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Harley’s Achilles(18)

By:Sandrine Gasq-Dion


“Arielle?” I said in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting. Why?”

“Well, the last time I saw you was in California.”

“Yes, and you didn’t even spend any time with me,” Arielle pouted.

“Sorry about that. You know, the show and all. I had to mingle. What were you doing there?”

“Oh, I was auditioning for a movie that Sal Falco was in. He invited me to the party afterward.”

“I didn’t know you were an actress.”

“Aspiring.” Arielle flipped her hair back, shoving her boobs out.

“Did you get the part?”

“No. I even tried sleeping with the guy, but no dice.” Arielle clucked her tongue. “He’s probably gay anyway.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Most of us agreed that Sal Falco was probably gay, except for Ransom. We all knew he had the hots for the guy, he owned every movie that Sal Falco had ever made.

“So anyway,” I turned on the stool to face her and picked up my pitcher. “Who are you visiting?”

“Hey, Harley.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Rebel behind me, removing his Harley Davidson jacket. His eyes fell on Arielle and he cocked a brow at me.

“You remember Arielle, Rebel?” I motioned to her with my free hand.

“Sure do.” Rebel stuck his hand out. “How are you?”

Arielle flipped her hair again and slid off her stool, completely ignoring Rebel. I shot him a what-the-fuck look and he shook his head and smiled.

“Well, nice seeing you.” Arielle pulled a jacket over her shoulders and click-clacked her way out of the bar.

“Wow, she didn’t even shake my hand and I showered and everything.” Rebel cracked up, jumping on the vacated stool.

“To be fair, you look like one of Satan’s rejects.”

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know, I’d be his right hand man.” Rebel wiggled his brows.

“That’s a load of shit. You went to church every Sunday with your grandmother before she passed, and I know your grandfather keeps a Bible by his bed.”

“Shh! People will find out I’m ordinary.”

“You are far from it, my friend.” I slapped Rebel’s shoulder.

“How are you doing? Feeling better and all?”

“Pretty much. I felt like I was dying,” I admitted. “I think Achilles got it worse than me because he was still a little pale in the afternoon.”

“It’s hard to imagine that big guy sick at all,” Rebel mused.

From my seat at the bar, I noticed every female head looking at the entrance. I followed their line of sight and sucked in a breath of my own. Achilles was wearing a flannel gray shirt with faded blue jeans and black hiking boots. A matching gray scarf was wrapped around his neck and he wore a black leather jacket. Rebel let out a whistle as Achilles crossed the bar to us.

“Damn, he should have been a model,” Rebel said quietly.

“Hey,” I greeted. My voice cracked and I tried again. “Hey,” I said more firmly.

“You look better.” Achilles motioned to my drink. “Are you done with that?”

I looked at my drink and nodded. “I’ve had a few sips here and there, but I don’t want to push it.”

“You look good, Achilles,” Rebel said with a sly grin.

“I feel better. Much better. At least my stomach doesn’t feel like it’s liquefying.”

We sat around for an hour shooting the shit. Rebel and I discussed the tracks we needed to finish and Achilles listened, but only asked a few questions. He drank water and I couldn’t blame him. My stomach felt funky again and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. A line of sweat began to bead at my forehead and my hands shook.

“What the fuck?”

I rinsed my face with cool water and headed back to the bar. Rebel and Achilles were in deep conversation as I walked up. They both clammed up as I sat down.

“What were you two talking about?” I asked, suspicious.

“It’s nothing.” Rebel shook his head.

“Bullshit.” I glared at them both. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

“Fine,” Achilles sighed. “I was asking Rebel about your brother.”

“What about him?”

“I just wanted to know if Rebel thought he was the kind of guy who would have left a letter. Especially to you, Harley. We both agree that he would.”

“I would have gotten it,” I argued.

“Would you?” Rebel took my hand.

“They wouldn’t.” I shook my head. “They wouldn’t keep something like that from me.”