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1
Loretta
Seated at my best friend’s kitchen island, half with it at this time of the morning, I double knock on the granite countertop. Jade’s got the coffee brewing and bagels toasting in the toaster. This is our weekday ritual and has been for the better part of a decade.
Ya see Jade, my heavily tatted, curvalicious bestie, moved in next door eleven years ago with a toddler on her hip and little money to her name. We bonded on account of my social nature and single momdom. By social nature, I mean batshit crazy. Just ask my twenty-two-year-old son Josh, he’ll give ya the colorful version of his mother’s eccentricities. I’m a wild one, with wild hair and wild clothes, to go with my equally wild personality. Did ya catch all that?
Padding on sleepy feet to the fridge, Jade grabs an armful of flavored creamers from the door for me to choose from as her half-dressed teenager lifts his chin in greeting before joining me at the island.
“Mornin’, Hunter.” I smile at his tousled bed head. Bet mine doesn’t fare any better at this hour. There’s no use in getting dolled up before noon unless my fuck buddy slept over. Then, I might consider taming this curly mane and brush my teeth. A threadbare pair of tie-dyed cotton shorts and a fluorescent pink spaghetti tank with built-in bra will have to do, for now.
“Mornin’, Loretta,” Hunter parrots, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Josh gettin’ you today?” I ask.
He nods the affirmative.
“You gonna work at the garage?” By garage, I’m talking about the Sacred Sinner’s automotive shop. My son’s a patched member of their motorcycle club, known as White Boy. Dumb as hell nickname if ya ask me, but he likes it. Hunter hangs with them a lot, learning the ins and outs of engines and whatnot. It keeps him outta trouble, which gives Jade peace of mind when she works odd hours as a tattoo artist.
Creamers are spread before us along with two silly printed coffee mugs filled with the drink of gods. Hunter takes his and I mine, as Jade smears our bagels with the ushe, then slides the plates over. I pour a healthy amount of Almond Joy into my cup. Hunter opts for the pumpkin spice. I’m tempted to give him shit about being a basic bitch, but think better of it. He ain’t a morning person, and I don’t wanna poke the teenage bear this early. Maybe later.
Leaning her round badonkadonk against the counter, Jade takes a sip of her black coffee waiting on us to dig in. She’s doing that stupid keto diet to lose weight. I give her a week and she’ll be back to her normal self. Dunno why she’s gotta lose pounds anyhow. Her thickness suits her, just as my size three suits me. What I wouldn’t give to have beach ball tits like hers, though. Lucky bitch.
“You gonna keep staring at my chest, or you gonna eat?” Jade arches an amused brow.
I roll my eyes. It ain’t my fault she’s got a low-cut tank on and her nips are hard as diamonds. Can’t blame a woman for appreciating another’s assets.
“Fuck off,” I tease, and Hunter snickers.
“What are you getting yourself into tonight?” Jade asks.
“I gotta work.” I’m a bartender at a local watering hole. The weekends, including Friday nights, are our busiest. Lots of tips to be made.
“Then Blimp?” Jade smothers a smart-ass smirk and tucks a stray piece of onyx hair behind her ear. Hooker.
Hunter chokes on his food. I slap his back to dislodge it before I take a bite of onion bagel smeared with butter and cream cheese. Because I want the nosy bitch to wait it out, I chew slowly. She snorts, knowing damn well I’m stalling. Blimp’s an older brother in my son’s motorcycle club and has been a friend for years. And by friend, I’m talking with benefits. Bow-chicka-wow-wow. We don’t feel the need to define whatever it is we’ve been doing since before Jade moved in. We have fun. Neither of us are relationship material. Not really.
After Josh’s piece of shit father ran out when he was two, I gave up on all that rose-colored romancey crap. Now that I’m in my forties, I don’t have time for games. Fucking and a little cuddling is all this crazy broad needs. Blimp supplies that in spades. No use in complicating something that doesn’t need complicating. We fuck, do our thing and enjoy ourselves — end of story. Jade doesn’t see it that way, though, and has been giving me hell about our arrangement for, well... ten goddamn years. This, coming from a chick who hasn’t dated a soul in the same amount of time. Pretty sure her pussy has cobwebs. Damn thing needs a dusting.
Once I finish half my bagel and half my coffee, I give up the goods, “Blimp said he'd drop by the bar at some point tonight.”
Jade’s eyes round in surprise. “No club?”
“No. They’re locked down, I’m closing, and he’s leaving on a run for however long. Don’t wanna waste time.” A.K.A. I wanna fuck right after work. When I’m not working the weekends, I usually go to the Sacred Sinner compound to fool around. We’ve been known to put on quite the show in the common room of their clubhouse on party nights. Blimp’s a fan of public displays of indecency and I’m a more than willing participant. Exhibitionism is hot. You should try it sometime. If that’s not your thing, maybe you can watch Blimp and I go at it instead. Voyeurism can be sexy. In our case, you have to be down with a thick, long-bearded, mature biker who smells like maryjane, leather, and cologne. Who also rocks the cock of a thoroughbred stallion. His cum tastes like granny smith apples. True story, from my lips to God's ears. You’re welcome to taste it anytime. I don’t mind sharing.
Hunter finishes his bagel before I’m done and shuffles back into his bedroom to get dressed. Once he’s out of earshot, I speak freely. There’s no need to scar the kid before he’s gotten his dick wet. We try to keep the sex talk to a minimum around him. Not that there’s always gotta be sex talk. I’m notthatmuch of a hussy.
Jade refills our cups and retakes her spot against the cupboards, ankles crossed.
“You wanna drop by the bar tonight?” I prompt. She’ll say no. She always says no. This one’s a lightweight. Bet an infant could hold liquor better than this girl.
Jade shakes her head, half a grin surfacing. “You know I gotta work, too.”
“Only ‘til ten.”
“Ten?” She gives me a droll,think twice bitchlook. “The brother’s have been handlin’ some shit lately. You know if they can’t get sex, they go for pain… or both. It’s a stress reliever.”
Right. Duh. The brothers get ink into the wee hours of the morning. Her back will kill her tomorrow.
