Coach, page 3
“It’s short for riff-raff.”
“As in… who let the riff-raff in?”
“Exactly.”
“So, is there a riff?”
“My brother.”
“That makes sense. Are they your real names?”
“Road names.”
“I… have no idea what that means.”
“We’re a club,” Raff said, gesturing between himself and Coach. “Motorcycle,” he added when I clearly still didn’t understand.
“Oh, okay.”
Now that he mentioned it, Raff was wearing one of those vests I always saw bikers wearing. Though Coach didn’t have one on. Maybe he was new or something.
“Do you have a name, sweetness?”
Only stupidly handsome guys blessed with more than their fair share of charm and ego could get away with calling women they didn’t even know cutesy nicknames without coming off as creepy.
“Este.”
“Este. I like that,” Raff declared. “So, do you bring a ladder to all your social functions, or do you work here?”
Charmed a little despite myself, my lips curved up.
“I work here.”
“Girl repairman. I like it. Please tell me you sometimes wear a tool belt.”
“If the job requires it.”
Raff pressed a hand to his heart.
“You’re new in town, right? I’m pretty sure we would have noticed you before.”
“Just a couple of weeks. I was just supposed to be passing through, but something made me want to stop.”
“It has a sort of desolate, sad, small-town charm.”
He said that in a way that suggested he’d traveled enough to see many such towns.
“Well, we are having a party later tonight if you want to come. Good food, fruity drinks, a Jello shot or two. You should come by. We’re up at that big warehouse at the edge of town.”
I knew the exact one they were talking about. In a very small town full of modestly sized buildings, it and the prison stood out like sore thumbs.
“You’re having a party at a warehouse?”
“Sort of. It’s where we live.”
That made more sense. I remembered it having several tables and such out back—along with a chicken coop.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. It was a brush-off, of course. Because what woman in her right mind went to a party with random, strange members of a motorcycle club?
“There will be lots of other girls there,” Raff went on, as if sensing my trepidation. “Just something to keep in mind. Well, we won’t keep you from work, pretty Este. Maybe we will see you later.”
As intrigued as I was to see what the inside of that warehouse might look like, and to get close enough to feel Coach’s body heat again, that was absolutely not going to happen.
I, of all people, knew too well how important it was to be careful, to never take any chances. Going to a party with men I didn’t know? It didn’t get more dangerous than that.
Still, as I stored away the ladder and headed back out the doors of the pool hall, there was a little sinking sensation in my stomach.
For not getting to spend more time with Coach, sure. But it was more than that. It was because of how narrow my life had become.
Once upon a time, I’d been the fresh-faced girl with nothing to be afraid of. The one who made friends easily and frequently, who didn’t believe in strangers, who took chances and lived fully.
But all that had slowly been chipped away from me, leaving me all alone in the world with nothing but my hobbies and my dog.
“Not that you’re not enough,” I told Trix, as if she could hear my thoughts.
At the end of her lead, she turned back to look at me in a very ‘Why are you bothering me when I’m trying to sniff every inch of this town,’ kind of way.
I’d gone home to change after work, slipping into shorts and a tee, knowing that Trix liked an impossibly long walk and that it was still pretty hot out.
Getting Trix partially filled the hole created by being forced to leave not only my friends behind me but any hope of making solid future ones as well. Because I never knew when I was going to need to pack up, take off, start over, and never look back.
Trix pulled me all the way to the edge of town right before the road split to head up toward the motel, gas station, and eventually, the prison, or to go toward the suburbs where you would have to pass by the warehouse.
The place was all lit up—three floors of brightness. And even from far away, I swore I could hear the thumping bass of the music.
No, I couldn’t make forever friends.
But who was to say I couldn’t have one night of being social? Of pretending I was just a normal woman with a normal life who could have normal experiences?
“You ready to head back?” I asked Trix. I got a sniff, but she turned and walked all the way back to our duplex at half the speed she had left it. Once I was sure she had everything she needed for the night, I went ahead and did something reckless.
I showered.
I threw on something pretty.
I grabbed my keys.
Then I left the house—and my fifty unfinished projects within—behind to get in my car and take a drive. Just a drive. I could opt out at any moment.
Until, of course, I found myself parked in the lot of the warehouse among a bunch of motorcycles and cars. Judging by the various items nestled in some—claw clips on the visor, hair ties on the shifter, big patterned stainless steel cups in the holders—I figured Raff was right about there being a lot of women around.
Feeling slightly more comfortable with that, I grabbed my purse. Reaching into the glovebox, I grabbed my mace, an eye gouger, and a little pocketknife. Comforted, yes. But not naive. Bad things happened to women when there were other women around all the time. And I knew better than anyone how scary even seemingly good men could be.
I climbed out of the car, still trying to decide if I was going inside. When, suddenly, a flashlight shot up from somewhere in the back and landed on me.
Panic surged, adrenaline flooding my veins, my heartbeat tripping faster and faster as the light approached and footsteps crunched, but I couldn’t make out the shadow approaching me.
A floodlight flicked on, bathing the whole parking lot in light and illuminating the man who’d been approaching me.
Coach.
“Este.”
God, the way his voice curved around my name made all that adrenaline morph into desire.
Then, when I just stood there dumbly, too overwhelmed with sensation to form a single rational thought, he went on.
“You came.”
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“Hm?”
“With the flashlight.”
“Oh. I was checking on the chicken coop. I’ve seen some silver foxes around here lately. I wanted to make sure they were locked up tight.”
“In the middle of a party?”
“I like to take a break now and again. Clear my head. Get some air. You still deciding if you’re coming in?” he asked.
Not anymore.
“I heard there was going to be good food.”
“The best. Let’s go get you a plate. Oh, and if you see a gray cat with blue eyes, do yourself a favor and don’t get too close to him.”
“Unfriendly?”
“Only toward women.”
“Huh. I have a dog that is unfriendly only to men.”
“Which is why you got her in the first place,” Coach said, holding the front door open for me, the music and laughter spilling out.
“It is,” I agreed.
“Can’t be too careful.”
My purse was heavy with the proof of those words.
“Exactly.”
Though as I followed Coach into the clubhouse, I got the feeling I was in very unsafe territory.
But it wasn’t exactly my body that needed protection.
CHAPTER FOUR
Este
I had no idea what I’d conjured up in my mind about what a biker club might look like.
I imagined some of the things before me were there: the pool table, darts, foosball, air hockey, stereo system, the beer pong table, the bar, and a massive TV.
Other than that, though, the place was a lot cozier and better decorated than I’d pictured.
It still had that industrial feel to it, thanks to the many windows, the high ceilings, brick walls, and the exposed ceiling beams (original rust included). But the floors were refinished. The sectional was oversized and plush. There was a giant dining table and just beyond that, a gorgeous kitchen meant for some award-winning chef.
There were touches around—a throw pillow here, a curtain there—that made me think there were women around this club who did more than party with the bikers.
“Wow,” I said, nodding.
I don’t know how he heard me over the music, but Coach turned back, giving me a soft smile.
“Not what you were expecting?”
“Well, parts of it.” I waved toward the game stations, the bar, the woman who currently had her top off, leaving her in a hot pink push-up bra.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Maybe after I have something to eat,” I said as another girl whipped off her jean shorts.
I suddenly felt way overdressed in my simple white sundress. What can I say? It had been a long time since I’d attended any sort of party. I should have assumed a biker club party would likely require the same outfit as a college kegger.
“Alright. I know I’ve only been in town a few weeks, but I’m relatively sure there’s nowhere around here to get a spread like this.”
The kitchen island was covered in a surprising array of dishes from boneless wings and loaded potato skins to thickly sliced steak and sheet pan roasted vegetables.
“I’ll never knock the local food, but this is all cooked by Detroit. He’s one of our club brothers.”
“Does he freelance? Perhaps to create weekly meal prep for a single woman who is usually so elbow-deep in paint and sawdust that she forgets to eat?”
“Fixing up your place?” Coach asked, passing me a plate.
The guys had clearly attacked the appetizers and steak with relish, but I had my eyes on the roasted veggies and the incredible-looking garden salad.
“The house was a complete disaster,” I admitted. “Which was why I got it so cheap in the first place. I mean, on move-in day, my foot went clear through the rotted wood of the front porch. I got to meet Dr. Price as I went in for a fresh tetanus shot.”
“I can fix the front porch if you need it.”
“That’s really sweet,” I said, giving him a warm smile. “But I fixed it.”
“I guess you must know your way around a toolbox if you got a maintenance job with the Novikoff brothers.”
“I was raised by my grandpa,” I told him, glad for an excuse to talk about that saint of a man. “He was one of those Jack-of-all-trades kind of men like you often found in that generation. He could fix anything. If he couldn’t, he would spend weeks learning until he could. And because he had no idea what to do with a little girl, he just dragged me along with him. I think I was five when I helped use a table saw for the first time.” I paused, shooting Coach a wince. “Sorry, that was a bit much, huh?”
“Not at all. You really love him.”
“Yes. He passed during my first year in college. I miss him every day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. He was the best kind of man.”
“Can I ask what happened to your parents?”
“My mom died shortly after I was born—complications that my grandfather never wanted to tell me about. I guess he didn’t want me to feel guilty. And my father, his son, passed in a freak accident at a construction site. It was just me and my grandpa all my life.”
And since then, I had no one.
“Do you have family?”
“I have this family,” Coach said, waving out toward the club. “But I also have a big extended family. Just not in the area. Where were you heading when you passed through this little town and decided to make it home?”
Home.
What a foreign concept.
I hadn’t felt like I’d had a home since I left my grandfather’s house to pursue my dreams.
“I honestly didn’t have a place in mind. I think… I think I was looking for the right place. Even though I had no idea what I was really even looking for.”
On the road, I’d been constantly ping-ponging between deciding to live in a small town where I could easily scan for threats, or in a big city where I could hopefully just disappear.
“Can’t get over you deciding a half-dead prison town was what felt right.”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t even pinpoint what about it felt right. And I got really lucky to even find work in a place this small. Especially with an employer as generous as Konstantin.”
Something crossed Coach’s face then that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it looked almost guarded.
“They definitely have the money to pay their employees.”
That was a very diplomatic answer.
“It’s nice to get paid to do things I enjoy. I mean, I’m also doing cleaning. No one really loves scrubbing a toilet. And I’m more than mildly grossed out that I have to fill the women’s soap every shift, if not twice, but I’ve yet to fill the men’s soap, but at least I get to do little repairs in between less glamorous tasks.”
“I promise I wash my hands.”
“Thank goodness. So, is this all you guys do around here? Party?” I clarified.
“I won’t lie; there’s a lot of partying going on here. Those of us who are single like to have a good time. But it’s pretty calm during the day. Everyone kind of does their own thing.”
“What’s your thing?”
“A little bit of everything. I like to read, do yoga, meditate, and do woodworking projects.”
“Really?” My interest was piqued.
“Not so much repair or renovation, like you seem to enjoy. I like to build things. An end table here, a desk there. Whenever we get a new club member, I try to make something for their room.”
“Wait. So you all live here?”
“We all live here for a time. Usually, when we settle down and start thinking of kids, we move on to houses in the suburbs. But while we’re single, yeah, we all have rooms upstairs.”
“I can’t decide if that is really great—being able to have friends so close all the time—or overwhelming.”
“It can be both.”
“Hence the yoga and meditation.”
“Something like that,” he agreed.
“So, did you make anything down here?” I asked, forking the last of the veggies. I cast a sad look over at the sheet pan that no one else had touched.
Coach scanned the room. “I made the cat tower over there.”
I followed his gaze, finding a floor-to-ceiling cat tower made to look like an actual tree and crafted from some sort of gorgeous striped wood.
The cat Coach had warned me about was sprawled out on top, staring daggers down at the woman who was standing a little too close for his comfort.
“Wow. That’s beautiful. It looks like an art installation, not a cat tree.”
“That was the goal.”
“You should sell these! I mean, maybe you don’t need the money. But just because other people would love to have this in their houses. I think as pet owners, we all want to give our babies everything they could want, but some pet stuff is so ugly.”
“A woman in town is having me build her a tree stand for her thirty-year-old cockatoo for exactly that reason.”
“Can I see it?” I asked.
“Sure,” he agreed. “It’s upstairs.”
“Okay.”
Was I maybe a little too eager to spend time with a strange man away from the crowd? Sure. But it was so rare I came across people who had similar interests to mine. I mean, the last couple of men I’d dated were more in a relationship with their gaming consoles (and the guys they played with) than me.
“Oh wow. You kept so many of the original features,” I said when Coach reached down to pull up the gate for the freight elevator.
“It had good bones. It has a modern feel but with vintage bones.”
“Nothing breaks my heart more than when someone takes a classic model house and guts it to be a modern monstrosity, not even leaving a bit of the original charm.”
“And, like, I get it. Everyone wants to make their house their own. But why not buy a modern build and leave the pretty old houses for people who will appreciate them? I’m so happy I snagged an old house, even if it has a lot of quirks I need to work through. I think the fireplace has fifteen coats of different shades of paint on it, but I’m determined to get back down to the wood and stain it.”
Okay.
That was another ramble.
I couldn’t seem to help it.
I couldn’t even be annoyed with myself about it. It had been so long since I had more than a passing few words with someone. I was craving connection more than I’d even realized.
“How is it that this floor seems even bigger?” I asked as we stepped out into a long hall full of doors on both sides.
“Bathrooms are on this side,” Coach said, waving. “Bedrooms here. Ten in all on this floor.”
“They must be enormous.”
I was only a little jealous.
Thanks to the duplex nature of my place, everything was kind of long and narrow, so even though I barely had any furniture so far, it felt a little tight.
That said, I was so grateful even to have a place of my own after so long that I felt like an ass even thinking that.
“They are,” Coach told me, leading me down to the second-to-last room. “This one is currently empty. So I’ve been using it as a workshop. Gotta talk Slash into letting me put up a detached garage shop.”
“Slash.”
“The president.” At my blank look, he added, “He’s the head of the club.”
Coach pushed open the door, and I was immediately hit with that weirdly appealing scent of pine, maple, and oak.
Sawdust was scattered across the floor, likely knocked off the tables where the saws were set up.
