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“Coffee’s the golden ticket, huh? I’ll have to remember that.”
“It is this morning,” she murmured with her lips to the rim of the cup. She pushed the sleeping bag aside and stood up, catching Ghost’s eyes as they swept down her to take in the outfit she was still wearing. She stood barefoot in her same shorts and his flannel shirt. Her boots sat at the side of the bed.
“Maybe somewhere along the line we can pick you up a pair of jeans.”
She nodded. “That would be good.”
He rolled up his sleeping bag and tied it up while she drank down the last of the coffee and slid her boots back on. When he was finished knotting the last knot, he tucked the roll under his arm.
“Ready?”
She nodded and followed him out.
As they passed the bonfire that one of the men was pouring water on, Jessie noticed a big biker that looked like a Viking, and had California on his bottom rocker, kick the leg of another who was still sound asleep in his bedroll, snoring away.
The passed out man sat bolt upright, mumbling, “Fuck your mother.”
The other biker snorted, “Yeah, in your dreams is the only place that’s gonna happen, Green. Get up, bro.”
“You save me some coffee, Red Dog.”
“No, I didn’t save you any fuckin’ coffee, you dumbass. Get up.”
Jessie couldn’t help but smile at their banter.
“Green?” she asked Ghost as he pulled her along.
He glanced back at the man, then replied to her, “He’s Irish. It’s a long story. Don’t ask.”
Ghost continued on, pulling her toward the field where lines and lines of motorcycles sat gleaming in the early morning sunlight. He moved through the maze of bikes to his and strapped on his sleeping bag. She saw his pack was already tied on the back. Everywhere she looked, men were doing the same thing, some already sitting astride their motorcycles, waiting patiently.
When he was finished, he walked her over to a dark van. A young guy sat behind the wheel, his window rolled down and his arm hanging out, a cigarette in his hand.
“Yammer, this is Jessie. She’ll be riding shotgun with you,” Ghost informed the kid. “Jess, Yammer.”
“Hey,” she said lamely.
The kid was her age, early twenties maybe, with sandy blonde hair and an eager to please grin. “Climb in, darlin’. Hope you don’t mind if I smoke. I’m tryin’ to quit, but it’s a bitch, ya know. You smoke? Don’t matter; I can toss it out if you want me to. I’ve only got a couple left in the pack, but I’ll share if you want one. You want one?”
Jessie’s eyes slid to Ghost as she shook her head in the negative.
Ghost grinned at her like he knew her time in the van with Yammer was going to be a trip.
“Don’t mind him. He’s wired,” Ghost said by way of explanation. Then he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She climbed in, and he braced his hands on the frame and leaned in, his eyes on Yammer.
“You fix my shifter?”
“Yeah, man. Took care of it. You’re good to go. Ingenious temporary fix you came up with, by the way.”
“That’d be Jessie who came
up with that idea.”
The prospect’s eyes moved to her. “Really? Damn.”
Ghost’s expression hardened, not liking the kid’s sudden interest. “Keep your hands to yourself, Prospect, you hear me? Or you and I are gonna have a problem.”
Yammer nodded, raising his hands in the air. “Hands off. I got it. No problem.”
