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“Girls like her are a dime a dozen up here, boys. You just have to pick the age, shape, and cup size.” I cup my hands and bring them up to my chest. “Just wait till we hit up the bars tonight. And speaking of which, if you two ladies will finish up with your housework, we’d be there already with the guys, so how about that help now? I’d like to get to the Moose Knuckle before all the good pussy is snatched up.”
“Fuck it. Fine, help us,” Priest relents. V tries to hand me the instructions, but I shove his hand away.
“I don’t need that shit. Shoving a steel rod into a tight hole is my specialty,” I chuckle. “Here, letDaddyshow you how it’s done.”
CORA
“Hey,sweet cheeks. How ’bout another round over here?”
I nod to the burly biker a few feet to my right, letting him know I heard him, and finish the drink order I’m working on. The music is pounding, and the strobe lights are giving me a headache. Every square inch of the place is filled with bikers, half-naked women, and the line for drinks is three rows deep.
Welcome to the Moose Knuckle Tavern during the first night of Bike Week here in Sturgis.
I fucking hate bike week.
Every year, I take this week off and head over to Omaha to visit my Aunt Shirley. But this year, Carl, the owner of the Moose Knuckle Tavern, and therefore my boss, rolled his motorcycle three days before the rally was set to start, which left me with no choice but to take over the tavern while he lies in bed, his leg in a cast from hip to toe, and a road rash I imagine hurts like hell.
“Honey, over here!” someone calls out from my left.
Taking a deep, not-so-cleansing breath, I plaster on a smile and wave to acknowledge the man.Where the fuck is Stella?
Stella’s the part-time bartender Carl had hired to help out this week, but things aren’t going so well. She’s constantly taking breaks and is never on time. Last night, I found her in Carl’s office, bent over his desk, getting nailed by some smelly biker with a beer gut and a cigarette dangling from between his lips.
I whip out a few more orders and finally turn my attention to the guy on my left. The instant my eyes land on him, the air is sucked straight out of my lungs. Hell, I’m pretty sure my vagina just quivered with excitement.Who knew it could even do that?
“Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs, flashing a smile that could melt every female heart in this room, except for mine.
“What can I get ya?”
Mr. Too-Sexy-To-Be-A-Biker places a twenty on the bar top and winks. “A Skinny Bitch.”
Fury flows through me like molten lava. Narrowing my eyes, I press my hands on the counter and lean forward. “Listen up, fuckface. Just because you have an asshole, doesn’t mean you have to be one. Now, what do you want to drink?”
Roars of laughter come from the group of men standing directly behind him, but he doesn’t laugh or look pissed. Instead, he looks shell-shocked, his face white beneath that delicious beard. His mouth is open in surprise, and his eyes are wide.
This is just one of the many reasons I fucking hate bike week. These fuckers think they can talk to women like they’re shit and stomp all over their feelings and their hearts. But you can’t stomp on a heart that’s not available. As for my feelings, they may get hurt, but I’ll never give them the satisfaction of knowing it.
I’ve always been a curvy girl, and seeing as I don’t plan on starving myself or breaking my back at a gym, I probably always will be. And I’m good with that, because I think I look good. I’m also a nice person who treats people with kindness and respect, and I go to church on Sundays. I won’t change any of that just to be treated as eye candy for the likes of this doofus with the stupid twat knot/man bun on top of his head.
“I—” he sputters. “I didn’t… That’s what I want to drink—a Skinny Bitch. Vodka, soda, lime?”
Oh. My. God.If I could crawl under the bar right now and disappear, I’d do it.
“Right,” I chirp, quickly grabbing a tumbler from the tray of clean glasses. My hands tremble with embarrassment as I make his drink, all while feeling his eyes on me.
I turn and place the glass on a napkin in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. “I apologize,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the deafening combination of music and laughter. “I thought…” I snap my mouth shut and shake my head. I’d thought he was calling me fat, and now I look like an idiot. “Anyway, enjoy your drink.”
I pull away and move on to the next person in line, trying desperately to ignore the feel of his gaze on me as I work. He’s probably wondering how I’m here behind the bar without a keeper, because clearly, I must be insane.
I can’t help but sneak glances at him from the corner of my eye as I move behind the bar. He’s beautiful. Chiseled muscles. Blond hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head. I normally hate that look, but on this guy, it makes my ovaries do a little flip inside my otherwise neglected lady parts.
“Another one, sweetheart?”
Keep it together, Cora. He’s just a guy, and a biker guy to boot. You don’t like bikers, remember?
Placing his drink in front of him, I move to take the bill clamped between his fingers, but he holds it tight. I look up and freeze instantly. His electric blue eyes hold me captive, sending jolts of electricity buzzing throughout my body.
“I hope you know I wasn’t being an asshole.” The sincerity in his gaze makes my knees weaken even more.
