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“Whatever she says,” Jake called back, waving in the air as he flipped through a box of vinyls that had likely just been dropped off.
“Alright then. I’m all yours. What do I need?”
“A record player, clearly,” I said, waving toward the collections. “Alright. Well, these things are like any audio equipment. Huge range of prices.”
“Because…”
“Quality, for the most part. Like headphones. I have a fair pair because it was affordable. But I salivate every time I see Andrew’s set because I know they’re better. So, I need to know your budget.”
“No budget.”
“Everyone has a budget.”
“Alright. I draw the line at a ten-thousand-dollar record player,” he said, giving me that damn smile again. The jerk. Didn’t he know I was trying not to add to my wet dreams about him?
“In that case, this one,” I said, picking up a box and pressing it into his chest. “And you need a case,” I said, moving toward that section. “Most of these are gently used. Which I feel just gives them more character,” I told him as we started to shuffle them around. “Oh, look at this beauty,” I said after he picked a simple black one. I had a similar one back home. But this buttery-soft brown leather one was making me wish my budget was infinite. “Okay. I’m gonna go toss these at Jack,” I said, taking his case and the player. “I’ll meet you by the boomboxes. Because you’re getting some CDs too.”
With that, we browsed.
For hours.
Talking occasionally about my opinions on genres and artists.
It was the best time I’d had with another human being in a long time.
And I didn’t know what the hell to think about that.
“Oh, I forgot I need a new needle!” I declared as Jake started ringing Finn up.
“Already?” Jake asked.
“Needle?” Finn asked at the same time.
“Needle for the record player. They need to be replaced.”
“How often?”
“Every eight hundred to a thousand minutes of playtime,” I told him. “I’ll be right back.”
When I got back, Finn and Jake were being weird, but I figured they were just talking about me, so I thought nothing of it.
Until Jake was passing Finn his bags, and he pushed one toward me.
“What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it.
“A gift,” he said.
“A gift?” I asked, taken aback. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“And it’s poor manners to question a gift, now take it and get out,” Jake demanded.
I reached into the bag.
And there it was.
The record carrying case I’d fallen in love with.
The one that was out of my budget.
“This is too much.”
“It’s not,” Finn said, turning and walking out of the store, leaving me to rush to catch up. “No,” he said when I joined him on the sidewalk.
“No what?”
“No, I don’t want to hear shit about the case. Which way are you?” he asked, looking around.
“Around the corner,” I said, gesturing. “Hey, Finn,” I called as we walked in silence.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Trust me, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he said, but didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t good at trying to pry personal information out of people.
We put all his things in my car, and he said he’d grab his bike, then I could follow him.
I figured we were going to the clubhouse, but that idea flew out the window as we neared it and didn’t slow.
He turned off a few blocks away, down a road of houses. There was a mix of ranches, capes, and the occasional split level or colonial.
Finn’s bike slowed, and his hand went out on the left, indicating he was turning into the driveway of a bungalow-style house with a charming front porch, blue paint, and some front flowerbeds full of boxwoods.
I guess I imagined him in an apartment. But I was intrigued that he had his own home so close to the clubhouse it seemed like he also lived at least part time.
“What?” he asked as I climbed out of my car.
“Don’t you live at the clubhouse?” I asked.
“I have a room there, yeah. But I haven’t really been spending time there until recently. I bought this place for some privacy and quiet.”
“I get that. I can’t imagine people partying all the time, and running into strange people in the kitchen every morning.”
“Yeah, exactly. I got this place on a song a few years back. It was a fucking wreck back then. But the nice thing about the club is the prospects do free labor. So they helped me fix the place up.”
“What’s up with that?” I asked as we got the bags out of my trunk.
“With what?”
“The prospect thing.”
“You gotta see if someone fits in with the club,” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, but the labor thing.”
“Teaches you humility, I guess. And guys who’d be drawn to the lifestyle are usually not the types used to bowing to any sort of authority. By prospecting, they have to submit to the will of the president… and all the patched members. It’s important.”
