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“That’s Reina. I gotta go. And mom?”
“What?”
“Make a move. You deserve to be happy. And please wear something hot.” She kisses my cheek, making me forget all about her crop top until she’s out the door.
Make a move. Wear something hot. I snort. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that having a man in my life isn’t a priority. I’ve dedicated my life to raising my girls and running my business. Kiesha says she worries that I’ll be lonely once she goes to college next year.
I don’t want to think about my house being empty.
For quite some time, it’s been my girls and me. Since I kicked their sorry ass father to the curb. I’m not getting any younger. My girls keep getting older. But my daughter isn’t wrong. Sometimes I do miss being part of a we. Having someone to shoulder some of life’s burdens. There’s been times when it couldn’t have hurt to have that cushion of a second income to help cover daily expenses. More times than I liked, I had to make tough choices. Played the game of bill bingo. Paying every bill a month behind, always on the verge of a disconnect happening. That’s not my life anymore, thankfully. All my hard work paid off. I have a successful business that runs well enough that I have free time. More than I’m comfortable having.
I’m a workaholic. I’ve tried to break out of that cycle and return to dating.
I tried it on with Hound, a friend of my brother, for a spell, but he’s a motorcycle man.
I know them well.
All too well.
Which is why I don’t know why I agreed to go to the clubhouse tonight.
“It’s not a date,” I whisper.
Not that I need the reminder.
Chapter Two
“Knock. Knock,” I hear Pam calling as she lets herself in using her spare key.
“I’m in my room,” I yell out from inside my closet where I’m currently paralyzed by my teenage daughter’s advice to wear something hot.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” The judgement in my sister-in-law’s voice is evidence I have no clue what I’m doing. I look down my front at the brown sweater and skinny leg nude pants I’m wearing. I thought fall-colored neutrals were a safe bet. Apparently, that’s wrong.
“What are you doing here?”
“Kiesha called for reinforcement.”
“I’m grounding her.”
“You are not. Now move. Let me see what we’ve got to work with.” She plows past me, bumping me out of the way with her hip. Her fingers fly through the rack as she makes disapproving noises and commentary about my lack of ‘good shit.’
Pam is a biker babe through and through. She’s got the attitude and the wardrobe to back it up. I wouldn’t have her any other way. Not only is she the sister I always wanted, but we are also business partners. She takes no crap and tells it like she sees it.
“Where are your non work clothes?”
“What do you mean?”
She frowns at me. “Where’s your fun shit? The deep cut tops. Your jeans? The sex kitten on the prowl stuff.”
“I don’t really dress like that.”
“Like what? Not granniefied.”
“That’s not even an actual word.”
Pursing her lips, she rubs her temples. “You’re giving me a migraine.”
“You’re being dramatic.” So maybe I’m not all hip and dress like the cool kids. I had to be smart with my purchases. I’ve always bought for myself last and when things are on clearance or at a bargain shop. My clothes are solid pieces that are professional yet versatile because I needed nice things to wear to work without spending a fortune.
