Page 6 of Odin
The last thing I want to be is a cliched asshole who is surprised that a man who looks like he’s only suited for the worst kind of violence and thuggery could have other interests.
I swallow thickly, hoping my voice and face don’t give away what a stereotype I am. “That must have taken forever to learn. Anyone can use a camera, but taking good photos is like poker. A minute to learn, a lifetime to master. I think. I think that’s what they say?”
A ghost of a smile breaks through when he turns to study me. He might only have one eye, but his gaze is just as potent, probably more so. I’ve rarely had anyone look at me as though they wanted to peel back layers. Layers of clothing, maybe, but nothing more. Nothing past skin, all the way down to my heart and soul.
“Learning can be challenging, but rewarding, if you have the time and desire.”
Desire.
He doesn’t speak the word in a strange tone. It’s not rougher than the rest of his deep baritone, but it still resounds through me, warming me faster and far more thoroughly than the whiskey.
“I thought I could set up a camera and set a timer to take photos every couple of seconds. You could choose which one you like best.”
“Ooh! We could edit them after and put them into one of those old school photo booth strips. The kind that they used to have in malls.”
He hedges. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“It’s not like we can’t go back. We could take the photos and I could always change my mind. I don’t have to send anything.”
“That’s… true. I guess.”
“Do you not want to do this?”
I’m not so drunk that I can’t see the emotions flickering across his face. Regret, maybe something that even looks a little bit shy. This man might have had a rough start, or got into sometrouble when he was younger, but whatever happened, he’s used it to become kinder and gentler, not rough and mean.
“It wasn’t on my bingo card of things to do on a Saturday night. But here we are.”
I start laughing then stop. “Now I feel like I’m making you do something you don’t want to do. Sorry.”
“No apologies, sweetheart. I might look like someone’s worst nightmare, the kind of man who’d get off on tying a woman to a meat hook, but I’m a decent guy. All my club brothers are. I’ve never known a better group of men. Some came here broken, searching for a place to belong, but we’ve found a place here.”
He stops, looking embarrassed as fuck. The lighting down here is so bad that it’s mostly shadows, but I swear that his cheeks flush beneath his tanned skin.
“Preston didn’t talk about you. There were only a few times. One time, he said the club here was a pussy biker club full of guys who like to go around sucking each other’s dicks.” I don’t know why I said that. I clap a hand over my mouth, but Odin lets out a big guffaw of laughter, the sound warm and rich, filling up the empty basement, bouncing off concrete, reaching all the way to the rafters.
“He was trying to be mean,” I rush to explain. “I always hated when he felt like he had to force it. It smacked of insecurity and jealousy. He was scared of anyone who was different, when it came down to it. He wanted to be perfect because that’s who his parents pushed him to be.”
Odin lifts one great shoulder in a shrug. He strokes his hand down his beard, thoroughly amused. “I guess there’s agrain of truth in every rumor. Other clubs probably look at us as a bunch of pussies too, but it doesn’t bother any of us. I’d rather be known for putting good back into a community than for terrorizing it. All the men here, they’ve done their time in one way or another. They don’t need more of the same shit they’ve come here to escape.”
“I- I don’t want to ask you to do something that hurts you,” I whisper, toeing the ground with the pointy end of my two thousand dollar shoe.
“Same here,” he responds, a little wryly, but with a whole lot of raw sincerity.
“Should we not? Or should we just give it a try and see how it goes?” A giggle slips out when I think about how ridiculous this truly is. “Or do you just want to get drunk and hang out? You’re surprisingly nice. You seem like a guy who has cool stories. If you want to tell them, I want to listen.”
He shoots me a very fatherly look. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” I choke-laugh. “I don’t think driving for two days to enact a revenge plan after finding my fiancé plowing my mom, getting here, turning into a crying mess, then following a basic stranger down into a super creepy basement slash former torture area to set up a camera and film a fake romance is appropriate at all. I think I’m pretty fucking far past worrying about that.”
His head cocks to the side. He strokes his beard again, as though it brings him comfort and it’s not a nervous reaction, and then his one eye narrows. “Yeah. I’d say you’re about right.”
The whiskey gives me some straight up courage. I now understand the true meaning of that too. “After we do our fake photos, I’d like to see some of your real work, if you want to show it to me. Somewhere public, if that’s what you’d be more comfortable with. I passed this super nice diner on the way in that says they’re open late. We could go there. Have blueberry pancakes and a milkshake or something.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “The lady who owns that diner is kind of a club partner. On the weekends, it’s basically a club hangout spot. But we could go there. Have those pancakes, or whatever else you want. I’m buying. My treat.”
“I feel like I should be treating you for agreeing to do this.”
“And I feel like I should buy you an apology dinner, as if that could make up for my son’s actions.”
