Page 37 of Knife Volume 2

“Please, call us Mike and Jan, and the flight was uneventful, thankfully.”

Tuesday’s mother was quieter. She was knockdown gorgeous, and he wasn’t sure why that surprised him. She hugged Tuesday for a long moment and then smiled at Knife. He wasn’t sure if she was unsuccessfully trying to be warm, or if it was fake on purpose.

The three women sat down together with June in the middle, and that put Knife sitting directly across the table from Tuesday’s father.

August arrived with his girlfriend a few minutes later. She was human, pretty, and way more enthusiastic than necessary. August was clearly smitten with her, and while it was sweet, it was a little too sugary for Knife’s liking. Still, he liked August well enough despite his choice in women. He had his sister’s directness and clear-headedness, and Knife quickly saw him as the protector-type, taking care of his little human girlfriend as only a werewolf could.

As far as Knife was concerned, she wasn’t for much more than needing to be taken care of, and for sticking your dick into. Since that seemed to be August’s thing, then more power to him, but if Knife had to live with her, she’d spend most of her time in a bit gag to keep her from talking.

Mike started the conversation by bringing up Knife’s father, which made sense. Technically, he and Tuesday both had famous professional athletes for fathers. His dad had eventually grown tired of the circuit and found other ways to use his driving skills, but it meant he’d retired at the height of his career. He’d had a goal of winning the cup, he had, and that was it. Time to focus on different goals.

Her father had found a picture of Knife behind the wheel of a racecar when he was young, and he wanted to know if it was just a photo op, or if his father had really let him drive at seven or eight years of age.

“Oh no, that was real, and dad got shit from track because of that picture. He raced his own cars on dirt tracks during the off-season, and since he owned them, and he paid for time on the track to practice, he figured he could teach his son to drive while he had track time. He taught me how to read the surface, how to handle curves, how to set up the suspension for the track and the conditions, how a car behaves when it’s at its limit, and how to keep from going past it.” He lifted his water glass and gave the final part of it before taking a drink. “He believed in learning things before you were old enough to be afraid of them.”

Mike tilted his head. “That’s a sound philosophy.”

“It worked.” He smiled. “Someone taught your daughter to drive as well as the best racecar drivers.”

“Her… heritage gives her good reflexes, and she liked speed from the start. Made me nervous, so I sent her to a weekend-long thing at Barber Racing school, and then later, to a one-on-one day of instruction at the BMW Performance center.”

She’d somehow left that out of their conversations, and he turned to her, but she merely grinned at him.

No wonder she was so damned good. But she’d had a lot of practice. All that skill wasn’t just from a few workshops.

The conversation flowed easily from there, talking about his family and hers, about football, and the ATVs he’d bought for the entire family when they’d been in Colorado.

And then the meals arrived, and August’s girlfriend asked for ketchup when her steak was put before her. Everyone froze, even the fancy-schmancy waiter, but he quickly recovered, nodded, and left to get it.

Knife managed to keep his face neutral until Tuesday’s hand found his leg under the table and squeezed, and he had to look down at his plate to keep the others from seeing him nearly laugh.

But everyone was looking at the ditzy bitch, who was completely oblivious, chattering on about how good it smelled, asking August how his lamb chops were, and questioning June about her sea bass.

June told her she could get steak anytime, but seabass, properly cooked, was a real treat.

Tuesday’s mom was quiet at first, but when she finally joined the conversation, she seemed to be giving him a chance. He figured it’d take some time for her to warm up to him, and he got it — a biker the woman’s daughter had left the pack for, upending her life, was absolutely going to have to prove he was good for her daughter. He wasn’t going to win Jan over today, but that was okay. Over time, he would.

Conversation flowed smoothly, and he felt like August approved of him sometime during the salad.

Knife excused himself halfway through finishing his entrée, walked in the direction of the restrooms, and then made a beeline to find their waiter, out of sight of the table.

He made arrangements to pay the bill, and returned to finish his steak.

Later, when Mike asked for the check, the waiter told him it’d already been taken care of, and the large man was clearly taken aback, but it only took him a few seconds to recalibrate and assess the situation.

He turned to Knife. “That’s why you left the table earlier?”

“It was the least I could do, after the two of you came all this way.”

And this was the true measure of a man. Knife had bested him when Mike hadn’t expected it, but the large man merely said, “Thank you.”

And it was genuine, without any qualifiers. Tuesday’s father not only knew how to lose gracefully, he’d learned to respect someone who could beat him at his own game.

“My pleasure,” Knife said.

June made a motion that made him look at her, but she merely smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye that told him she was pleased.

Tuesday said nothing. But under the table, her hand found his leg again. She didn’t squeeze it this time, just rested it on his thigh.