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“You had a helmet the whole time and never told me? I could have died this morning without one!”
Smirking, I bat her hands away, setting the helmet on her head and clipping it under her chin, tightening it until I’m happy with how it sits.
“Didn’t have it this morning, Peaches. I bought it today.”
“Oh.”
She’s blushing at the idea of me buying her a helmet. Women are strange creatures. Slinging my leg over my rig, I kick start the ignition, waiting for her to climb on, clinging to me like a koala. Despite the presence of the helmet, she still buries her face in the middle of my back for the entire journey.
Naomi’s legs are shaking again when she climbs off. She really needs to get better at riding a motorcycle. I’ve never had an accident, and she has her helmet now. Maybe I’ll buy her a leather jacket. That might make her feel more at ease. I’ll get her one tomorrow.
Trailing her onto the porch, I pluck at the collar of her T-shirt, snagging the tag to get her shirt size.
“What are you doing?” she asks, spinning around. I drop the tag, taking my hand back and grinning at her.
“Nothing. I’ll be here tomorrow at eight-thirty. Be ready, Peaches.”
She opens her mouth – probably to argue – so I quickly unsnap the helmet, saluting her with it as I jog back to my rig, shoving the damn thing in the saddle bag and roaring out of here.
The usual suspects are at the clubhouse when I get back, striding up to the bar and raising a finger to Trent to request my whiskey. He quickly pours it, sliding it over to me as I drop onto a barstool.
Some of the garage boys are playing pool, the jukebox spilling tunes, and Justice and Bullseye are standing at the bar, looking more serious than I have ever seen them as they sip whiskey and chat.
Usually, those boys are the life of the party, but they’ve been taking their new enforcer duties seriously. It’s a good look on them. Maybe we should have given them some more responsibilities earlier.
A flash of dark hair and exposed, tanned skin catches my eye, and I bite back a groan as Joey drops onto the barstool beside me, flagging Trent for some vodka.
He nods, pouring two glasses of whiskey and furnishing Justice and Bullseye before he gets her vodka. Joey glares at him, but he gamely meets her eye. The kid’s got balls of steel. I’ll give him that.
“He’s kind of slow,” Joey sneers as he moves away, pouring more drinks.
“I’ve never had any problems with him.”
She glances over at me, making a face as she sips her vodka. “Well, my drinks can be on you tonight. That way, they’ll come quickly.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I won’t be ordering drinks for Joey. Not even if hell froze over. Groupies don’t typically pay for their drinks here at the clubhouse any more than members do. But that’s because they usually pay their way in non-monetary currency.
Joey isn’t spreading her legs for anyone at the moment. Well, maybe Fangs, but he prefers Nance or Shanna, or even Shelley and Lisa’s little groupie friend, Vicky, though she’s more Rooster’s go-to girl. Joey isn’t paying her way here at the clubhouse at all.
“My hot water cut out this morning,” Joey bitches. Glancing over at her, my eyebrows raise. What is this? A fucking shrink session. “I betNaomihas no issues with the hot water at Mama’s house.”
I frown, stroking the side of my whiskey tumbler. Naomi never fucking mentioned any hot water issues. Maybe I should ask her. I don’t want her not to be able to wash her dishes. Does she have a dishwasher? Perhaps I should check that too.
“I heard she’s gone and got a job at the clubhouse,” Joey continues to whine. “Why the fuck do the Shaws keep stacking the clubhouse with people unrelated to the club?”
“Naomi is the only non-old lady who works here.”
Joey snorts, waves her hand dismissively, and rolls her eyes. “That deaf bitch wasn’t an old lady when she got her switchboard job. Who the fuck hires a deaf person to answer phones?”
“Lisa isn’t deaf on the phone.”
“Whatever. I’m sure some of the girls would have been better. We understand how the club works. Bringing in outsiders is fucking dangerous. Loose lips and all that. Naomi seemed pretty cozy with that young pastor on the South Side. He’s probably a police informant.”
Pastor? I didn’t realize the church had a new pastor. Maybe I should check him out. I don’t think he’d be a police informant. That’d be fucking risky.
“Not to mention, my place is fucking shit. I should be living somewhere nicer, like Mama’s house. It’s so much bigger than my place. Plus, my kitchen is terrible,andthe lighting in my bathroom is terrible for makeup….”
Oh god. It’s never going to fucking end, is it? I slam the rest of my drink back.
