somewhere else instead. Well, now I’m just running in circles in my head here.

  “Yeah, unfortunately though, things aren’t…well, you know what, they’re acceptable,” I said, not wanting to sound so negative to someone who already knew me from the past.

  “I don’t think any restaurant owner wants to be told that where they are in the business is acceptable,” Lane said.

  Yeah, true. I tried to laugh it off, but Lane saw right through it.

  “I’m surprised to hear that the place is struggling,” he said. “I’ve never met a lady from the South that didn’t know how to cook. And you have the charm and politeness to attract a crowd.”

  I blushed as I pushed a strand of hair behind me. I wasn’t sure if I could necessarily call what he had said flirting, at least in so much as that it wasn’t directed at me personally. But I could say that it made me feel good and that I was starting to like Lane.

  For one, he didn’t seem hell-bent on being loud and in my face. He hadn’t raised his voice at all during conversation, and his tone hadn’t become snarky or rude like I had felt many New Yorkers had. He had seemed very calm and at ease with me.

  Second, I still remembered how he had treated me at the party last Friday, and though maybe I was giving him more bonus points than he deserved for how everyone else had acted at that party, I still gave him those points.

  I didn’t know anything about Lane, but I knew enough to know that he was much more my type than anyone else at the party. Or almost anyone else in Brooklyn and New York City, for that matter.

  “Turns out that a bunch of hipsters and Yankees don’t understand the appeal of a good vinegar sauce,” I said with a wistful smile. “They don’t see why they should put such things on their meat.”

  “They’re just crazy,” Lane said as he dug into his mac n’ cheese. “And this, this is incredible. I mean, seriously, do you not have more business?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have stayed in the back, stressed to my eyeballs and wondering if we’d fold in a few weeks.”

  What the hell are you doing, Carrie? Revealing all of this to a stranger? Even if you know him, he’s still something of a stranger. You don’t even say this to your employees…

  “That bad, huh?” Lane said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have revealed that to you.”

  But Lane seemed unphased about it.

  “I used to be a cop, you know. I’m used to people telling me things that they feel like I shouldn’t know. But anyway. Do you remember now how you know me?”

  I strained to remember. It was almost certain that we knew each other from Georgia. I ran through all of the people I knew in high school and college, trying to remember any Lanes. There was one guy at UGA, but he had curly hair and had a much more extroverted personality. This Lane kept his head shaved and had as much of an introverted personality as I did.

  Maybe in middle school? Maybe even in elementary school?

  But they all eluded me. Nothing came to mind.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I feel like I should, but—”

  “It’s OK,” Lane said. “I was probably barely a blip in your life, but you made a major difference in mine.”

  I used the silence to consider the possibilities of what Lane could mean, but I only went in circles in my head as I tried to make sense of it all.

  “But that’s a conversation for another day,” Lane said as he finished off the last of his Brussel sprouts. “You’re not planning on closing up shop over the weekend, are you?”

  “Oh, no, not yet, but things have to change dramatically,” I said. “I just don’t see us staying open through the end of the month.”

  “We’ll see,” Lane said, finally giving more than a faint smile for the entirety of the dinner conversation. “Is there anything I can do to help support the store?”

  “Bring in more customers,” I said glibly. “I don’t know what else you can do. We’re not a charity that you can donate money to, so…”

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he rose. “I know people who would be happy to help.”

  He dumped his plate into the trash can, leaving his tray in the designated spot.

  “Carrie, thank you for your hospitality,” he said.

  “Wait,” I said before he exited. “You said I made a big difference in your life and that that was a conversation for another day. Can’t you tell me anything? Can’t you give me a hint?”

  Niner smirked.

  “Like I said,” he said, “that’s for another day, Carrie.”

  With that, he opened the door and left, the last bell ring I was likely to hear all day. I was left feeling a little warm and fuzzy from how he said my name, a little excited at the mystery, and very confused as to how this was all coming together.

  But for now, I had a shop to close.

  I normally would have had an employee to help me, but I’d already had to cut back on hours to keep the shop afloat over the past couple of months. I made sure to lock the front door and turn off most of the lights while I went to clearing out the cash register, cleaning the tables, and taking care of my last few administrative tasks.

  Even with Lane’s kind words, the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t help but see our closure as inevitable. The restaurant had a few reg
ulars and super fans that came by every day, but that wasn’t going to last forever. And even if it did, the dozen or so people that came to this store regularly weren’t going to keep us afloat. The expenses were too high, the margins too thin, and the stress too great for me to keep going.

  But at least I could say that when I left the shop and headed home, for the first time in weeks, I felt something resembling a good feeling as I got on the subway.

  * * *

  Such good feelings barely made it through the night. I woke up at nine to a text from Caroline, advising me that she was sick and so was the girl who was supposed to open the store at ten-thirty. One other person would come in at eleven-thirty to help with the lunch rush, but I now had to come in on my off day. It wasn’t the first time, but I felt a little resentful that Caroline would have partied through the weekend and the week, making her too sick to come in.

  Still, I had no other choice. I hurried over to the store, got things set up, and went through that first hour with only a few customers. I never fell far behind. My lunch-time employee, Sam, showed up, much to my enormous relief. Even though Sam was dependable, I’d learned never to assume that employees were going to show up. Restaurant workers were not exactly the greatest at showing up every day.

  Everything seemed fine.

  And then noon hit.

  “Hey, Carrie?” Sam said.

  I saw what he was referencing. An enormous group of men were coming, and they were all big and beefy. They were the target audience I had in mind when I opened this restaurant, but I had never imagined that it would lead to this.

  And with them was Niner.

  I hurried, along with Sam, to prepare their food. They all ordered at least a pound of meat and several large sides to split amongst themselves. It was the busiest we had been for lunch in some time, and though we went a little slowly, I knew if we had our other employee, we would have been fine.

  And that was something that I hadn’t been able to say for some time.

  I watched with something resembling awe as the men tore through their food with ease. We had made a couple hundred dollars off of just this lunch rush, which, while not necessarily enough to push us to profitability for the day, would make the evening less stressful. If this happened every day…

  It won’t. Just appreciate it.

  But there is one thing you can do.

  As the men stood, Niner seemed to make a point of staying behind, even going so far as to tell the men that he would catch up with them in a bit. I took the cue and sat across from him when I had the chance. He raised his eyebrows and somewhat smiled at me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It’s easy when they’re as hungry as they are for lots of food,” he said. “Not really into exotic eating. Just give them something fatty and tasty and they’re good.”

  I smiled and then got right to the point.

  “You said that you would tell me how you knew me another day,” I said. “Well, it’s another day. Are you going to tell me now how we know each other?”

  Lane nodded, strummed his fingers on the table, and then put them back.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 3: Niner

  No one knew the story I was about to tell.

  Even my parents, whom I was pretty close with, didn’t know this story. No one knew this story in the club, and it was not going to change. The only person I felt comfortable sharing it with was Carrie, and that was only because she was part of the story.

  “As a kid,” I began, “I used to get picked on relentlessly for my weight. I’d get grief for being fat, called the Pillsbury Doughboy, called Donut Man, you know how it goes. It went beyond just good-natured joshing with friends. It was the kind of thing that bullies said to break me down and make me cry. And sometimes, they succeeded.

  “I’d go home and cry. My parents would ask what was wrong. I’d tell them anything except the truth. I’d say something like I failed a test or a girl rejected me or something. But never the truth. The truth was too painful, and my parents cared about me so much that I didn’t want them to feel like they had failed. I tried to get stronger and fight back, but you know elementary school kids don’t know anything.

  “For a good couple of years, this went on. I never imagined that I’d get fit.”

  “Well, you sure are now,” Carrie interjected.

  I generally didn’t know how to take compliments well, and this was no different. Actually, it was worse. I was already feeling naked telling this story, and having Carrie say something sweet only reminded me of how vulnerable I was being. I just ignored it and brushed right past what she had said.

  “One day, the bullies were especially cruel. They were trying to stuff food into my face, calling me Miss Piggy and all sorts of terrible shit. They pinched my belly and played with it, talking about how gross it was to be so fat. I nearly started crying until someone said, ‘That’s enough.’”

  I could see the recognition on her face before I even finished talking. It finally clicked for Carrie, both in memory and why she had only vaguely recognized me. For me, that moment was life-altering. For her, I suspected it was just another day in school.

  “It helped that you were older than me,” I said. “Two years ahead of me in school, I believe. And to a third-grader, having a fifth-grader step in and tell them that they needed to stop was some scary shit. They ran off. You asked if I was OK, and I said yeah. You offered to help me if they ever came back, but they never did. And even if they had, I didn’t want to go back to you for help.

  “Because you inspired me at that moment. You showed me that there were people willing to stand up to the cruel ones, to the assholes of the world. I wanted to be like that, even if I didn’t have the strength and courage to do that. So because of your influence, I became a cop. Well, for a while, at least.”

  I coughed and spoke as quickly as I could, the better so that Carrie wouldn’t ask about my NYPD career.

  “The funny thing was, I don’t think we ever spoke again after that day, at least until you showed up at the party last Friday.”

  “So you knew it was me immediately?”

  I nodded.

  “Even if you and I had not crossed paths last week and even if we never did, I would never forget Carrie Griffith. You are, in many ways, responsible for where I am in life today”

  “Wow.”

  I nodded. Wow, indeed. Wow at the fact that Carrie was now back in my life. Wow that a pudgy kid who suffered extreme bullying from about first grade to third grade could have his life changed by the single act of a fifth-grader.

  Wow that she was now here before me.

  And damn…she looked really beautiful.

  My third-grade self had thought she was cute, but I obviously knew nothing about romance and courtship. But now, sitting before the girl who had made all the difference in my life, I knew everything about how I felt about her and nothing about how I would romance or court her.

  But I knew right then, looking into her dark brown eyes, that I would court her. I just had to figure out how, especially considering all of the baggage I carried around.

  “So, thank you,” I said, starting to stand up.

  I needed to take things slow. I didn’t want to scare her off by unloading everything at once.

  “I’ll see you around, I’m sure,” I said. “We can talk more then—”

  “Wait,” she said. “What do you do now for your day job?”

  I smirked. I was going to answer, but I wasn’t going to explain.

  “I’m a car mechanic and a motorcycle enthusiast,” I said.

  Again, though, Carrie stopped me before I could leave the restaurant.

  “And at night?” she said. “I saw you at the party last Friday. The one at the repair shop. The underground party or whatever. But you didn’t seem like you were enjoying yourself. What was that party all about?”

  Oh, there were so many ways to answer that question. A discussion of the Savage Saints. A me
ntion of how I hated parties.

  But it was far too soon to mention any of that to Carrie.

  “It was a party, yes,” I said.

  “But for whom?”

  Really not going to let it go, huh?

  “A party thrown by a group of people who protect Brooklyn,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Carrie.”

  I wasn’t mad at her. I would have been asking all the questions in her spot too. But I had to put it to the side.

  Well, for at least the afternoon.

  * * *

  When the evening came, I again swung by Southern Comfort, hoping to run into Carrie. But when I arrived, her friend, the girl that had danced the night away with Carrie, was in her place.

  “She’s gone for the weekend,” the girl, Caroline, said. “But she’ll be back on Monday.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I’d hoped to invite her to the party—as a means for us to then go our separate ways and not have to engage with the party—but I supposed I could survive one more weekend of bullshit.

  * * *

  As soon as Monday rolled around, I counted down the time until lunch rolled around. Carrie had had the chance to ask many questions about me, but now I wanted to turn the tables a bit. I wanted to learn more about her and why she had found herself in New York City.

  It also would allow me not to have to explain my past quite as much. Just because she was the only person I had felt comfortable revealing everything to didn’t mean that I suddenly felt good about it. If anything, I felt like I had dominated the conversation too much. I needed to give her a chance to speak about what she wanted as well.

  Fortunately, when I showed up at the tail end of the lunch rush hour, I got my chance. She was in the rear of the store when I requested her to come out, but when she did, she had a huge grin on. Even in her current outfit of a “Southern Comfort” t-shirt, jeans, and a visor with the SoCo logo on it, she still looked awfully attractive. Might even have to see her outside the restaurant soon.