Yeah. Player already got that part. He knew he’d screwed up royally. The rest of the club didn’t want to get it. They were hoping it would be easy for him, but he knew better. The moment he remembered the look on her face when he handed her the money, he knew he was in trouble. It hadn’t registered that morning, but it was in his memory bank. He had that image etched into his brain. He’d hurt her. Crushed her. Shattered her.
“So, she meets our brother and falls for him like a ton of bricks. He gets all down and dirty with her and she’s thinking one thing and he’s thinking something altogether different,” Maestro said. “Or thinking with something altogether different.”
Player sighed. He hadn’t been thinking at all. His brain had short-circuited. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, just because it was expected. “I was half out of it.”
“Maybe,” Keys said, “but your dick was working fine.”
Another round of laughter went up at his expense. He couldn’t deny what they were saying. His dick had worked. All on its own. Just thinking about her made him ache. Unfortunately, Lana was right. He was going to apologize, because he owed Zyah an apology, and maybe the universe was going to be benevolent to him and give him a pass, but he doubted it. He wasn’t going to be that lucky. Not that she wouldn’t be gracious. She’d be kind and give him some bullshit saccharine-sweet lie about how she hadn’t given it a thought and not to worry. And she’d dismiss him.
“You sure you don’t want me to fuck up Mr. Charm for you?” Savage asked.
Player stared out the window at the man who was just now straightening up, his eyes still glued to Zyah. This time it was very clear he was staring at her tits. What an asshole. He was out for pussy. Hopefully, she was good enough to read that shit and not be dazzled by his appearance. He stank of money. His jeans were designer all the way.
“How much do you think he paid for those jeans?” Player asked.
“Five hundred, easy,” Lana said. “Shirt is about three. That sweater? Close to a thousand. The boots? At least a thousand. He would be turning up his nose at your boots, Savage.”
Savage looked down at his well-worn motorcycle boots. “What the hell’s wrong with my boots, Lana?”
“I think you’ve worn through the soles.”
“I have not. I’m not falling for that. You’re tryin’ to make me look.”
Another round of laughter went up. Lana grinned at him and nudged Player with her hip. “Just so you know, there is an alternative to Hannah Drake. I heard a rumor that the Red Hat ladies in Sea Haven . . . well . . . I think that encompasses Caspar as well. I think a group of the Red Hat ladies sometimes help men get their women back when they’ve screwed up. Or if they want to plan a real romantic date. Something like that. Inez told me about it. You know how she chatters. She’s part of it. She was very enthusiastic. She said some men just aren’t good at planning and they throw out ideas for them. Brainstorming, she called it. I thought it sounded kind of nice.”
“Who in the hell are the Red Hat ladies?” Player demanded.
“I think it’s officially called the Red Hat Society, but don’t quote me,” Lana said. “When you hit a certain age, you qualify to join. Women, I think. They get together and do whatever they want. Wear what they want, get crazy together. Just enjoy life. But the point is, they know stuff. Like Blythe does. They’ve lived and learned. We don’t know shit, Player. That’s the one thing we can all agree on. We don’t have the least idea of what it is we’re doing, especially when it comes to relationships. I’m just saying, if Zyah spits in your face like she should, maybe you can ask them for help.” She shrugged. “Or not. It’s up to you. On the other hand, when you go in and talk to her, maybe you’ll decide she wasn’t all you thought she was.”
Zyah shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other on the tiled floor behind the counter, wishing she didn’t have such a bad habit of removing her shoes whenever she wanted information on someone. Unexpected gifts from the universe could be curses as well. She had been so certain she had found the man she fit with. Everything in her responded to him. Her body tuned to his. When she danced, the vibrations of the earth seemed to mold them into one, so they felt as if they shared the same skin.
Player had felt so fractured to her when he first entered the room. His color was nearly gray. Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His pulse was all over the place. She could tell his head was really hurting him. When her heart went crazy, tuning itself to his, attempting to slow his to normal, she was shocked at how strong her reaction was to him. She had to help him. She had no choice. Every single cell in her body reached for his. She’d been absolutely 100 percent certain he was the one destined to be her man. She’d been so wrong.
It hurt. Not only did she feel like a complete fool, but she was ashamed of the way she’d behaved with him. Clearly, he thought his fellow bikers had paid her to spend the night with him. Dancing. Fucking. She’d been making love to him. Giving herself to him. Being vulnerable. He’d been taking everything and not giving a damn. It was a hard lesson, but she’d learned it.
Now there was this man. Perry Randall. Flirting. Giving it his all. He was using all of his charm, trying to persuade her to go on a date, leaning on the counter, looking at her through his sunglasses that cost as much as his shoes had. She’d calculated several times how many homeless people she could feed with his clothes alone. Then shelter dogs. Then feral cats.
He was one of those men who was interested, but before he actually asked her out, he had to make certain he looked great, staring at himself in every mirror he passed by and fixing his hair as often as possible. He was definitely the type to ask himself if his friends would think she was hot. Once he’d convinced himself they would think she was gorgeous enough to belong on his arm and in his ride, then he would make his move on her and continue to do so, thinking she was playing hard to get if she said no, because who would ever refuse him? That was the kind of thing that always happened to her, no matter where she was in the world.
She sent Perry a vague smile and turned her attention to the next customer, engaging them in conversation, filing their image away, asking their name, introducing herself, and thanking them for coming in. She chattered away, making what appeared to be casual conversation, but every inquiry enabled her to find out if her customer was local, if they had a family and if they would be returning.
Inez had trained her for a week before leaving her on her own, and in that week, the pattern to the way grocery store customers had come in had been very specific. Morning shoppers were women dropping their children at school or on their way to work and picking up a quick bite. Afternoons brought the heavier shoppers, filling their carts with a week’s worth of groceries. Evenings were those getting off work and picking up a few items to make a meal fast. Her first day alone hadn’t been like that at all.
It was the weekend, but even that shouldn’t have made all that much difference. It hadn’t when Inez had been there. Today, there hadn’t been a single block of time, not five full minutes, when she had a break. Inez had handled the store hours virtually alone, with only someone to stock shelves and give her required breaks. If this influx of customers continued, they would need to hire someone immediately, and finding reliable help seemed to be a major issue.