However, the bits and pieces of conversation she heard didn’t give her enough to go on. So, she said the only thing she could come up with. “I’m sorry about your father.”
He turned those stunning eyes—the bright blue orbs that created flutters in her belly and lower—toward her. “Don’t be.”
“You’re not upset about him being sick?”
“Don’t give a fuck about him bein’ sick,” he answered.
“When I came outside you looked… upset.”
“Nothin’ to do with him havin’ cancer.”
Cancer?
She wanted to keep probing but whenever she bugged the guys, they usually shut her down or shut her out. They all had their secrets, every last one of them, and usually didn’t share. If they did, she imagined it was with each other and not with anyone else. Or for some of them, maybe they shared with their ol’ ladies. Something she wasn’t.
But she knew they didn’t sit around simply talking about shit. Not like the Fury sisterhood did. In fact, when one of the guys saw the ladies gathered—especially when they were drinking—they usually got the hell out of there as fast as possible so they wouldn’t get sucked into whatever the women were up to.
She imagined them screaming, “Gird your loins!” in warning as they ran away.
The longer she sat there without him saying anything else, the more she realized Rev probably wanted to be left alone with whatever was going on in his head. But usually none of them had any difficulty telling her to go away. She’d been told plenty of times to “fuck off” or “get fuckin’ lost.” None of that offended her since it didn’t take long after coming to Manning Grove, and becoming a part of the club, to figure out that was just the way the guys were.
They not only hid their secrets, but their feelings, too.
If she wanted to have a long and somewhat meaningful conversation with someone of the male variety, she did it with her hairdresser Teddy from Manes on Main. That man could talk.
He could also listen. And he certainly could give some great advice. Especially on how to use makeup to minimize the visibility of her scar.
Men bent the ears of their bartenders. Women chatted with their hairdressers. It was the way of the world. At least in a normal world.
The MC world was definitely not normal. Not even close.
“I’ll leave you alone.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
As soon as she got to her feet, he snagged her wrist and yanked her back down. Maybe he needed some company but didn’t want to ask for it. “You know Dutch is going to have a fit. We’ve been outside for too long.”
“He can wait.”
Yes, he could. Whatever was going on with Rev was more important. Not that Dutch would know. Or care.
But Dutch’s blow-ups tended to peter out pretty quickly and if they didn’t, Reilly only had to teasingly tug on the man’s salt-and-pepper beard and blow him a noisy kiss. That usually disrupted the gruff biker’s rampage and also got her a silent thanks from the four mechanics who were usually Dutch’s targets. Not only with words but sometimes flying wrenches.
She’d also stepped in plenty of times in the past year to prevent Rook and Dutch from coming to blows. She couldn’t imagine how many fights the father and son got into before she rolled into town.
Okay, maybe she didn’t quite roll into town. In actuality, she’d been driven by Judge to the farm from her sister’s house so she could hide out and be safe from her psycho ex-boyfriend. Then after she torched the asshole to death, she decided to stick around.
Any reasonable woman would want to stay when surrounded by a bunch of hot, growly, alpha bikers. The Fury was a single woman’s wet dream.
Though, the truth was, she had nothing and nowhere else. Except for her sister Reese, who was now a part of the club, anyway.
So really, Reilly belonged here. In this town, a part of the Fury family and, even better, the Fury sisterhood, even if she wasn’t an ol’ lady. And might never be.
She just didn’t belong being a secretary in an auto repair shop.
Her sister was right. She had a business degree she was wasting, one Reese helped pay for. She needed to think seriously about doing something with it. To have a clear direction instead of simply floating along.
She had only stayed working for Dutch because it kept her busy, had put enough money in her pocket to rent a tiny studio apartment within walking distance of the garage, allowed her to score a reliable used car and gave her enough “scratch” to buy some really sexy boots.
Admittedly, she had a thing for boots. Ankle, shin, knee or even thigh-high. She loved them all.
But now? Now, she needed to get serious about her future.