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Chapter 3
Daisy heard the unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines as they drifted by her hotel room. She tossed back the fireproof curtain and gazed out into the dusk. The digs might be crap, she thought, but a beer or two could take her mind off it. Plus, she was sucker for anything with two wheels.
She shimmied into a short jean skirt and pink tank top and headed out the door. She followed the Harleys like a siren’s song to a low-slung building with a large parking lot and sign out front that said “Maria’s.” The outlaw country blaring from inside and the bikes in the lot told her this was definitely her kind of place. She paused a moment on the sidewalk as two riders turned off the main drag and into the gravel lot. One was a large guy, decked out in black, with a long, black ponytail. Daisy thought he was hot as hell until she saw his friend.
Blonde, muscled, and tanned, Daisy was pretty sure the hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on in her life just rode into view. She tried to hustle and catch the door while he was heading inside, but the gravel and her cowboy boots were a bad match. By the time she’d gotten inside herself, the hottie was lost in the crowd. She scowled, disappointed. The place was jumping though and had more leather and studs than poor Daisy’s nether regions might be able to withstand.
She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how long it’d been since she had a bike or a man between her thighs. Right now she wasn’t too picky about either, and if all went well she might get both. She spotted the bar on the other side of the room and headed that way. A platinum blonde failed to notice her as she mixed drinks and then stacked them onto a tray. She skirted out from behind the bar to deliver them to one of the many tables.
“Hey!” called an old man perched on a stool. “What about my beer?” he asked.
“Stuff it, Milo,” the blonde replied, muttering something about being two girls down and some other obscenities having to do with impatience.
The old man gave Daisy a disgruntled look as she took the stool next to him.
“Busy,” Daisy observed, nodding at the crowd.
Milo grunted. “She’s pouring and serving,” he said, jerking his head at the blonde. “Should just be pouring. She knows I like a steady supply to wash down the fries.”
He had a huge basket of chili cheese fries in front of him that set Daisy’s stomach rumbling. Lucky for her, the juke box was loud and the crowd even louder.
“You come here a lot?” she asked him. “Is it always busy like this?”
Milo nodded and grabbed his glass. “Always,” he told her. “I’m always here and it’s always like this.” He tipped the glass, then remembered it was empty, and slammed it back down on the counter.
Daisy glanced around and only spotted one other waitress in the whole bar. She herself had waited tabled from time to time for cash. Delay, Nebraska had a serious lack of employment opportunities. It was the Silver Spoon or the gas station or the packing plant, and at least you got free meals at the Spoon- such as they were. Working at the packing plant meant you might seriously never eat again after seeing what went into a hot dog.
The blonde looked exhausted and it wasn’t even midnight.
“Damn people,” Milo groused, glancing around furtively. “Come to my place, so’s I can’t get my beer for my fries.”
“Oh, Lord,” Daisy replied, already sick of the conversation. She took the glass, put one knee on the stool, and reached over the bar. She filled it with Bud as the guy watched.
“Adams,” he protested. “Adams!”
Daisy glared at him over her shoulder then slammed the glass down in front of him, froth splashing over the edge.
“Take what I give you, old man.”
At that moment, the blonde came around behind the bar. She gave Milo, then Daisy, the stink eye.
“Sorry,” Daisy said, shrinking a little on her stool. “You’re pretty slammed. I was… I was just… ”
The blonde kept her pinned with a withering look.
“I could take your next tray,” Daisy offered, sensing an opportunity.
The blonde raised an eyebrow.
“I schlep the trays and keep the tips?” Daisy suggested. “You don’t have to pay me extra.”
The older woman looked her up and down. “Got ID?” she finally asked. Daisy produced it. “You ever wait tables, Delilah?” she asked, studying the card.
“It’s Daisy. And yeah, I have.”
“Not that it matters,” said the blonde while handing the license back across the bar. “I’ll take anyone with two arms and pulse. You got yourself a deal.” She stacked more drinks onto the now empty tray and pushed it over. “Goes to that table over there,” she said, jerking her head.
