Page 12 of Coach
“Sort of. It’s where we live.”
That made more sense. I remembered it having several tables and such out back—along with a chicken coop.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. It was a brush-off, of course. Because what woman in her right mind went to a party with random, strange members of a motorcycle club?
“There will be lots of other girls there,” Raff went on, as if sensing my trepidation. “Just something to keep in mind. Well, we won’t keep you from work, pretty Este. Maybe we will see you later.”
As intrigued as I was to see what the inside of that warehouse might look like, and to get close enough to feel Coach’s body heat again, that was absolutely not going to happen.
I, of all people, knew too well how important it was to be careful, to never take any chances. Going to a party with men I didn’t know? It didn’t get more dangerous than that.
Still, as I stored away the ladder and headed back out the doors of the pool hall, there was a little sinking sensation in my stomach.
For not getting to spend more time with Coach, sure. But it was more than that. It was because of how narrow my life had become.
Once upon a time, I’d been the fresh-faced girl with nothing to be afraid of. The one who made friends easily and frequently, who didn’t believe in strangers, who took chances and lived fully.
But all that had slowly been chipped away from me, leaving me all alone in the world with nothing but my hobbies and my dog.
“Not that you’re not enough,” I told Trix, as if she could hear my thoughts.
At the end of her lead, she turned back to look at me in a very‘Why are you bothering me when I’m trying to sniff every inch of this town,’ kind of way.
I’d gone home to change after work, slipping into shorts and a tee, knowing that Trix liked an impossibly long walk and that it was still pretty hot out.
Getting Trix partially filled the hole created by being forced to leave not only my friends behind me but any hope of making solid future ones as well. Because I never knew when I was going to need to pack up, take off, start over, and never look back.
Trix pulled me all the way to the edge of town right before the road split to head up toward the motel, gas station, and eventually, the prison, or to go toward the suburbs where you would have to pass by the warehouse.
The place was all lit up—three floors of brightness. And even from far away, I swore I could hear the thumping bass of the music.
No, I couldn’t make forever friends.
But who was to say I couldn’t have one night of being social? Of pretending I was just a normal woman with a normal life who could have normal experiences?
“You ready to head back?” I asked Trix. I got a sniff, but she turned and walked all the way back to our duplex at half the speed she had left it. Once I was sure she had everything she needed for the night, I went ahead and did something reckless.
I showered.
I threw on something pretty.
I grabbed my keys.
Then I left the house—and my fifty unfinished projects within—behind to get in my car and take a drive. Just a drive. I could opt out at any moment.
Until, of course, I found myself parked in the lot of the warehouse among a bunch of motorcycles and cars. Judging by the various items nestled in some—claw clips on the visor, hair ties on the shifter, big patterned stainless steel cups in the holders—I figured Raff was right about there being a lot of women around.
Feeling slightly more comfortable with that, I grabbed my purse. Reaching into the glovebox, I grabbed my mace, an eye gouger, and a little pocketknife. Comforted, yes. But not naive. Bad things happened to women when there were other women around all the time. And I knew better than anyone how scary even seemingly good men could be.
I climbed out of the car, still trying to decide if I was going inside. When, suddenly, a flashlight shot up from somewhere in the back and landed on me.
Panic surged, adrenaline flooding my veins, my heartbeat tripping faster and faster as the light approached and footsteps crunched, but I couldn’t make out the shadow approaching me.
A floodlight flicked on, bathing the whole parking lot in light and illuminating the man who’d been approaching me.
Coach.
“Este.”
