Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

"I was doing a show at the coffeeshop. She was in the back, holding up the wall. I dunno. There was just something about her. I went over when I was done, and we became friends, and..."

"Whoa, pause. Rewind. What? Did you say 'friends?' Are you confusing that word with lovers? Ugly-bumping-partner? Beard-warmer?"

I snorted at that, knowing she was just trying to lighten my mood by being as ridiculous as she could. "No. She was just a friend."

"Was? Past tense?"

"Yeah, past tense."

"What happened? Also, why is this like pulling teeth? I could usually know freaking cup sizes by now. Without having even to ask," she added with an eye roll.

"I read some explicit as fuck sex scene out loud in front of her."

"And..."

"And she looked at me," I paused, shrugging. "In a less-than-friendly manner. And I almost crossed the line."

"So, this line," she mused a second later. "Who drew it in the sand? You or her?"

"I did."

Her brows knitted at that, her lower lip slipping between her teeth, a habit she had when she was thinking.

"Okay. So... what the fuck?"

I laughed at that, looking over at her. "What do you mean 'what the fuck?'"

"Okay, first. Why did you draw that line? Why could she only be a friend to you?"

There was no way to answer except with the God's honest truth.

"She's too fucking good for me."

The silence after those words was almost deafening.

"Okay," she started a while later, moving in a little closer, and resting her head on my shoulder. "Now you listen to me," she said, voice firm, but there was almost an undercurrent of sadness there too. "No one, and I repeat no one is too good for you. Because you're the fucking best there is, Cy. Okay? I've come across a lot of men in my life. Granted, a lot of them are douchebags, fuckboys, and cockwaffles because of work, but there are others too. Good men. Men who don't do the kind of shit that makes someone ask for my particular services. I've known men who are skyscrapers above all other men. And you still top them, Cyrus. You are smart, and funny, and thoughtful, sweet, generous, and you have such a deep respect for women. On top of that, you have just... the biggest heart. So if you find someone who makes you feel like less..."

"She doesn't make me feel like less," I cut her off. "That's not what I meant. She's nothing like that."

Another pause.

"Good. I'm happy to hear that. Look," she went on, putting an arm around my side and stomach, giving me a one-arm hug. "If you find a woman in your life who is too good for you, lock her down, and then work every single day on becoming the kind of man who deserves her."

That, well, it might have been the most profound bit of advice I had ever gotten.

And it came from my little hardass sister, of all people, a woman who was seemingly allergic to relationships as a whole, not to mention love.

"It's too late."

My voice sounded pathetic to my own damn ears.

"Harden the fuck up," she said abruptly, back to being the same old Wasp she usually was. "That is not how a brother of mine talks. You shake that shit off, get up, and go get the girl if you want her."

"It's not that easy."

"For you?" she asked, looking close to laughter. "Since when?"

"After the book thing, after almost kissing her, but getting interrupted, I ran off." I looked over at her, finding her expectant. "And I didn't come back."

Her face hardened, jaw going tight, eyes getting small. "Let me guess. No call, no text, no email, no comment on her Facebook wall? Nothing? Complete and utter radio silence?"

My saliva tasted like battery acid as I swallowed. "Pretty much."

"Bad move, bro. Jesus," she said, jumping off the table, and looking off at the gate. "It's not like you to be that fucking clueless. How long?" she asked, turning back.

"A little over a month."

"A little over a month," she hissed.

"Oh, fuck. Did I awaken the scorned woman buried deep inside?"

"Oh please," she said with a smirk. "As if I would ever let a man in enough to scorn me. No. But you did awaken the 'all us women are in this together against the fuckfaces' that exists inside all women. That was such a dick move, Cy. You're going to have to work twice as hard as you have ever needed to before to get her even to speak to you again."

With that, she gave me a small punch on the shoulder, and headed back inside to torture all the other guys.

I stayed there for a long time, wondering what it even was like to have to work at it.

And forgiveness, for a normal woman who had been around this block a few times would be hard enough.