I sneak peeks at her, memorizing her the way her triangular eyes just light everything up, just shoot pure blissful sparks. Given everything I know about her, I don’t know how someone could radiate so much light, but she does. It radiates from her skin, shining through her. She is light itself.
“Something Real”
A River Reapers MC Short Story
Vaughn
The phone slips in my hands, tumbling onto the floor. At least it’s carpeted. I don’t get sweaty hands—at least, I didn’t ’til now. ‘Til her.
I swipe the phone from the floor, my thumb ready to hit the answer button as soon as I’m upright and don’t look like I’m losing my shit. Except I accidentally accept the call, giving her a full view of my idiocy.
“Hey,” she says, her gentle blue eyes gazing up at me.
My heart stops in my chest.
I’m a programmer. I’m a hacker. I’m a biker, for fuck’s sake—one who runs with a club slowly but surely gaining the wrong kind of reputation.
Depending on whose side you’re on, I guess. My point is, I don’t get sweaty hands. I’m the one the MC calls in when they need dirt on someone.
That’s how we met.
“Cami,” I greet her, trying to play it cool but I know I’m failing. I lift the phone from the floor, giving her a head-on view of my face. I avoid looking at my own reflection. I don’t want to know how deep the shadows under my eyes are or how bad my permanent five o’ clock shadow is. Being quarantined here has not been kind to me.
The problem is, the only other place to look is at her. And damn, I could stare at her forever. I really could. But that’s fucking creepy.
I settle for the eye of the camera. My eyes, on the other hand, have other ideas. I sneak peeks at her, memorizing her the way her triangular eyes just light everything up, just shoot pure blissful sparks. Given everything I know about her, I don’t know how someone could radiate so much light, but she does. It radiates from her skin, shining through her. She is light itself.
“Hey,” she says again, her voice soft, her smile shy. “How are you?”
I could answer her question in so many ways. I could tell her the truth, that every day I’m trapped inside these four walls is another reminder of just how much I have to lose. I could tell her how, every time I leave the house for a short run or supplies, anxiety cramps my muscles, making my limbs heavy and my pulse race. I could tell her how the one woman I love more than anything is not safe if I make one little mistake.
But that’s not really first date material.
And this isn’t really a date.
I clear my throat. “You know,” I say, brushing aside the question. “Hanging in there. You?”
I have never, ever been smooth. I mean, I can talk my way into a woman’s bed. That’s easy. When it comes to being real, though, I’m fumbling and confused. That’s how Cami makes me feel—she makes me want the pain of being awkward, just so that I can have something real.
Even though we are two people who should not be together.
THE END
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Elizabeth Barone 