Page 13 of Tempest

My gaze drifted to the window, half-expecting to see a motorcycle roaring past. Tempest’s bike, all sleek lines and raw power. Just like him.

“And what about you?” Connor’s voice broke through my reverie. “Any big decisions on the horizon?”

I turned back to him, guilt twisting in my gut. Here was this sweet guy, genuinely interested in my life, and all I could think about was a man who probably saw me as a flake, a pain in the ass, and a child who’d run away.

“I’m… still figuring things out,” I admitted, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.

Connor reached across the table, his touch gentle as he squeezed my hand. “Hey, that’s okay. We’ve all been there.”

I nodded, trying to smile, but all I could think was how different it would feel if it were Tempest’s calloused hand gripping mine. The intensity, the danger, the thrill.

I cleared my throat, determined to give Connor a fair chance. “So, tell me about your work. Any exciting projects lately?”

Connor’s face lit up, and he launched into a description of his latest architectural design. I nodded along, trying to focus on his words, but my mind wandered. I couldn’t help but imagine how Tempest would react in this situation.

He’d probably scoff, those intense eyes narrowing. “Buildin’ fancy houses for rich folks? Waste of time,” I could almost hear him growl. “Real men build with their hands, not fancy computers.”

The restaurant buzzed around us, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation a stark contrast to my inner turmoil. A server told someone at a nearby table about the specials, her voice sharp and clear, cutting through the din. It reminded me of how Tempest’s commands always rang out over the chaos of the clubhouse.

I glanced around, taking in the sleek modern decor, all clean lines and muted colors. It was nice, objectively speaking, but it felt… sterile. Nothing like the raw, lived-in feel of the Dixie Reapers’ clubhouse. There, every scuff and dent told a story. Here, everything felt too polished, too perfect.

A couple at the next table laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place I felt. This wasn’t my world. These weren’t my people.

“Kasen?” Connor’s voice snapped me back to reality. “You okay? You seemed a million miles away for a second there.”

I forced a smile, guilt gnawing at me. “Yeah, sorry. Just… lost in thought, I guess.”

A server came over and took our order. It wasn’t long before our food and drinks arrived at the table. But I could barely taste anything.

I nodded mechanically as Connor launched into another story about a project he’d just finished. His words washed over me, barely registering. If Tempest were here listening to this, he’d probably be drumming his fingers on the table, impatient. Those dark eyes scanning the room, always on alert. Maybe he’d lean in close, his voice a low rumble. “This place ain’t us, darlin’. Let’s ride.”

“… and then the client decided to change the entire floor plan!” Connor chuckled, oblivious to my wandering thoughts.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured, fighting to keep my expression neutral. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart wasn’t in this. It wasn’t fair to Connor, and it definitely wasn’t fair to me.

Silence fell between us, heavy and awkward. I fidgeted with my napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. The tick of the wall clock seemed impossibly loud.

“I should…” I started, then faltered. How could I explain? That every second here felt wrong? That my entire being ached to be somewhere else, with someone else?

Connor tilted his head, concern flickering across his face. “Everything all right?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. The words wouldn’t come. I was stuck, caught between politeness and the overwhelming urge to bolt.

Connor cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “Listen, Kasen, I’ve really enjoyed tonight. How about we do this again next week? Maybe that new Italian place downtown?”

My stomach tightened. The suggestion hung in the air, demanding a response. I could feel my pulse quickening, trapped between two impossible choices.

“I…” I started, my voice barely above a whisper. Tempest’s face flashed in my mind, but then guilt crept in. Connor was nice, normal. Safe. Everything Tempest wasn’t.

“Sure,” I heard myself say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. “That sounds… nice.”

Connor beamed, oblivious to the war raging inside me. “Great! I’ll text you the details.”

I nodded, forcing a smile even though it felt more like a grimace. “Looking forward to it,” I lied, the words tasting bitter.

As Connor chatted about the restaurant, my mind drifted. I pictured Tempest, probably at the clubhouse right now. Would he be thinking of me? Did he even care that I was out with someone else?

I knew, with a certainty that scared me, no matter how many dates I went on with Connor or anyone else, my heart belonged to Tempest. It always had. But I needed time -- time to figure out if there was any hope for us, or if I was just chasing an impossible dream. I didn’t feel brave enough to face my father, or the rest of the club. And I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to stand beside the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms.

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