Page 69 of Sangre
As Sangre watched her, “Don’t Stop Believin’” filled the silence between them. He knew her too well. The summer between fifth and sixth grade, he’d talked her into climbing Mr. Wilson’s oak tree as high as she could. He couldn’t believe how well she’d done it and how brave she’d been when she lowered herself down the fire department’s ladder an hour later. After that, his admiration for her grew tenfold.
He grabbed one of the glasses on the table. Isla turned her head slightly when the ice clinked in the glass. He unscrewed the bottle of rum, poured it, and then popped open the can of Coke. “I happen to remember that Journey is on your ‘Life Can Really Suck’ playlist.” He walked over and handed her the drink.
Her shoulders slumped forward as she brought the glass to her lips and took a big gulp. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes. “Okay. I found out Benz is fucking Lexi.”
Sangre blew out. “That really sucks.”I should’ve beaten the shit outta the prick.
“It’s not that I care so much about it, it’s more the satisfied look she had on her face when I walked in on them going at it in the studio’s bathroom. I mean, lock the damn door at least, you know?” She took another sip of her drink. “The thing that sucks more than the humiliation of it all is that I don’t seem to really care. What’s wrong with me? I’ve known Benz for almost seven years, been his girlfriend for over a year, and I can’t even cry about finding him screwing a woman I’ve despised since high school. I can’t even get pissed about it the way I should.”
He put his drink down and came over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong with you. The fucker never deserved you, and the inneryouknows it.”
“But you’d think I’d feel sad or mad or upset or something. I’m just nothing. Maybe it’s because I was planning on breaking up with him. I don’t know. How do you feel after a break up?”
“Kinda like you. I mean, I feel bad for the woman, but I don’t think about it afterwards. I see it as just another blip on the timeline of my life. It’s fun, and then it’s not.”
She groaned and tilted her head back. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Nothing. We just haven’t found the right person.” A comfortable silence fell between them as they listened to the vocals of Steve Perry. When the song ended, Sangre stood up. “I’m taking you somewhere that’ll get your mind off all this shit. Grab a sweater or hoodie. We’re going for a ride.”
“Where too?” A sparkle lit up her eyes.
“You’ll see.”
As she ran upstairs to change her clothes, Sangre went outside to talk with Keith.
“Hi, Sangre,” the woman next door said while she helped a man fold down the lemonade stand.
“Hey.” He’d forgotten her name and saw the man struggling with the booth. “Need some help?”
The guy looked up and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” The two girls started doing cartwheels and somersaults on the grass.
“You have a beautiful motorcycle,” the woman said walking toward him.
“Thanks.” Not wanting to engage in chitchat, he turned around and headed over to Keith. Sangre, like most of the Night Rebels MC members, didn’t like talking to citizens; doing so, just for the sake of talking, was definitely something he didn’t do. The woman caught on and slowly walked back to her front yard.
“You can take off,” Sangre told Keith. “I’ll pay you for the three hours. Grab yourself a beer and relax for the rest of the night.”
“Cool. Thanks, Sangre.”
As he watched Keith drive off, he heard the clack of footsteps behind him. The scent of Isla surrounded him before he turned around, and he smiled. She’d changed into jeans and a floral tank top, but he averted his gaze from her because he didn’t want his dick to get any ideas before they even pulled away from the curb.
“Are you going for a ride?” the woman next door asked.
“We are. It looks like Carly and Letty are closing up shop.”
“Colt’s trying to fold the stand, but it’s not working. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“Why doesn’t he just pick the fuckin’ thing up without folding it? They put the damn stand up every day,” Sangre said to Isla.
Isla smacked his arm lightly. “They’ll hear you. Faith’s real sensitive about stuff like that, even if someone’s kidding.”
“I’m not joking. The guy’s a bonehead.”
She giggled as she climbed on behind him. “You’re so bad.” She tugged his hair and pressed close to him, making his dick stir.
“Have fun,” Faith said, waving.
“How the hell do you stand all that friendliness?” he asked, moving forward.
