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She started to apologize, but he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have gone out until they were all there,” he said quietly so that no one outside could hear. “Being respected as the dominant one is often about the little things.”
Jessie considered that. It made sense, she conceded. The Alpha didn’t wait on someone else to show up, everyone else waited on the Alpha. She nodded her understanding, but she couldn’t help think that it seemed like a waste of a lot of time, all this posturing.
Ryder grinned, as if he could read her mind. He opened the door and escorted her out.
The bar wasn’t far, just up the block, but on the other side of the highway. Probably would have been faster to walk, given that they had to go up to the light, and back down the other side of the median. But they rode the bikes anyway. She guessed it was more about appearances again. Really, she was fascinated by all of this. If she ever got the chance to go back for her master’s degree, would they let her do her thesis on masculinity displays among shifter bikers? She had a wistful thought about her hopes and dreams of just a year ago — graduate, get married, start a family, go back for that master’s degree....
She shook her head. She’d been naive.
Not that there was really anything wrong with being naive at 22, she thought defensively. But....
Well, at 23, she wasn’t naive anymore.
The bar was the kind she’d never walk into by herself. They added their bikes to a line of bikes already parked out front. For a Sunday evening, the place looked busy. It was a one-story wood building with only a small porch over the door, a solid steel thing. The darkened windows had neon beer signs in them: Coors, Bud Light, Molson. Jessie swallowed hard. This was no place for a good girl like her. But then she glanced at the man walking alongside her, and she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was safe, she was sure of it. Ryder would see to it, and she would get to see the inside of a biker bar. The thought of that put a bit of lift to her step. Ryder grinned at her.
“Good girl,” he approved. “Remember your line?”
“I’m with him,” she answered, laughing a bit. And yes, she was suddenly confident that line would solve any problem she might face.
The bar was loud, smoky, and smelled like beer. Were they really allowed to smoke in here? Mostly men, but there were a few women — sitting on barstools, perched on the arms of the chairs of the men, and even sitting in men’s laps. Jessie looked around. She saw no woman with a chair of her own. Well, that shit wasn’t going to fly.
Margarite had found her having a panic attack that first weekend after she’d escaped Chen’s pack house. She’d been doing her darnedest to act all in control and strong, but she didn’t feel that way, not inside. Margarite had held her head while she vomited and assured her she was doing just fine. “Always start as you mean to go on,” she advised. “If you tell them you’re strong —and you did just fine with that, by the way —then they’ll accept you’re going to be strong. Always start as you mean to go on.”
It seemed like good advice then, and it seemed like good advice now. She followed Ryder and Benny to a table, and she took a chair next to Ryder and sat down. Benny snickered. “Noticed, did you?” he murmured.
“I did,” she replied. “And I’m entitled to a seat at the table.” That made her laugh. Shirley Chisholm had said that once about politics. Wouldn’t she be surprised to be quoted by a shifter girl trying to hold her own?
Well, maybe not, she thought. That woman had been fierce.
A waitress came around and took their order for beers. Coors, Ryder said, one for me, and one for the lady. Benny ordered the same. Jessie watched her walk away —tight jeans and high heels put a swing to her hips. She wondered if she could walk like that if she had higher heels on? But she sure wouldn’t want to work as a waitress in them for eight hours!
The place was so interesting. Most of Ryder’s Wolves were still wearing their colors and they crowded around the bar to place their orders. But Ryder got waited on. Huh. “Future beers, you should go up and get me one,” Ryder whispered in her ear. “Watch.”
She glanced at him and saw the amusement in his eyes. She rolled her own eyes and looked around. There was a band setting up in the back. Some of the men were playing pool, and that looked like a darts competition taking place on the side. But most of the women were perched around a group of men who had staked out a large table back by the dance floor. Ryder had chosen a table closer to the door. She snickered to herself. Smart man, if a fight broke out, they’d be first out the door. And then she rolled her eyes. Run from a fight? This crowd? Hardly.
“It’s so he can see who comes in,” Benny murmured, reading her accurately. She wasn’t sure how he did that, and she was pretty damn sure she didn’t like being so transparent to the man. Even Ryder didn’t seem to have any problem reading her.
“You’re young,” Benny said. He took a good slug of beer. None of the wolves had to worry about getting drunk — they could drink all they want. “And let’s face it, a curious person like you — like me — is going to have the same initial questions.”
She glanced at him. Yes, she decided, Benny was probably as curious about people as she was. He’d been an intelligencer for Northwest Council of Alphas she’d heard. And then he became a psychologist. She’d caught him listening in on conversations just like she did. Feeling better about her curiosity, she watched the room.
It was fascinating really, she thought, how Ryder’s men mingled, having a good time, playing pool and darts. And yet, she sensed their alertness. They really were gathering the intel Ryder had asked of them.
But her eyes kept drifting back to the women. If anyone knows about a new man in town, it would be them, she thought, her eyes narrowing.
“Come on,” Ryder said. “I want to dance.”
She started to protest that she didn’t know how, not like this. Frat parties that Bjorn had taken her to? Sure, you just got up and moved to the music. But this? This looked like it required moves — moves she didn’t know. But Ryder hadn’t been asking, she thought with a laugh, as he tugged her onto the dance floor. He pulled her into a loose embrace, taking her right hand in his and holding it close to their bodies, while wrapping his other arm around her, resting his hand on the small of her back. Oh, she thought. This I can do. She relaxed, and put her arm around his neck, and let the music guide her steps. She’d expected country music, but this was rock, with a thumping bass and steel guitar —she grinned.
“You like this place?” Ryder asked her.
She laughed. “It’s wild,” she said. “I like the music, though.”
He smiled at her, and his dimple showed. She wanted to touch it. “I expected you to be uptight about it all.”
“Don’t expect me to take shit like those women are,” she warned him. “I can drink the beer. I like the music. But you pat my fanny like that man just did the waitress? And I’ll lay you out on the floor.”
Ryder laughed out loud —the first real laugh she’d ever seen from him. She was amazed at the difference it made in him. He looked younger, freer, less worn. Oh, she thought. I want.
