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“Skylar—” He paused, seeming to struggle with how to explain something.
“What is it? Crash? Tell me.”
“The thing is—I have to show, and I’m really not sure I can handle it without you. Most of the time I’m at the clubhouse, if I’m not tending to business, I’m off in the corner drinking alone. Drinking too much.”
She realized just how much it cost him to admit that to her. Still, going there wasn’t easy for her. Crossing her arms, she looked at the floor wondering if she could do it. She knew in her heart Crash would never make her face something like that by herself. She couldn’t make him face it alone then, either. Turning back to the sink, she stared out the window, and then consented. “All right, then. If it’s important to you, I’ll go.”
He approached her, his palm settling on her shoulder. “Does going to the clubhouse make you nervous?”
“A little.”
“No one will bother you if you don’t want them to, darlin’. I’ll make sure of that.”
“I know you will.”
***
Shades sat on the top of one of the picnic tables, his boots on the bench seat. His elbows on his knees, a red plastic cup of beer between his hands. He surveyed the grounds of the clubhouse and the turnout for the annual shrimp boil.
Ghost took a hit off a joint and passed it to him. “You seen Tink?”
Shades’ eyes scanned the crowd. Tink, a shortened version of her nickname, Tinker bell, was so named because she was a tiny little pixie of a girl with short spiked white-blonde hair. Her pointed chin, delicate features and big green eyes only added to her sprite-like appearance.
“Nope, why?”
Ghost blew out a stream of smoke and grinned. “She’s got on a little leather skirt. It’s drivin’ Hammer crazy.”
Hammer was young, like them. He was a muscular guy, built like a brick house. Tattoos covered most of his broad chest, shoulders and arms. He had short dark hair and a heavy close-cut beard. The overall appearance gave him the look of a gladiator.
“Well, if he didn’t nail everything in sight, maybe she’d give him the time of day,” Shades replied.
“Yeah, but we both know a tiger don’t change his stripes. He didn’t get that name for nothin’.”
The corner of Shades’ mouth pulled at Ghost’s remark. “He’s never getting’ in her pants, so he’d might as well hang that shit up.”
“That ain’t no lie.”
Griz walked up and confiscated the joint out of Shades hands. Taking a long toke, he asked, “What are we talking about, boys?”
“When’s the damn shrimp boil gonna be ready?” Ghost asked.
“Hell if I know,” Griz replied, glancing over toward where a tall bald man stood over the big boiling pot. “Gator’s in a mood today. I ain’t askin’ him.”
“Gator’s always in a mood.” Ghost took the joint back from Griz.
“Yeah, but the man sure can cook.” Griz looped an arm around the neck of one of the girls as she walked past and pulled her to him. “How’s it shakin’ Sherry-berry?”
Her strawberry blonde hair made her the perfect target for a million different nicknames which seemed to rotate daily. She was about five foot three and stacked. She put a hand on her hip and gave a little shimmy. “You tell me, big guy.”
“Heard you got a story to tell,” he teased with a knowing grin.
She rolled her eyes. “You heard about last night?”
“I heard you went into thermo-nuclear meltdown with some guy.” Griz waggled his brows at her.
“It wasn’t just some guy.” Both hands landed on her hips.
“It wasn’t two guys was it?” Ghost teased.
