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“Okay,” I babble as I get tangled in my shorts. “Okay.”
Hobo grins at how I keep saying “okay” to everything. It sounded like the right answer when Goose asked if I could make a pineapple pizza that wasn’t gross. It was also the right answer when Tomcat mentioned how his kids were coming over that weekend and would want to peek in on the kittens.
The next morning is better. I wake up to find Hobo sleeping stretched out across the mattress. He takes up the entire thing with me curled up in a corner. Smiling at him with his arms extended over his head, I feel carefree again.
Velma is yesterday’s problem. Today, I plan to get back into a schedule—a morning at the shop, the afternoon with the biker ladies at a salon, and an evening with Hobo.
During breakfast, I bounce around the kitchen, flipping flapjacks and making a mental grocery list. I might not have many customers at the shop, but I’m now in charge of feeding eight people. The Pigsty can be my little restaurant with a theme I’m able to change every night.
After I clean up the kitchen, I join Hobo upstairs. He doesn’t ask for a quickie before we leave, yet I know he’s riled up. His fingers keep going to my face, where the left eye is swollen and bruised. I also think he doesn’t like sharing me with other people. All his fears and resentments simmer to the surface.
We make love in the sunlit room. I’ve long past given up on modesty. Whenever I get self-conscious about my breasts and try to cover them, Hobo tugs my arms away. He never asks why I hide. Sometimes, I think he’d probably be fine if we didn’t speak at all. Communicating through hand gestures and grunts would suit him.
However, he speaks up after following me to the shop. I’m unsure if he plans to stay with me all morning before the salon.
“No, I’m riding around today,” Hobo says as if that explains what he’ll do for the hours we’re apart.
“Alone?”
“No, I’ll hook up with a few guys. Maybe Goose. They’re always around.”
Looking around the shop, I return my gaze to his handsome face and smile. “I’ll miss you.”
Hobo gets the goofiest grin as if my words surprise him. “You need friends.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you.”
“Of course. And if there’s any trouble with those ladies, you call me and I’ll handle them like I did Velma.”
We share a chuckle at the thought of him saving me from another woman. Before he leaves, I consider asking him to show me how to fight. Back in Vegas, I carried pepper spray. Even used it once when a guy was hanging around the parking lot when I got off work after two in the morning. Only hit him in the leg with the spray, but it was enough to scare him off.
Deciding to skip fight talk, I enjoy Hobo’s goodbye kiss. He seems clingy and struggles to leave the shop. We’re in a weird spot in our relationship. We’re strangers talking about forever. Our feelings feel permanent, yet we haven’t tested each other.
After Hobo rides off to do whatever he does with his time away from me, I spend my morning with Glenn. He’s already heard about my run-in with Velma from one of the old woman’s friends that shared the details at the Valley Gin Mill the night before. In Velma’s version, I tried to break into her house, so she hit me with the broom. Also, Hobo was there to give me a boost through the window.
“Patrice asked how Velma was alive if Hobo was caught in the middle of a crime,” Glenn says, mentioning Selene and Yazmin’s grandmother who is both married to a woman and also the love of Glenn’s life. I’ve come to accept people are complicated and not to worry about the details. “If Velma’s making an enemy of the club, she better have her will in order.”
“She seemed so nice when I moved in.”
Glenn sizes me up. “Her grandson has a reputation around town, apparently. I never heard anything, but Patrice said he’s a cheater and might have hit one girl years ago. Could just be idle gossip, but Velma got wind of it and thinks marrying off Francis will clean up his reputation.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“It might be nothing more than a rumor started by a jilted chick. He might be as innocent as the day he was born. But Velma’s son was for real a piece of shit. Not Francis’s dad but his uncle. Velma’s still mad at how people looked down at her family,” Glenn explains and leans back to grin at me. “Everyone’s got history around here. Pick anyone who’s been around the Valley for more than a few years, and they’ll have a grudge against someone else. Those are trials of small-town living.”
Thinking about Hobo’s family, I ask, “Were Hobo’s parents always unstable?”
As his weathered face loses its smirk, Glenn sighs. “I can’t say for sure. They were nobody to me until I heard about a few hippie cranks living in the woods. After a while, people claimed it was a cult of hippie cranks. This was way back when the Valley was a different place.”
A gloom washes over me as I imagine Hobo as a little boy. I bet he was curious about the world, wanting to learn and enjoy life like other kids. Based on his scarred body, nothing was ever easy.
“Have you met Kourtney?” Glenn asks, chuckling at the thought. When I shake my head, he grins wider. “She’s a handful. But don’t let her rude mouth fool you. She’s got a serious weakness for her brother. If you treat Hobo right, she’ll treat you right. Maybe not right off. Kourtney likes to test people. But once she knows Hobo is safe with you, she’ll become a good friend to have.”
My thoughts are on Kourtney Clark when I drive to the Lavender Lady Salon to meet the biker wives. Well, they aren’t all married to bikers. Rosemary works for one. Callie and Wynonna are the stepmother and sister of one. But otherwise, they’re all women who fell for members of the Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club.
I arrive at Lavender Lady Salon to find the parking lot filled with familiar faces. Wynonna and Selene are doing some kind of dance. Landry, Irina, and Yazmin are off to the side, showing each other pictures on their phones. Rosemary and Callie are clearly discussing their hair. I enter a party already in progress.
With my eye swollen and bruised, I don’t waste time trying to make a good impression. I’m wearing jeans and a loose-fitting, pale-yellow shirt. My untied hair sticks to me in the humid day.
