Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I sit down in one of the chairs, and Mary takes the one across from me. The chair is tiny, hard, and uncomfortable, and the metal table is not much better. I wore my leather jacket and skinny jeans combination as per usual since I didn’t want to deviate even though I was crazy nervous about meeting Smoke’s granny, but I now realize that a T-shirt and shorts would have been more sensible. It’s only ten in the morning, but I’m starting to melt out here.
Meanwhile, Mary looks effortlessly cool, even in her all-black ensemble. She doesn’t look the least bit overheated.
Although I detest black coffee, I’m not about to go back in and douse it with cream and sugar. I’ll just sit until my stomach cuts me off, and that will be that. Maybe I’ll even manage to do it without wincing at the bitterness. Hopefully.
“So…” Mary’s hand curls around her paper cup. The cups are brown with little white swirls at the top, and there’s an emblazoned Joe’s Rotten Beans in swirling black cursive. It would have been better if their logo was an actual green rotting bean with stink lines coming off of it. That would have been exciting. “Are you faking it?”
My eyes fly up from the coffee cup to meet Mary’s unsmiling face. It’s so neutral that it creeps me out. I don’t know her, but she seems like a lady who loves emotion, and this practiced study of indifference is just for my benefit. At the moment, I feel like I’m getting the stare of granny death behind that granny poker face to break all other poker faces.
“Excuse me? Am I faking what? The pregnancy?”
Mary shrugs. “Women have done less when they want something.”
“Whoa.” I’m too shocked to be mad, but that’s going to wear off, and I have to control my temper here. Getting snappy and defensive is not the way to go about this. “What? Whoa, whoa. What do you think I might want?”
Mary’s one brow cocks infinitesimally. “My grandson.”
“Okay, holy crap. Um, I don’t even know how to answer that. The thing is, I know you don’t know me from the next person in the crowd or apple on the tree, seeing as you think I’m a bad apple, but that’s not how this is going to go down. Also, that’s not at all how it happened. I’m not faking anything, and I don’t want anything from your grandson other than…other than possibly his friendship because we’re going to be bringing a child into the world together. I have the means to look after myself. I have lots of supportive family members. I only told Smoke because after I thought about it, I decided that if it were me, I would want to know, and I would want the ability to make a decision about it.”
“I see. And this family…”
I chew on my bottom lip for a second, realize I’m doing it, then cut that shit out. I’m not ashamed of my family. Nope. No way, no how, just no. I’m not ashamed of who I am either, and there’s no way I’m ever going to even think of being anywhere close to apologetic about my dad and the guys at the club.
“This family is the best family anyone could ever want. I’m sure Smoke told you that my dad is a biker prez and that I grew up with a family of bikers. That’s who I am, and I’m damn proud of it. I grew up differently than most women. I was raised by my dad, the best man anyone could ever ask for. Period. End. Of. Story.”
“Hmm,” Mary responds after some moments of consideration. Just hmm. What the heck is that supposed to mean? “How does my grandson seem to you?”
Okay, this is going from mildly offensive to just plain weird. I keep my voice neutral, as I have this whole time. I don’t have to get mad or impassioned for my words to hit their mark. I know that. The one thing my dad always taught me was that keeping a calm head is something I’ll never regret.
That said, I stall for time by sipping on the hella-bitter coffee, and I do somehow manage not to spit it back out. I have to consider that question because I don’t want to say the thing. “Other people would probably call him scary, like a wild animal ready to leap out of the dark and pounce. He has this fiercely coiled-up energy. It’s not just his scar or his size that they would be afraid of. It’s his intensity.” I swallow another gulp of coffee and look Mary directly in the eyes. “I’m not afraid of that or of him. I’ve had all these years to get to know myself, and I’m proud to be different. I was taught to be tough but also that it was okay to be soft whenever it was needed. No one has to be all tough and rough or all squishy and mushy. It’s okay to like guns and bikes and tattoos and also to like pretty dresses and flowers and makeup.