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CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
*Lace*
“One more surprise stop, then I promise to take you to the saloon. Do you need one of the guys to get anything of yours from the condo?” Chaz asks.
“Nah. I always keep an entire set of toiletries and several outfits there. Should be all good.” He likely assumes those extras are there in a locker. I do store a few things in a locker, but most of my stuff is in my wagon.
Instead of cruising The Strip away from the park, Chaz takes the higher-speed road that runs parallel to save time. Before long, he pulls into The Crow Bar and Grill. The Crow Bar has this intrigue about it, kinda appeases to the masses and conforms to the tourist seasons. Good luck getting a table here in the spring or summer, when the area is rife with hungry and wasted college students. They get a nice break during the fall usually—aside from the short-lived Bike Week. The Crow Bar is also the host of all major rally events, beginning with the Kick-Start Party tonight and ending with the last Poker Run stop on Saturday.
Chaz looks down at his watch, grabs my hand, then pulls me toward the entrance. The entry bell chimes but since the place is still technically closed, no one behind the bar counter yells out a greeting.
Instead, the murmuring of conversation coming from that same section lulls and several eyes turn our direction. I immediately tug Chaz to a stop. “You were kidding. I thought you and Brodi were kidding.”
“No way. We want our girl up there on stage. A different type of stage for once.”
I inhale and exhale sharply through my nose. “Do I have a choice?” I ask.
He bites at the inside of his lip. When I move to yank my hand away, his grip tightens. “Yeah. You have a choice,” he says, eyebrow raised.
Guilt fills me from head to toe. I have always thought it would be fun to participate, but figured it would be best to stick with what I know — which is most certainly not kissing ass and pageant waving.
“Just in time,” Becca states, raising her voice so it reaches from the bar to the entrance. Chaz and I approach, me dragging a little. She jumps off her barstool and walks up to Chaz. He slips an arm around her waist, gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, pulls out an envelope from the inside of his jacket, and hands it to her.
She throws me a friendly smile and gestures toward one of the open seats. Most of the contestants chose the regular barstools, leaving the few faux motorcycle ones open. Which is not at all unusual for the locals; the excitement of a motorcycle-shaped bar seat kinda wanes after the first couple of impressions. I take it anyway but decide to sit sidesaddle so I can face the group.
“Ladies! This is Cash, Hell for Leather’s money man. They graciously offered to sponsor the pageant this year. Bro, a different Hell for Leather member, has also offered to sit in as a judge.”
Pretty sure every girl in attendance squirts herself on the spot. There is just something about meeting a man you know is part of an MC that is climbing the ranks as notorious. If they managed to stay dry at the idea of a persuasive fuck, they squirted at the idea of betraying him to Stoney somehow. I ignore the lick of jealous anger that swoops inside my stomach.
“How about just one quick stage-walk practice!” Becca announces. She plops the envelope onto the counter and gestures over her shoulder for us to follow her, making her way outside and around to the deck while we all shadow.
Two of the girls lean in closer to each other whispering. Becca drones on while I try to lip read. One girl definitely mentions Stoney, but as for the rest of what was said, I can only come up with my own conclusions. Everyone seems to know the Hell for Leather and Rolling Stones peace agreement is on shaky grounds. Lots of little biker birdies are twittering away to get on the founders’ good sides. It would not surprise me one bit if Kal started getting surprise proposals.
Amid the local scene, it is also no goddamn secret that I am partial to HFL. While I have never participated in the Miss Gulf Coast Pageant, most everyone knows who I am, where I work, and which club claims me.
Some of these girls I went to high school with. What is worse than biker birdies twittering? Petty high school cliques. The catty whispering whisks me away to the past. It takes me a minute to remember that I aged into a woman with more experience than them and a hell of a lot more confidence.
“Baby,” Chaz whispers in my ear. The unpleasant nostalgia poofs, and I snap my attention toward him. He leans toward my ear again. “Want to leave? I really did mean that you have a choice.”
I press my mouth near his ear opposite of where the girls could see my lips move. “Sorry for spacing out. No need to leave; I’m good.”
He pulls his chin back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I give him a sexy smile. “My mind got carried away is all. No more surprises, okay?”
He nods slowly a couple times and bumps me under the chin playfully before tilting his head toward the stage. All the girls had walked and lined up while I remained in the shadows distracted by memories.
Chaz steps aside, and I curve my eyebrows at the group, walking forward and pretending to wave at the crowd before standing next to the last girl. “Sorry, everyone,” I chuckle. “Long night.”
No need to masquerade as anything other than who — what — I am and what that comment means. Sex, drugs… blood. I do my best to allude to that and more with the delivery of the words. Thankfully, my subconscious self managed to pick up at least a couple key terms from Becca, though. “So, pictures, drink orders, things of that sort? You said we start in swimwear for the pictures and mingling.”
“Right, and cocktail wear on stage,” Becca gives me a soft smile. Sweet lady. She really is. Had a thing with Foster for a while… until he got too old for her.
With a return smile, I hide the fact that my wardrobe is nothing fancy. “Got it.” Not really. Cocktails are not typically on my agenda. Nor are dates or nights out on the town. I take care of the men who want that type of thing but have little to no patience to invest. Then, I take baths in the gulf and cozy up in my car, alone.
“Thanks, ladies, that’ll do it for now. See you all tonight. If you have any questions just shoot me a text.” Becca then lists off the digits of her number, and I take mental note.
Chaz appears at my feet, hand outstretched to help me off the stage. I take it and he places his other hand on my hip for extra support. Then, he wraps his arms around my shoulder, leads me away from everyone, and we get the hell out of there.
