Tank: Devil's Rose MC #6

Chapter 13: Hazel Martinez

"I'm glad to have some real competition. Vegas can never keep up," Tank admits while hitting his hole-in-one.

No way in hell am I losing to him. Because we both apparently get distracted easily, it takes about one and a half hours to get us to finish the mini golf course. At first, we were talking randomly and forgot that we actually had to hit the golf balls. Then, we saw some deer hanging out at the edge of the woods, so we had to watch the babies. 

Then, I remembered I had Redvines, so I just had to snack on those while we debated whether Redvines or Twizzlers are better. Oh, and he stole my golf club from me because he's losing. We chased each other around the parking lot for a hot minute. 

And finally, we had enough of an attention span to finish out the game, me winning by two points. Whatever the fuck that means. All I know is that I got a hole-in-one every single time. I'm feeling pretty confident in myself now.

"You enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, I did. Did you?"

"I will forever have the image of you humping a plastic Batman statue in my head. So yeah, Hazel, I had a great time."

There were no children around, so it was fine.

Can anyone blame me though? There's something about Batman that is hot. Not as hot as the Winter Soldier or Loki anti-hero shit, but I wouldn't say no to some time with Batman.

Tank runs his fingers down my forearm, tracing the outline of my vine and small butterfly tattoo that curls around my wrist and up to my elbow. He slips his fingers between mine, tucking me closer into his side. My heart skips a beat, my brain on overdrive. He's so smooth with it too. 

I stare up at him, my fingers itching the trace the bump of the lightning-looking scar running down the right side of his face. And no, not like the Harry Potter scar but a scar that looks like lightning all jagged and everything. 

I wonder how he got it. I mean, I'm not going to ask because we aren't at that point in our relationship, but one day, he will tell me because he wants to. I want to know everything about him. All the ins and outs. All the details, the good and bad.

He seems like one of the guys who have walls built around his heart. Like it would take a huge ton of effort to get to know him and to find the vulnerability inside of him. However, even in the past two hours that I've spent with him, I've come to find he's one of the most open people I've met. 

He doesn't steer away from the awkward questions or the difficulties that he faces. It's not like we're talking about anything super heavy, just college and why the hell he was a business major at Columbia. It doesn't matter though. 

Sometimes people I meet, stray away from the rough moments or talk about how stressed they were through college, but he doesn't. He acknowledges the hard times and expresses his thankfulness for them.

It's just so much different than I used to.

I'm someone who loves deep questions. I want to get into a person's brain. I want to know their answers to philosophical questions. I want to get their outlook on life. It's hard to meet someone, only know them for two days, and then have a riveting discussion about the lessons they learned from their first quarter of college. 

But it comes naturally with Tank. It's like I don't have to be nervous about the questions that I ask. He isn't nervous about declining to answer a question but also doesn't make it awkward for me. I don't know. 

Every time I talk with him, even if it's about the most random things, the conversations are amazing. I feel like I can be vulnerable with him and not worry about judgment. I've never had that feeling with someone outside my immediate family before. Besides my closest girlfriends.

"Tank?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

I roll my eyes at him, shaking my head.

"How did you even come up with that?"

"I don't know. You just remind me of a cozy fall day by a fireplace. So it just worked."

Oh, woah. I was not expecting that sweet of an answer. I was thinking of something like, "because you wore that dark orange sweater on the first day I met you and thought you looked like a pumpkin." I'm not complaining though.

"I don't hate it as much now."

"I'm glad," he confesses with a glinting smile, "you wanted to tell me something?"

"Yeah, uh, I was wondering if we could head back into town soon. I have to go grocery shopping, so."

"Of course. I could just tag along with you."

"But you have a motorcycle."

"My motorcycle has a basket on the back of it right now. I'm sure you aren't getting much."

"That would work. You don't have to if you don't want to though."

"I never do anything I don't want to do," he states matter-of-factly.

That's good to keep in mind. For future reference. Not that I have anything in mind when it comes to what he just said, but it's good to have that in mind in case something were to happen. Which it won't. Whatever "it" is.

Once again, he helps me put on the helmet, carefully explaining how to do it, so I can try to do it myself next time. Although, when I told him I wanted to learn how to do it, he seemed a little disappointed. Maybe I'll pretend to struggle with it just so he has a chance to help me. 

In the brief time I've known him, it's not the independence that he's disappointed about, it's the lack of an excuse to be close to me that he wants. He is just a big softy. 

He might look tough and intense on the outside (there's probably a reason for that, being in a motorcycle club and all) but he's just a marshmallow.

I hold onto his shoulder as I lift my leg over the bike seat and get into a comfortable position. He reaches for both my hands and tucks them around his waist, and I just know that he's smirking under that helmet. I just know. 

The loud rumble of the bike scares me slightly while I concentrate on how gorgeous Tank is. He's stunning. And not to like romanticize any pain or struggle he might have gone through when getting the scar, it's a major fucking turn-on. He could spit on me, and I would say thank you.

I have officially become a Twitter thirst tweet.

Do I give a fuck about it when I see how handsome Tank is? No. Because it's true. I could self-combust by staring at him for too long.

"You good back there?"

"Yep," I respond, my voice all croaky.

"You sure?"

"Hundred percent."

He taps the back of his helmet softly into the front of mine, which is an obvious sign of "you're lying but I'm gonna move on from the conversation anyway." I squeeze his waist slightly tighter as we get onto the road but try not to stress Tank out too much. 

I know he worries. I feel like I know a lot about him. 

I mean, his personality is not like his background or family or what he does for the MC as the VP. I take a long breath and relax on his back, letting the bike and his body guide me in the right direction. Moments later, we pull into the grocery store parking lot, the motorcycle's loud rumbling coming to halt and surprising me at the quietness of the night.

I use his broad shoulder to balance myself when getting off the bike, my legs slightly shaky after the ride. I'm still getting used to the feeling, but I quite enjoy riding with Tank. And I feel safe with him even though I may seem a little nervous on the bike.

"Ready to shop?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

He asks that a lot.