irritable and Tiger was laid-back. Nell wanted to settle down, so they were getting their finances together to start a family, and Tiger sold his hog—a beautiful, two thousand eight Screamin’ Eagle Dyna Super Glide—for over fifteen thousand. It helped, with both of them having some scholarships and all, but Tiger missed that Harley like a good fuck.”
Sean sucked in a breath of air.
Adrian just laughed and continued. “So Don, being a big softie, decided he’d organize a fight for his Ducati—which was a bike Tiger admired but could’ve never afforded. Don had beaten everybody except for Tiger, and he made it look real good—even Tiger thought he’d gotten lucky on Don that night.
“Except a hog is a nice, stable bike with loud pipes, and the traffic can hear you when they can’t see you. A Ducati is an Italian crotch rocket—your profile’s lower, you go faster, and you are pretty darn quiet at it. Had Tiger been riding his hog that night, he’d bealive today. The driver would have seen him.” Adrian drifted off into silence. They sat in a still bubble redolent of coffee and caramel syrup, but the soft clamor of the coffee shop did not reach them until Sean stirred on his hard chair and broke the spell.
“Nell said that bad things happen to good people. Surely Don wasn’t at fault for killing Tiger.”
“No. But Asbjorn’s in a world of hurt over it. We’re all sort of curious how he’ll handle it.” Adrian’s voice was somber with concern. Then his cell phone chimed the tango, and Adrian’s frown changed into a smile.
“Hey, babe,” he answered the phone without even looking at the caller ID. “Thai? Okay…. Your wish is my command….”
Sean tried not to eavesdrop, but his name pulled him back into Adrian’s one-sided conversation. “Yeah, I’m having coffee with Sean. He’s rather curious about Asbjorn.” Sean noted the mischief in Adrian’s eyes and the way he waggled his eyebrows.
“Okay. Love you too,” Adrian said and ended the call. “Sorry about that,” he said in Sean’s direction. “That was Don, and he’s a terrible baby when he’s hurt. He wants me back. Preferably with Thai food.”
Sean stared. “Oh.” It wasn’t obvious. He looked at Adrian again, from his spiky black hair down to his sleek leather jacket. “I didn’t realize….”
Adrian leaned back and smiled, as though he was enjoying Sean’s discomfort. “But if you and Asbjorn – then why not me and Don?”
“But Asbjorn and I are just friends,” Sean blurted out. “And I’m just helping him while he’s healing up.”
Adrian gave a serious nod. “That makes you a good friend, Sean, and Asbjorn needs a friend like that right now.” He got up. “This was fun. Let’s do it again, okay?”
Adrian’s smile was infectious, and Sean returned it without even thinking about it. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said. “I really appreciate all the intel. And tell your man to feel better soon.”
Adrian nodded. “Same to Asbjorn,” he said and sailed out the door, leaving Sean to wonder what that little smile was all about.
He left the coffee shop and strode over to the Pile, unlocked the door to his basement room, and occupied himself with basic household tasks. He straightened up while the laundry was in the washer, and he read his assigned text while it was in the dryer. The room felt so warm, so comfortable. His private, almost secret hideout. He smiled as he carried a basket of clean clothes into his room and dumped it on the bed. He was halfway done with the folding when, out of nowhere, a vivid image assaulted his mind.
He was knocked down and pinned to the mattress and unable to move, and a large, dusky fist struck his face. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do about it.
He stood still, frozen in shock. Then he shook his head to free himself from the intruding thought and picked up the shirt that slipped through his fingers just moments ago. Nonsense. Utter
Sean sucked in a breath of air.
Adrian just laughed and continued. “So Don, being a big softie, decided he’d organize a fight for his Ducati—which was a bike Tiger admired but could’ve never afforded. Don had beaten everybody except for Tiger, and he made it look real good—even Tiger thought he’d gotten lucky on Don that night.
“Except a hog is a nice, stable bike with loud pipes, and the traffic can hear you when they can’t see you. A Ducati is an Italian crotch rocket—your profile’s lower, you go faster, and you are pretty darn quiet at it. Had Tiger been riding his hog that night, he’d bealive today. The driver would have seen him.” Adrian drifted off into silence. They sat in a still bubble redolent of coffee and caramel syrup, but the soft clamor of the coffee shop did not reach them until Sean stirred on his hard chair and broke the spell.
“Nell said that bad things happen to good people. Surely Don wasn’t at fault for killing Tiger.”
“No. But Asbjorn’s in a world of hurt over it. We’re all sort of curious how he’ll handle it.” Adrian’s voice was somber with concern. Then his cell phone chimed the tango, and Adrian’s frown changed into a smile.
“Hey, babe,” he answered the phone without even looking at the caller ID. “Thai? Okay…. Your wish is my command….”
Sean tried not to eavesdrop, but his name pulled him back into Adrian’s one-sided conversation. “Yeah, I’m having coffee with Sean. He’s rather curious about Asbjorn.” Sean noted the mischief in Adrian’s eyes and the way he waggled his eyebrows.
“Okay. Love you too,” Adrian said and ended the call. “Sorry about that,” he said in Sean’s direction. “That was Don, and he’s a terrible baby when he’s hurt. He wants me back. Preferably with Thai food.”
Sean stared. “Oh.” It wasn’t obvious. He looked at Adrian again, from his spiky black hair down to his sleek leather jacket. “I didn’t realize….”
Adrian leaned back and smiled, as though he was enjoying Sean’s discomfort. “But if you and Asbjorn – then why not me and Don?”
“But Asbjorn and I are just friends,” Sean blurted out. “And I’m just helping him while he’s healing up.”
Adrian gave a serious nod. “That makes you a good friend, Sean, and Asbjorn needs a friend like that right now.” He got up. “This was fun. Let’s do it again, okay?”
Adrian’s smile was infectious, and Sean returned it without even thinking about it. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said. “I really appreciate all the intel. And tell your man to feel better soon.”
Adrian nodded. “Same to Asbjorn,” he said and sailed out the door, leaving Sean to wonder what that little smile was all about.
He left the coffee shop and strode over to the Pile, unlocked the door to his basement room, and occupied himself with basic household tasks. He straightened up while the laundry was in the washer, and he read his assigned text while it was in the dryer. The room felt so warm, so comfortable. His private, almost secret hideout. He smiled as he carried a basket of clean clothes into his room and dumped it on the bed. He was halfway done with the folding when, out of nowhere, a vivid image assaulted his mind.
He was knocked down and pinned to the mattress and unable to move, and a large, dusky fist struck his face. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do about it.
He stood still, frozen in shock. Then he shook his head to free himself from the intruding thought and picked up the shirt that slipped through his fingers just moments ago. Nonsense. Utter
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