club, not only in all things womanly… clothes and makeup, men and sex, but also in all things biker… riding and old lady etiquette. “Grace?” her voice rang out in the room. “Oh Grace,” she repeated and wrapped me in her arms and hugged me tightly on a deep sigh.
“Who the hell is she?” a hoarse-voiced woman asked from somewhere behind me. Alicia’s face tightened, her eyes narrowed. She spun us around to face that voice. It belonged to the red head in the white bikini top I had seen giving the blow job to the guy in the hallway earlier.
“This here is one of the greatest Old Ladies this Club has ever seen, you two-bit twat,” Alicia said in her still sexy, raspy voice. It was another trace of home to me. She put her hands on her hips. “And if you don’t shut your face and show her some respect, you’re gonna get kicked out of here on your ass! Little Sister is a living legend around here.”
My breath caught in my chest, but not over my old friend’s fiercely proud and loving words. Red-headed Two-Bit Twat had her curvy body draped around Miller, who sported a slouchy black knit cap. He stared at me open-mouthed.
Oh shit.
Miller and the red head were the blow job couple I had seen in the hallway.
It had been exactly sixteen days since I last saw Grace at that motel.
Now she stood four yards away from me, right here at the clubhouse. A phantom fist might as well have punched me in the chest and lodged itself there. Her beautiful greenish brown eyes locked on mine. Everything suspended in mid-air in that second.
Excitement spilled over the room like a rushing river. She seemed a little anxious by the tension in her shoulders, but happy. She was home, after all. The club had been her home just as it had been mine, the place where both of us had done a lot of important growing up. It was also the home she had once shared with her husband.
There was that, too.
When I had first seen Grace at Dead Ringer’s that night, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She had been drinking straight whiskey. Not just drinking it actually, but savoring it. Enjoying it. Really enjoying it. It made an impression on me. She had obviously chosen something she really, really wanted and enjoyed the fuck out of it her way. I liked that she didn’t seem uncomfortable or embarrassed at being on her own at a bar. She didn’t seem like she was out fishing for a hookup or any male attention. The woman wanted to enjoy her drink.
I had stopped at the Roadhouse on my way home from a drop to hit the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and have a quick drink before the last stretch of road home. It was late, it had been a long two days on the road, and I needed a break before I went back to the same old, same old. Seeing as I was on my own, I decided to enjoy my five minutes of peace. I hadn’t had a vodka in a long time. Beer, bourbon and tequila were always on the menu at the club. I was over it.
Like I was over a hell of a lot of things. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
She was beautiful. Not in a conventional—wow, she’s gorgeous —kind of way. Grace’s beauty was in her quiet, her simple. It sprung at me when she grinned, and it seeped through me when she looked a bit sad or faraway, which was pretty often.
When I first spoke to her she turned quickly to face me, one sexy dark eyebrow lifted. Her big hazel eyes were tight with suspicion, yet quickly thawed into amusement. And what a color those eyes were. They seemed to shift from greenish-brown to a greyish-green color over the course of the night. She got a kick out of our debate about liquor and change, laced with plenty of innuendo. I got her to smile a couple of times, and she caught herself and bit that sexy lower lip of hers.
I had introduced myself using my real name. I didn’t want to hear my club road name come off this woman’s lips. I wanted something different from her, and I got it. Every time she said “Miller” in that warm
“Who the hell is she?” a hoarse-voiced woman asked from somewhere behind me. Alicia’s face tightened, her eyes narrowed. She spun us around to face that voice. It belonged to the red head in the white bikini top I had seen giving the blow job to the guy in the hallway earlier.
“This here is one of the greatest Old Ladies this Club has ever seen, you two-bit twat,” Alicia said in her still sexy, raspy voice. It was another trace of home to me. She put her hands on her hips. “And if you don’t shut your face and show her some respect, you’re gonna get kicked out of here on your ass! Little Sister is a living legend around here.”
My breath caught in my chest, but not over my old friend’s fiercely proud and loving words. Red-headed Two-Bit Twat had her curvy body draped around Miller, who sported a slouchy black knit cap. He stared at me open-mouthed.
Oh shit.
Miller and the red head were the blow job couple I had seen in the hallway.
It had been exactly sixteen days since I last saw Grace at that motel.
Now she stood four yards away from me, right here at the clubhouse. A phantom fist might as well have punched me in the chest and lodged itself there. Her beautiful greenish brown eyes locked on mine. Everything suspended in mid-air in that second.
Excitement spilled over the room like a rushing river. She seemed a little anxious by the tension in her shoulders, but happy. She was home, after all. The club had been her home just as it had been mine, the place where both of us had done a lot of important growing up. It was also the home she had once shared with her husband.
There was that, too.
When I had first seen Grace at Dead Ringer’s that night, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She had been drinking straight whiskey. Not just drinking it actually, but savoring it. Enjoying it. Really enjoying it. It made an impression on me. She had obviously chosen something she really, really wanted and enjoyed the fuck out of it her way. I liked that she didn’t seem uncomfortable or embarrassed at being on her own at a bar. She didn’t seem like she was out fishing for a hookup or any male attention. The woman wanted to enjoy her drink.
I had stopped at the Roadhouse on my way home from a drop to hit the bathroom, splash some water on my face, and have a quick drink before the last stretch of road home. It was late, it had been a long two days on the road, and I needed a break before I went back to the same old, same old. Seeing as I was on my own, I decided to enjoy my five minutes of peace. I hadn’t had a vodka in a long time. Beer, bourbon and tequila were always on the menu at the club. I was over it.
Like I was over a hell of a lot of things. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
She was beautiful. Not in a conventional—wow, she’s gorgeous —kind of way. Grace’s beauty was in her quiet, her simple. It sprung at me when she grinned, and it seeped through me when she looked a bit sad or faraway, which was pretty often.
When I first spoke to her she turned quickly to face me, one sexy dark eyebrow lifted. Her big hazel eyes were tight with suspicion, yet quickly thawed into amusement. And what a color those eyes were. They seemed to shift from greenish-brown to a greyish-green color over the course of the night. She got a kick out of our debate about liquor and change, laced with plenty of innuendo. I got her to smile a couple of times, and she caught herself and bit that sexy lower lip of hers.
I had introduced myself using my real name. I didn’t want to hear my club road name come off this woman’s lips. I wanted something different from her, and I got it. Every time she said “Miller” in that warm
Similar Books
