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"I hope he does kick you out of here. It'll serve you right for getting on my nerves." She steals his keys before waving at me. "I'm driving. And we're going for ice cream, Tiny. Your baby wants chocolate."
"Of course, the baby wants chocolate," he says, his expression soft as he stares after his wife.
"She's going to shiv you one day, brother."
"Nah, she fucking loves me." He turns a shit-eating grin on me and then pokes his head out of my booth to make sure she's out of earshot. "Did you get her piece drawn up?"
"Yep." I roll my stool over to my desk and grab the binder where I've been keeping it before pulling it out for him.
"Oh, shit. This is nice." He grins as he holds the paper up, scrutinizing it. "She's going to lose her shit when she sees it."
It's a three-inch-high colored sketch of Gizmo in his red bandana, holding his bow and match. He looks ready for war. It turned out fucking great.
"You sure you want to give it to her? She's going to be pissed when you give it to her and still won't let her get it tattooed on her."
"I'm not giving it to her. I'm not that fucking crazy." He tucks the image into his pocket. "I'm going to have a fuck ton of temporary tattoos made with it. Maybe then she'll quit bitching about it."
I shake my head, chuckling as I rise from the stool. "It's your funeral."
"How much do I owe you?"
"Three-fifty for today. The artwork is free. Consider it my contribution to the cause."
"What cause?"
"Depends on whether she murders you or not." I slap him on the back, grinning.
"Man, fuck you, too." He flips me off before reaching for his wallet to hand me a stack of bills. Like usual, he overpays me. Like usual, I don't even try arguing with the man. It doesn't do any good. He just does the same shit again the next time he's in.
Every man in the MC is the same way. They tip extremely well everywhere they go. It's a nice change from some of these motherfuckers. You'd think, in a town full of billionaires, everyone would display the same generosity, but no one tips worse than a motherfucker with money to burn.
I walk Giant to the front to book out his next appointment, only to stop dead in my tracks when I see Coby Kaiser, my second-in-command, talking to a curvy, strawberry-blonde goddess at the counter. She's on her tiptoes, leaning over as he sketches something out for her. Her tiny dress is in danger of flashing her panties to the room.
I can't hear what she's saying to Coby, but her mouth is running fifteen miles a minute. Coby's left eye twitches, a sure sign that she's giving him hell. It's not easy to do. With his hard blue eyes, fauxhawk, and piercings, Coby is one mean-looking motherfucker. Most people are leery of him until they get to know him and realize he's chill as fuck. Nothing stresses him out.
Except for this petite little goddess. What the fuck did she ask him to draw for her? More importantly, what is she saying to him?
"I'll see you next time, brother," I mutter to Giant, already striding toward the counter to find out.
"Hey! What about my next appointment?"
"I'll call you to set it up."
Giant laughs behind me, but I tune him out, focusing on the woman a few paces ahead of me.
"No, that's not right," she says. "They look like grinches, except they're blue, and they have these mean eyes. And they live in the jungle and help the uppity kangaroo do kangaroo business, like her own personal jungle mafia."
What the fuck?
"Jungle mafia?" Coby mutters.
"Exactly! They're the jungle mafia."
I step up behind her, gritting my teeth when she leans forward a little more and her dress inches up higher. Jesus Christ. If she moves another inch, I'll be able to see her panties. Will she be wearing a thong? Will the plump outline of her perfect pussy be visible through the thin fabric?
My dick pulses at the thought, slamming up against my zipper hard enough to leave a zipper imprint on the shaft.
I growl a curse.
