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“Elementary school teachers can take a walk on the wild side.” Chad lifted his beer bottle and chugged. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his long neck. He let out a satisfied sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was a P.E. teacher at Heritage Elementary School, where the five of us worked. Though he didn’t look it with his thick, wiry auburn beard and long hair—resembling John Lennon.“It’s summer break. Let’s live a little.”
Ray chuckled. “Maybe we could join their club.”
“Oh, mercy. I don’t think you two have what it takes.” I shook my head. In fact, I was sure they didn’t have what it took. The men in the corner weren’t giving off friendly vibes as they eyed my friends and me. Or was it just me? Were they trying to intimidate me? I would be lying if I said it wasn’t working.
“I work out.” Chad flexed his bicep and kissed it. He was a few years older than me, a runner and youth leader at his church. A super nice guy.
“I’m solid as a brick wall.” Ray patted his beer belly. “I can drink anyone under the table.”
Hmm, holding his liquor might count for something in a biker club. But I doubted it was enough to gain entry into the MC. The fourth-grade teacher also played bass with local guys at the armory and the occasional wedding or event in Winters Township. Maybe his band could play at one of the club’s parties.
I stifled a giggle at the thought of Ray and his buddies playing Top 40 covers for a bunch of outlaws.
“Either of you ever been on a motorcycle? Because I’m pretty sure riding one is required to be in a biker club.” Tara hissed with laughter, holding her stomach. She was twenty-three, my same age. We’d gone to college together in the Twin Cities and were still roommates. After graduation, we’d both wanted out of the city and were hired at Heritage. Tara taught second grade and I taught kindergarten in the room three doors down from hers.
Ray tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “No. They’re dangerous.” He munched away, reaching for another handful.
“That counts you out, friend.” Kim patted his squishy bicep. She was the oldest in the group, a seasoned fifth-grade teacher and divorced mom of two college boys. Tara and I had become her pet project when her sons left home last year. She’d said she always wanted a daughter, and now she had two: us. Neither Tara nor I had balked; we loved Kim like a mother.
“I can ride a dirt bike.” Chad grinned, stealing the bowl of popcorn away from Ray.
Ray scowled. “Hey!”
Tara snickered. “Well, then. Go right on over and talk to them. Maybe they have an application tucked in one of their vests.”
“Cut,” I corrected.
“Huh?” Tara turned toward me with a look of confusion on her face.
“What they’re wearing. It’s called a cut, not a vest.”
Chad’s eyes bulged in my direction. Not at me, but above my head. A tan arm covered in ink crossed over my shoulder, his hand splayed out on the table.
I gulped as an extended index finger tapped the napkin. “Where’s your number, babe?”
The voice was different. Less intimidating. The arm was leaner but still muscular. And the skull ring with the ruby eyes was missing. I craned my neck to see who was behind me. This man had a charming smile, hazel-colored eyes, messy, short blond hair. He appeared friendly. Reasonable. Nice.
“Damn babe, you’re hotter up close.” He squatted beside me at eye level. “Make the prez happy and scratch your digits here on this napkin. Okay, darlin’?” He appeared to study me, then my friends. “She’s right, by the way. It’s a cut.” He tugged on his leather collar.
“What are you, his errand boy?” I fluttered my eyelashes, hoping to soften him up so he could get his prez to leave me alone.
Kim and Tara sniggered at my sides while Chad and Ray stared in awe.
“Something like that.” His smile faded. “You gonna play hard to get babe? ’Cause I’ll warn you, the prez always gets what he wants.”
“Really?” I squared my shoulders, feeling a challenge coming on. I was done with men who believed they mattered more than women—misogynistic pigs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I already told theprez,” I made air quotes for dramatic effect, “I wasn’t interested.”
Errand boy’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Fuck me into next week, darlin’. You got a pair of steel balls for being a hot little number.”
“Could you be any more condescending? And rude?”
