Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,22
down the sidewalk toward Custom Ankhs with my hands stuffed in the pockets of my leather jacket. It was just far enough away that I usually preferred to ride, but I needed some time to clear my head, and the brisk air was refreshing.
I was so fucking annoyed with myself. I couldn’t stop turning the conversation I’d had with Brennan over and over in my head. For a moment, kneeling over his fancy-as-fuck toolbox, I’d really thought he was going to kiss me. For the second time in a week. But he’d pulled away again.
I couldn’t keep up. It was like he wanted me, and then changed his mind. Or—
It was too nerve-wracking to think about the other option.
Why the fuck would someone like Brennan want someone like me? For more than just a quick and dirty fuck? That was all I’d been interested for years—no risk of anyone digging too deep that way, or getting sick of me. And now that most of the other guys in the club were coupled up, my role as the loose and fun party animal felt even more pronounced. I was only supposed to be interested in hookups. I’d thought that might be where Brennan and I were heading. Hell, as soon as I’d seen that big workbench, I’d imagined Brennan bending me over it. But instead he’d wanted to talk. Same way he’d wanted to talk in the clubhouse backyard.
Why did he have to want to talk? A hookup was simple. A hookup I didn’t have to figure out or explain. This—this was already getting complicated.
I didn’t get it. And I’d already been intimidated walking into his shop, spotlessly clean with all the fancy tools hanging from the walls. He clearly knew what he was doing—hell, he’d been doing it for eight years! And all I was qualified to use were the rinky-dink little hand tools that clearly hadn’t seen any action in years. I’d felt like such an idiot in that space. Moreso than usual. And then he’d sprung that conversation on me—asking me about what I wanted! I hardly knew what I wanted myself.
It’d been automatic for me to just—blow him off. And I’d done what I always did when I didn’t know what to say. I’d just made some quick snarky remark instead, and I knew my stupid slang had come out, too, with my nerves, making me sound even dumber. I hardly even remembered what I’d said. But I couldn’t forget how Brennan’s face had fallen, and then stiffened, as he’d shifted immediately back into work mode. As if the conversation hadn’t happened.
I could’ve brought it up again, but I didn’t know how. I should’ve, though. I should’ve just gotten over myself and said something.
God, I was such a coward. Brennan had given me two chances to say something real, and I’d been too afraid, both times. I should be grateful he was still willing to put up with my dumb ass long enough to carve this sign.
I shouldered open the door to Custom Ankhs. It was a quiet day in the shop. Maverick was in the back working on an engine with Nix’s help. Nix was on enforcement duty, but it was so slow it looked like he was using the opportunity to pick Mav’s brain. As I walked in, though, he glanced up and headed back toward the front.
My mood, already bad, soured further. What did he think I was going to do? I was a member of the club, same as him, and he didn’t need to flex his enforcement role in front of me.
Heath was working the front desk, as usual, and flashed me an unsure smile when I walked in.
I hated the way he looked at me when I walked in. Like he wasn’t sure if I was going to be nice, or snippy—like he was walking on eggshells. I couldn’t blame him, though. I’d lashed out at him a lot since he’d started prospecting with the club. It was just that every time I looked at him, the ever-present ache of grief sharpened to a pang. Heath even had the same color eyes as Parker. And they had the same sweet, quiet disposition.
Every time I saw Heath was reminded of my own loss. And it hurt, every time. But that wasn’t Heath’s fault. As far as he knew, I just didn’t like him. I hadn’t figured out a way to tell him the truth.
“Hi, Joker,” Heath said, a little tentatively. “Can I