I didn’t feel relieved.
“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you need. Better sooner than later I guess.”
“You don’t—”
“I do,” I said, interrupting him, “so stop saying it.”
“Okay then. Two days and you’ll be married.”
“Okay.”
“Stop by the clubhouse after work later,” he said. “We’ll talk more about it.” He paused. “It’s almost over. I promise. All of this is almost done.”
“Okay. See you later.”
He hung up.
I stared at the phone, worry running through me. In two days, I was really going to marry this guy, some stranger I barely knew. Some stranger I didn’t like at all.
When the man I really wanted was sitting out on my couch, nursing a head wound.
I sighed, standing up. I had to get to work pretty soon to do a late shift. Hopefully Clutch was going to feel up for it, but I didn’t blame him if he sent a pledge to watch me instead.
I walked out of the room and went into the bathroom, starting the shower.
I was just not going to think about it. Jetter would be my husband soon and that was that. No need to linger on it, or wonder what else could have happened in my life. I was claimed and it was happening, whether I really wanted someone else or not.
I undressed and let the hot spray of water run down my skin, doing my best not to think about the man in the other room.
Clutch said he was fine to take me to work, but he definitely didn’t look fine. I wasn’t in the mood to argue though, so he slapped a few bandages on the cut and we headed out. At least he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore.
Work crawled along like usual, especially considering it was a late shift. I hated doing the dinner rush and then getting some of the drunk idiots that came in late. I got off at one in the morning, and poor Clutch was stuck sitting in a booth for eight hours doing absolutely nothing.
Not that he complained. He ate dinner, and then he ate a second dinner a few hours later. I tried not to stare at him too much or spend too much time at his table, but it was hard. The anger had long since faded, and that anger was replaced with this gnawing need.
Not to mention guilt. I hadn’t told him about the wedding getting moved up yet, because I was afraid of how he’d react.
I didn’t want to hurt him. Actually, I didn’t know if I could hurt him. Sure, we were fucking, and he said things that made me think it was more than just that, but I didn’t really know what he wanted. Maybe he was just using me for sex for a while, until I was finally married and not in his charge anymore.
Maybe I was overthinking this by a mile.
But I couldn’t help it. Clutch didn’t exactly make any of this easy for me. He was a hard man and impossible to read, and I had no clue what he wanted.
And forget about what I wanted. Was he just a hard cock that made me feel good? I’d thought that at first, but the more I was around him, the more I realized it was much more than sex between us. We had something in common, were kindred spirits in a way.
It was all so messed up. As my shift wore on and the night got longer and later, I resolved to tell him. I was going to tell him as soon as it was over.
The clock hit midnight. I took a few orders, waited on a few tables, and suddenly it was one in the morning.
My feet ached as I gathered my stuff up. Clutch was absently playing with a stack of saltshakers as I walked over to him.
“You all done?” he asked without looking up.
“Yeah, all done.” I sat down in the booth across from him. “But hold on. I want to talk before we go.”
“Talk away, princess.”
I took a deep breath. “Larkin called me before we left my apartment earlier. They’re moving the wedding up. It’s two days from now.”
His face didn’t react. “Okay,” he said.
I was a little taken aback. I had expected a bunch of different reactions from him, but ambivalence wasn’t one of them.
“Um, okay, yeah. Just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, princess.” He slid out of the booth. “Where to now?”
I stood up, confused and a little hurt. “Back to the clubhouse,” I said. “I need to talk with Larkin.”
“Got it.” He headed out to the parking lot.
I followed him slowly, not sure what that was all about. I didn’t need him to break down and beg me not to marry him or something crazy like that, and besides, Clutch wasn’t that kind of man. But I thought he might be surprised or angry at least. Instead, I got nothing.
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was for the best if Clutch didn’t care either way. I followed him out into the deserted parking lot, and we made our way over toward his bike.
I suddenly got a strange feeling. There was a large black van parked two spaces over from Clutch’s bike. The lot was empty otherwise, and the streetlight seemed to be out.
“Clutch,” I said.