Page 9 of Gator: One Love


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He’d only traveled a short way down the road when he decided to wait for his friend.

With his Harley idling, Gator was already lost in thoughts of Sylvie. But the sound of the other bike approaching brought him back to reality. He swung around to see Baptiste rolling up beside him. The two men exchanged grins then Baptiste gave him a nod and gunned his engine, then cruised on down the road.

Gator revved his Softail and gave chase, the wind whipping at his clothes and his long hair streaming behind him. He thought he knew where Baptiste was headed, but as they pulled up outside a little bar he’d assumed didn’t allow bikers on their premises, Gator realized he’d been mistaken…or else Baptiste was the one who was confused.

As he followed Baptiste inside, Gator was surprised to see that the other patrons seemed to know Baptiste well.

“What’s this place?” Gator asked him.

“You didn’t see the name on the door?”

Gator nodded.

“Cops Corner,” Baptiste told him. Gator looked confused. “Cops only,” he said.

“Cops only? Cops? This place is full of fucking cops?” Gator said.

“Not full of them. There’re two bikers here now too.” Baptiste laughed. “Come on, bro, unless you’re packing or got a baggie in those pants, they’re just like us.”

Gator shook his head but followed his friend to a quiet corner where a waitress wearing a way-too-small top and shorts cut off halfway across her butt cheeks asked for their order. “He’s paying,” Baptiste told her, pointing towards Gator. “Top shelf whiskey for me and cheap beer for my man.”

She raised her eyebrows and Gator nodded, adding, “Low-cal, thanks.”

She laughed. When his expression didn’t change, she said, “Really?”

“I’d ask for a non-alcoholic, but somehow I don’t think you've got that kind of drink in stock.” Gator's tone was dry, his words loaded with meaning.

He wasn’t a teetotaler by any means – the man enjoyed a cold beer or a strong spirit as much as the next person. But he’d learned from bitter experience to take it easy on the hard stuff. His maw and paw had been heavy drinkers, and their addiction had caused all sorts of problems over the years.

Gator had seen the ugly side of alcohol up close, and he wasn’t about to follow in their footsteps. So, he kept his drinking in check, never going too far and always staying in control. It wasn’t always easy, especially in the club, but it had served him well till now.

She shook her head as she walked away and when she came back with a George T. Stagg and a bottle of Coke, Gator and Baptiste both started laughing. She did too. “The usual?” she asked Baptiste. He nodded. “And you?” she asked Gator, who was having trouble keeping his eyes off her tits, which were hardly contained in her top.

Fuck.“Sorry…same,” he said, not knowing what the same was. He’d come in there thinking about Sylvie and he was ogling the waitress as she walked away.

“She’s taken,” Baptiste said.

“Nah…not interested anyway,” Gator said.

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Really, man. She just seems a whole lot like someone else I know.”

“The girl you were thinking ’bout today.”

“Yeah…Sylvie.”

The waitress returned with two Abita Ambers and said, “Food?”

“Anything you got, darling.” Gator’s eyebrows shot up when Baptiste said that, and as soon as the waitress left again, Gator said:

“Darling?”

“Yeah, she’s a beauty…isn’t she?”

“She’s pretty,” Gator said.

“Been seeing her for a few months now,” Baptiste said. “I’m kinda falling for her.”

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