Obsessive Compulsion (16 page)

I’m not sure how to respond. The old
‘there’s always tomorrow’ cliché sits on my tongue, but something
tells me that Austin knows what utter bullshit that idea is. There
isn’t always tomorrow. All you got is now. Right now. You either
live it or you let it live without you. His eyes snap open and I
get the strange sensation he was just thinking the same thing.

He turns the doorknob. “I best get some
shuteye so I can pick that boy’s ass outta county lockup bright and
early. I may not be back in time to help with breakfast.”

“Emma and I can’t cook, but we’ll try not to
burn the kitchen down.” I squeeze his shoulder then take a step
back. “Night, sweetie.”

“Night, Charlie girl.” He gives me a tired
wink then disappears into his room.

La mirada de amor.
Austin’s words
haunt me all the way back to the clubroom. Pausing in the doorway,
I watch Emma and Ian conversing in hushed voices. She’s blushing
with a hand over her mouth. Ian’s blushing too and I can guess what
their topic of conversation is.

It’s good that Emma’s found someone else she
can talk so casually with. Finding her words has never been easy
for Emma, but when she clicks with a person, her words seem to
naturally find themselves. It’s always been interesting to see who
she forms a connection with and who she doesn’t, because I know
it’s not always something she can control. My parents never held it
against her that Emma didn’t click with them after I talked them
into fostering her, but I’m relieved to see she’s clicked with
Ian.

The fact that I’m relieved my best friend
gets along with Ian only make’s Austin’s observations hit deeper.
Sharper. The urge to run from these feelings sends a tremor through
my gut, but I force my legs to move forward into the clubroom’s
warm light, where Ian waits for me, instead of stepping back into
the hallway’s safe, empty darkness.

Ian turns his smile to me and it changes,
just subtly, but it’s enough to send that trembling in my gut down
into my legs. I’ve just figured out it’s a smile he only shows to
me, and that has me shaking in my domination boots, wondering just
which one of us is really taking the lead in this dance. I hope he
knows the moves better than I do, because I’m honestly just making
it up as I go along.

“Did Austin make it to bed okay?” Emma asks
with concern despite the smile on her lips. Most people wouldn’t
know what to make of her ability to smile while concerned. Most
would just brush her off as being insensitive or fake, but I know
just how deeply Emma can feel things. Behind that smile, she’s
probably fighting a dozen different feelings at the same time due
to tonight’s drama.

I finger one of her curls like I used to do
when we were little. “He did. He’s gonna head out early to pick
Saul up, so that leaves us to handle breakfast.”

Emma scrunches up her nose. “I feel sorry
for the members.” We share a laugh then her expression shifts into
a serious scowl. “Ian is spending Christmas alone.”

The fact that Emma just blurts that out
doesn’t surprise me in the least, but it makes Ian choke on his
Sprite. He gives me an apologetic look. “I was telling her that our
annual Christmas party is most likely not going to happen, unless
we want to start a fight club. She told me you two and Brandon are
heading up to Oklahoma to visit your folks?”

“We are,” I nod, my weight shifting from
heel to toe and back again as a thought hits me. It’s a crazy idea.
It’s probably way too soon, but the weather patterns are shifting
and there’s the scent of a brewing tornado in the air. “You wanna
come?”

Ian coughs against another ill-timed
mouthful of Sprite. I bite back a laugh as he wipes the sputtered
liquid from his chin, and my heart stops when his eyes lock with
mine. He wants to say yes, but I can already hear his mind telling
him why he should say no.

“It’s only a three hour drive,” I add.

“You should come!” Emma almost commands with
an exuberant bounce against her barstool. “
Please
?”

Emma’s pulling out all the stops and taking
no prisoners as she tilts her head, pouts her bottom lip slightly
and rounds her bright green eyes into doll-worthy saucers. It’s the
look that makes Brandon fall to his knees, and with the way Ian
sways left then right, I think it’s working.

Ian inhales so deeply I can hear it, then he
looks from Emma to me. His stunning eyes study me, rooting my feet
to the ground, and I know his acceptance or decline will have
absolutely nothing to do with Emma.

“Alright,” he speaks with the same
unwavering tone he just used on me in the bedroom, and damn if I’m
not feeling my knees start to cave. I’m tempted to take him right
back up there and see if he wants to play another round.

“I may have to take valium and sleep the
whole way,” he snorts, bringing my attention back to the trip while
his cute little snort unravels me. “If you’re sure it’s alright
with your parents.”

Emma lets out a quiet giggle behind her
hand. “Carol and John will be happy to see you again. They really
liked you.”

“They did?” he asks her first then glances
back at me. “They did?”

Emma chooses that moment to hop down off the
barstool with a stretch. “Goodnight,” she says, stepping out of the
conversation and exiting the clubroom.

God, I love the girl, but sometimes…

I stare at the empty doorway before feeling
Ian’s continuing stare on me. It makes me fidget. I hate that he
makes me fidget. I kina love it, too.

“They did,” I confirm, leaning against the
bar to give a casual tone to the ‘parents’ discussion typically
reserved for official couples. Mercy, Ian and I haven’t even
labeled this thing yet, and I’ve invited him to my parent’s place
for Christmas. I idly play with a ring of moisture on the bar top
left by Ian’s glass, watching the bubbles in his drink fizz.

“Momma thought you were sweet, with the way
you always asked if she needed anything and hung around the
hospital. Daddy, well, he said you were a little stiff but ‘a nice
young man with a solid career and a good handshake’,” I say the
last bit in my dad’s voice.

“Sorry, but my dad has this weird thing
about handshakes…” I shrug lightly and raise my eyes up to judge
his reaction. “I guess you passed or something.”

“Luckily it was cold that day and I had on
gloves,” he gives me a lopsided smirk, but the corner of his mouth
droops after a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Oh heck no, Mr. Rider, you
aren’t backing out now. Not when I just got my heart and brain to
accept the fact that we’re having this conversation.

He sighs then starts cleaning the bar top.
“I don’t want to ruin your parents’ fond memories of me from the
few hours or so I spoke to them while Emma was in the hospital. I
mean… What if your dad comes into the kitchen at two in the morning
to find me trying to unplug his stove?”

I laugh at the visual then slap my hand over
my mouth to try and muffle the outburst. “He’d probably ask you to
sweep the floor while you were back there.”

“Charlotte…”

I put my hand over his, stopping him from
cleaning the same spot for the fifth time. Even with layers of
leather between our hands, just the touch seems to calm his
anxiety. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, sweetie. I’m gonna guess that a
hotel wouldn’t work for you, so you’re stayin’ with me and my folks
just like Emma and Brandon. It’s a big enough place. I’ll call
ahead, give them some warning.”

He snorts again, but it’s bitter. “Warning
that they’re letting a medicated, twitching, unstable,” he stops
when I squeeze his hand.

“Don’t forget, they helped raise Emma.” I
squeeze his hand again and he finally gives a tight nod while
reaching for his glass. “Although,” I ease back from the bar in an
attempt to get Ian over this hurdle, “they
are
Catholic.
They may not let us share a room because we aint hitched.”

Ian spits Sprite across the bar, avoiding me
by only a few inches. “Dammit,” he coughs then grabs the rag.

“Don’t worry,” I wink. “They sleep like the
dead, so I’ll just sneak into your room at night.”

His hand stops moving the rag. “Or we could
just get married.”

My heart rams into my throat, because his
face is completely serious as he says it, like he’s telling me it
might rain tomorrow. Rain? Mercy! I think Hurricane Ian just landed
ashore and my brain is yelling the only word it can muster in an
attempt to save its sanity –
run.

I’m about to die of asphyxiation in the
middle of a BDSM club because I can’t get a breath past the battle
raging between my swooning heart and my panicking mind. It only
lasts a second, but that second gives birth to the most frightening
thought I’ve had in years – that marriage to Ian Rider sounds kina
fun.

Fun?
That’s it, Charlotte. You’ve
done lost your damn mind. I’m out. Call me when you want to start
thinking rationally again.

My brain clicks off, leaving me stranded
with a heart that’s about to make me the biggest fool this side of
the Red River. Stars tingle across my vision, my mouth opens and
not even air comes out. Maybe Ian sees me in distress, or maybe he
was playing with me all along, because suddenly he just winks at me
with a snort.

“Sneaking around it is,” he says then turns
his back on me to put away some bottles behind the bar. “Or we
could just behave for a few days.”

I recover quickly, refusing to let him get
the best of me if that was a joke. That joke cost me a momentary
loss of sanity and a few nerves. “Where’s the fun in that?” I step
around the bar and pinch his ass. He spins sharply around and I
grin in victory. “C’mon, Twitch, live dangerously with me.”

His lips purse as he contemplates. “Does
your father own a shotgun?”

“Of course,” I laugh, glad my heart is
heading back down south. “Don’t mean he can hit somethin’ that’s
movin’. You
can
run, can’t you, sweetie?”

“When I have to,” he replies, turning back
to his cleanup.

An unsettling quiet sets in. It’s like the
strange mood that hangs over everything before a storm hits, where
you can sit on your back porch and watch the sky darken across the
fields. A rumble of thunder in the distance. The smell of
approaching rain. The crickets go still while you’re waiting,
hoping the sky stays dark instead of shifting to green. A static
charge vibrates through you, and you get up off your porch to seek
shelter, because you know it’s gonna be a bad one.

Ian’s voice cracks like lightning across the
fields, bringing me back. “Can you do me a favor and take these
into the kitchen, please?”

A crate of dirty glasses makes a heavy,
clinking thud against the bar as Ian puts it in front of me. His
hazel eyes are already looking away as I refocus my thoughts.
“Sure,” I reply on a voice shakier than I want, then I take the
crate and head for the shelter of the kitchen, wondering what the
hell just happened.

As soon as she’s gone, I’m on my ass behind
the bar with my head between my knees. Every single part of my body
shakes. Uncontrollable waves sharply twitch all my muscles with
increasing force, turning me into a convulsing heap. The air is
gone from my lungs. I can’t get it back. All I can do it wait until
it passes.

If it passes.
Real good day to up your
meds, Rider
.

Yeah, fuck you, too. Where were you to stop
me from blurting out such a ludicrous idea? Probably cowering in
the corner alongside logic and reason, watching the train wreck
while my heart and ego finally grew a pair, joined hands and
proceeded to fuck over my life.

Footsteps approach then retreat. Soft voices
enter my little, disjointed world then disappear again. I may have
blacked out, but I can’t really be sure of anything right now.

“Fuckin’ drink it, Ian,” Brandon’s gruff
command along with the pungent odor of whisky snags my focus. The
glass is set against my lips, and his eyes tell me he’s about to
force my mouth open to pour it down my throat. I take it all in one
go then sputter as air fills my lungs again. Another shadow joins
his, causing my eyes to dart around in a fearful search for
Charlotte.

“Charlotte… where…” I cough more of the
burning whisky from my lungs.

“She’s in the kitchen, washing glasses,”
Kyle kneels down with a low voice. Fuck, his face is seriously
messed up. “She doesn’t know you just blacked out behind the bar,
but she did seem a bit shook up about something.”

“What happened?” Brandon’s disappointed
frown weighs down my spirit. Like the man needs even more shit to
deal with right now. “I thought you two… you know, worked it
out?”

“We did… We… really did,” my words stammer
as the night comes back to me. All those steps forward and then one
gigantic stumble back. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t screw it up
already.”

Brandon sighs, dragging a hand down his
scarred face. “How?”

A burst of air puffs past my lips, my
bruised ego and battered heart deflating. “Oh, nothing. Just
suggested we get married.”

Brandon’s mouth hangs open, everything goes
silent then Kyle smacks Brandon’s shoulder with a curse. “That’s
your damn fault, Peters. You set a bad example.”

Brandon scowls at his best friend. “I
suppose Ian would be better taking after you? Or, need I remind you
that Saul just rearranged your face while using your body to
rearrange Sarah’s living room?”

Kyle returns Brandon’s scowl for second then
winces in pain. “Damn. Forgot how hard that boy can hit.”

A snort musters its way past my sour gut as
the whisky starts to hit bottom. My cheeks are already flushed and
I’m fighting a serious case of the giggles. This is why I don’t
drink. “You look like shit, Kyle.”