Page 13 of Hard as Stone
She emerges with something hidden behind her back, that mischievous grin of hers making my pulse jump.
“Here.” She presents me with a small book. “To help with your spelling. Chapter one is pretty basic. You might want to start there.”
“You’re not funny.” But I take it anyway, our fingers brushing with that same electric spark from the pool table. It’s a pocket dictionary.
“I’m hilarious, actually.” She drops back into her chair, picking up her book. “I figured after that show at the bar, you boys could use all the help you can get.”
“It was artistic license,” I mutter, echoing Duck’s defense.
She snorts. “Is that what we’re calling it? Good to know the MC’s artistic vision omits C’s. Should I just call it ‘Stoneheart M’ now?”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.” She flips her page without looking up. “Now run along. I’m getting to the good part. Unless...” Her eyes meetmine, dancing with mischief. “You need help sounding out any big words?”
I should be annoyed. Instead, I find myself fighting a smile. “Careful, troublemaker. A man can only take so much abuse in one night.”
“Poor baby. Must be rough, being outsmarted by a traffic girl.”
“That what you think happened?”
“That’s what I know happened.” She stretches again, deliberate this time. “First at the roadblock, then at pool?—”
“I won that game.”
“By cheating.”
“By using tactical advantages.”
Her laugh is soft and rich in the night air. “Is that what they teach you in Motorcyle Club school?”
“You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.”
“Story of my life.” She returns to her book. “Good night, Road ‘aptain. Drive safe. And remember —’I’ before ‘E’ except after ‘C’.”
Between Maria’s grief and Poppy’s... everything, this night has left me…rattled.
I stare at Poppy for a long moment, torn between wanting to fire back another retort, kissing the smile off her face and just walking away. In the end, I settle for a noncommittal grunt and turn to leave. But as I reach my bike, I hear her voice again.
“Hey, Axel?”
I glance back over my shoulder. She’s set her book aside and is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “For checking on us when you heard shouting. Even if it was just my brothers being idiots.”
Something in her tone makes me pause. The softness in her voice catching me off guard.
“Just doing my job.”
She smiles, a real smile this time, not her usual smirk. “Still. It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for me.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The way she’s looking at me, all soft and grateful, is doing things to my insides that I’m not prepared to deal with.
I kick my bike to life, the familiar rumble settling something in my chest. As I pull out of Paradise, I catch one last glimpse of Poppy in my mirror, still reading under that dim porch light. The sight stays with me all the way home, along with the weight of that pocket dictionary in my cut.
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