Conley (Heartlands Motorcycle Club #8) - Frankie Love Page 0,3
but not having time to analyze them.
In the lobby, I pay for a room, and when the clerk sees Conley with us, she swallows, looking flustered.
“Make sure they have the room on the end, opposite the highway,” Conley says. When I look at him, wondering why, he shrugs. “Quieter, that’s all.”
The girl at the desk gives me a key and Conley carries our luggage for us. Well, luggage is a nice way of saying tote bags and reusable grocery sacks. Once we’ve dumped the bags on one of the beds, River is out the door, ready to eat. “I’ll get us a table,” he shouts, crossing the street toward the diner before I’ve even locked the door to the room.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I tell Conley he doesn’t have to eat with us.
“What if I want to?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows. We stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. River is already inside the diner. I look up at Conley, his height overshadowing me. But not in a scary way — in a protective way. I have this insane desire to step closer, and he must sense it because he steps toward me.
But then the light flashes, taking the moment from me, and it’s time to cross the street. I start to move, stepping into the road.
A car speeds past me within an inch of my life, and I gasp as Conley instinctively grabs my hand, pulling me back. Into his arms. I pant, shocked. Looking up into his eyes, I see his expression is written with fear too.
“Fuck,” he growls, grabbing his phone and snapping a photo of the license plate as the car drives away. “You okay, Cali?”
Cali.
No one besides my mother, rest her soul, called me Cali.
“I’m okay,” I manage to say. My heart is racing, though, and I am very aware of the fact Conley’s hand is wrapped around my own. I can’t remember the last time a man held my hand like this. As if I was a precious thing, as if letting go would break something inside him.
Swallowing, I know the truth is I have never had my hand held like this. Not once. I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman who has never been truly cared for.
But God, how I long for it.
We missed the light, and we stand in silence, hands held, waiting for it to turn once more. We don’t look at one another. I look up, into the night sky. Making a wish like I am a little girl. Not a single mom with so much on her shoulders.
I wish for just one night to feel alive.
The light blinks, we cross this time, and when we safely reach the other side of the road, I pull my hand back. Not wanting to confuse River more than he already is.
Inside the diner, we all order burgers, fries, and shakes. Conley asks River what grade he is in.
“Just finished eighth grade,” he says. “But I take my classes online. Don’t really like school all that much.”
Conley nods, dipping a fry in ketchup as if having dinner with us is the most natural thing in the world. Meanwhile, I keep thinking about the way it felt when he held my hand. Like anything was possible.
“So what do you like?” Conley asks him.
“I like dogs. But Mom says I can’t have one.”
I press my lips together. “I want you to have a dog too, River. But the apartment had a rule. Maybe the next place we live will have a different policy.”
“What kind of dog would you like?” Conley asks. “I had a lab growing up.”
“I don’t care,” River says, picking up his burger. “It doesn’t even have to be a puppy.”
Conley and I look at one another, and something passes between us. I have a feeling he is a parent himself.
“So what do you do while River is looking at cute dog memes and pretending to do school work?” Conley asks me with a grin.
Why is he so easy to talk to? I have a feeling everyone in town knows him because the waitress tells him the food is on the house, per the manager’s request. The waitress seemed nervous to even speak as she asked for our orders.
“My last job was at a laundromat.” I lift my shoulders, then let them fall. “I know, I’m very glamorous.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Conley says.
“Don’t do what?” I ask, taking a sip of my strawberry shake.
“Honest work is good work.”
“Yeah,