Page 3 of The Pursuit of Her Happiness

“Thanks, but I’m gonna head out.” I blow air kisses, smacking my lips against my hands and waving them about until the women chuckle. “Have a good night!”

Outside the clubhouse, I’m almost at my car, when a strong hand grips my shoulder, spins me around, and crushes me to a solid chest. “He’s a fucking idiot.” Adams whispers harshly in my ear, rocking us back and forth.

“About a lot of things, but not this. He’s right, this…crushwas stupid on my part. He isn’t the right man for me. I see that now.”

“That bullshit about your weight—”

“Ha!” I choke on a laugh and step back. “You heard all that colorfully descriptive sentiment? Lovely.”

“You are fucking beautiful, Quinn. And don’t let him or anyone else diminish who and what you are.”

“I’m Quinn fucking Palomeni.” I tell him honestly. The good part about being surrounded by narcissistic assholes most of your life, is developing a thick skin. “And I’m gonna start dating.”

Adams rears back, his eyebrows scrunched, and it makes me smile. I reach up and smooth the wrinkles out with my thumb. “What?”

“I’m gonna put myself out there. I clung to the first man who showed me any interest, even if it was just platonic. I mistook friendly affection and maternal gratitude for romantic interest. I allowed my neglected and overgrown lady garden to do my thinking for me. Ford isn’t attracted to me, but someone else will be. Just gotta start fishing.”

“Fishing? What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna cast into the dating pool and see who else is out there. What do you think I should use as bait?”

Adams grins devilishly, his eyes roaming up and down my body. Throwing my arms out, I spin around in a circle, letting him see it all. “Your tits. Make sure your profile pics include a great view of your rack; you’ll be reeling them in.”

Tears fall down my cheeks, as I remember one of the worst nights of my life. What Ford said hurt. But it was a wakeup call. He and I aren’t right together. Any man who can look me in the eyes and say the things he said…we don’t have a future together. I deserve a hell of a lot better than that fuckboy.

And I deserve more than Big Sturgill and the like, too.

It might have been one of the worst nights, but Adams salvaged what was left. He took me for a ride on his bike, then he had me laughing as he made me pose all over the park, taking pics of me to use for my online profiles. And honestly, a few of them turned out really good. Then we went to a late-night diner for milkshakes.

For every Ford you encounter in life, there is an Adams not far behind, reaffirming your faith in your fellow man. I hope, I pray I have not lost Adams. That would be a tragedy.

I glance up at my front door when someone knocks softly. It’s nearly 10 o’clock at night…who would be at my door? Shit, what if Joe brought the boys back? I push the recliner down, hissing when I put too much pressure on my hand, then rush to the door. Swinging it open, I come face to face with Polk. Well, face to torn shirt and bruised face.

“Polk? What are you doing here?” I reach up instinctively and lightly touch the bruise forming around his left eye. “What happened?”

Polk smiles softly, careful of his split lip, and raises his medical bag. He’s a veterinarian, but doubles as the club doctor when needed. “I’ve come to check your hand.”

“Oh.” I step back, and wave him in. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m icing it, and if it’s not better, I’ll go to urgent care tomorrow.” Turning to follow him, I stop just inside the living room. “Safe to say, that’s probably my first and last punch.”

He grunts, gesturing to the couch for me to sit. And I know there is no point in arguing, so I sit in silence, as he sits next to me, lifting my hand gently, and carefully inspecting it. It’s already swollen, my knuckles twice their normal size. I wince and suck in a few harsh breaths during his exam, but when he flips my hand up and massages his thumbs into my palm, my body melts into the couch with a moan. He chuckles but doesn’t stop.

“Not broken. Keep icing it and take some anti-inflammatories. Some stretching exercises won’t hurt. And when the swelling is completely gone, you will meet me at the gym, and I’ll teach you how to properly throw a punch.”

“What?” I shake my head at him, “I just told you I’m not going to punch anyone again. That shit fucking hurts.”

“It can, but it’ll hurt less if you know how to do it right.” He levels me with a hard stare, “And I imagine the urge to punch Ford in the face again won’t take long to surface.”

Sadness overwhelms me momentarily, before I rally like I do with every setback in life. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, since I won’t be returning to the Congressionals clubhouse. I won’t be seeing Ford again.”

“You’ll be seeing him next Sunday.”

“The hell I will,” I respond. Polk leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable.

“After you left…and what an epic exit it was, by the way,” I nod in appreciation. I think it was movie worthy, but what do I know? “Wilson announced his engagement to Tilly, she smacked him, then Madison ordered emergency church…after I was pulled off of a limp and unconscious Ford.” He glides his thumb over his lip where he was hurt. “He got a few good shots in before I knocked him out.”

“Why…why would you do that? He’s your brother.”

“Ain’t no brother of mine,” he spits out. I’d never seen Polk angry before. Granted, there hasn’t been much reason for anger in the time I’ve spent with him since I started hanging out with the MC last year. “I’m not the only one who feels that way. We voted, and Ford has received several sanctions. Including, having his member patch revoked, and demoted to prospect.”

---