The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 29
“You…or Congo?” I asked.
At the mention of his name, Congo jerked back inside. The side door slammed shut.
Moose sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, we’re all kinda on the same page with this one. It’s been too long. Traverse should’ve called by now. You’ve been all happy in the land of Heather’s pussy—”
“Watch it.”
“—which we understand, because you two are adorable right now, and I can’t believe I just said that, but you get my drift. You’ve been happy, and we didn’t want to push you out of the zone.” He faltered.
I narrowed my eyes. “But it’s time to get pushed out of the happy zone?”
“It is.”
My very large, very trustworthy best friend finally regarded me fully. He’d been voted the spokesman for the crew, and maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to drive to Frisco and get a look for ourselves at what was going on.
Moose wasn’t the type to believe in gypsy aunts, but Chad did. Congo did. Lincoln wouldn’t join the conversation, but he wouldn’t have argued against it.
I was so glad we’d called Chad back—and yes, that was sarcasm there.
Well. Damn.
The big ginger loathed fighting. It was like nails on a chalkboard for him, so if he was pushing it, and if Moose was going along with it and being the voice—I had to listen to them.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yeah.”
They were right. It was time.
“They have a place outside of Frisco. Let’s go there first. It’s where I’d hide out if I was in their MC.”
“We’re scouting tomorrow?” Moose’s eyes narrowed. A mean glint replaced the surprise, mixing with anticipation. He was comfortable with this—sneaking up on anyone who threatened us and rolling heads, so to speak.
I began walking backward to my bike. The truck had stayed home this evening.
“I’m getting laid tonight.” I picked up my helmet, fitted the keys in the engine, and swung my leg over. “Tomorrow we scout.”
“Good.”
23
Heather
I was having déjà vu, except… I wasn’t.
I wasn’t in my house. I wasn’t hungover. I didn’t have to rush downstairs to Brandon’s aid. Instead, my brother’s stalker was in Manny’s. That’s correct. Code red. Stalker red. Rebecca, the frizzy-lioness-hair stalker had braved my wrath. She was here, folks.
Katrina sidled up next to me. “Too bad you had Suki go home.”
I grunted. She was right. Those two would’ve had an epic showdown. One yelling in the third person, and the other lecturing her on being classy as she was anything except classy.
I grumbled, “Where’s some salt when we need it?”
Katrina barked out a laugh. “You need me to do something?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll handle it. She’s half Brandon’s problem anyway.” I gestured to the rest of the diner. “Just manage everything else.”
Ava went by, her arms straining around a tray of drinks.
“Why is Ava still working?”
My fill-in manager frowned at me. “She said you were understaffed. I should send her home?”
“Long ago.”
Ava paused next to Roy’s perch, and it clicked into place.
What happened to the boyfriend?
“Wait.”
Katrina had started to move away. She paused, and I added, “Just tell her she’s on an hour break. My orders. Then tell the girls she’s done for the night.”
“And when that hour is done?”
I gave her a look. We’d be closed by then.
She gave me a sheepish grin. “Got it, boss.”
Ava would feel guilty, thinking she needed to leave if she wasn’t working. She’d stay with Roy this way. Roy was good. That A-hole boyfriend wasn’t.
“If she doesn’t listen, tell her she’ll have to battle me,” I added.
And on cue, I heard a different battle start up again.
“Rebecca, you need to leave.” My brother’s voice was ripe with irritation, and I saw the white around his lips. He was biting down, hard.
Rebecca wore a red halter top, her breasts almost falling out of it, with bright lipstick to match. She had on daisy dukes that didn’t quite fit her, and a navel ring.
It was inflamed, so I was guessing it was new.
With hooker heels, a not-so-seductive swaying back and forth, and a pink drink in one hand that she kept spilling, my brother officially had a problem.
The stalker was prime entertainment. Our other customers had congregated around her, all except Gus. He was our regular, and though he was sitting two barstools away from her, he was the only one oblivious to her. Hunched over a beer in front of him, he kept his eyes on the television mounted above the bar. ESPN.
“Gus.” I came up behind him and patted his back.
He jerked upright. “A—what? What?!” He turned around, drool sliding down his chin. The front of his shirt was soaked. “Huh?”
Brandon laughed, sounding strained. “Maybe it’s time to go, buddy.”
Gus squinted at him. “You closed?”
Brandon smiled. “Yes.”
The crowd around us said otherwise.
Gus never noticed. “Oh.” His shoulders dropped. He started to slide off his stool, then saw Rebecca and stopped. He pointed at her. “Heeey. Why’s she here then?”
“Because I’ve not finished my drink. It’s not polite to force out a paying customer when her drink isn’t finished.” Rebecca’s face twisted into a scowl, and she began to fold her arms over her chest. Or she would’ve. Her glass got in the way, and the drink sloshed—half on her and half to the floor. It coated the back of one of the stools.
She didn’t seem to notice. Gus either.
“She’s going too.” I moved forward, my voice firm, and locked eyes with her. I plucked the glass from her hand, dumped the remaining contents into the sink behind the bar, and showed it to her. “Your drink is gone. You’re done.”
The side door opened.
Channing stepped inside. He saw us, and whatever he’d been saying to someone outside faded. He took in Brandon’s rigid stance, the way I was standing in front of Rebecca and barked out a laugh.
“Becs,” he called out.
She swung around. Her hair almost hit me. “Wha—oh.” Her tone went from angry to a warmth that could melt butter. “Channing! Hi, helllooo. How are you?”
He came toward us. “Gus, my man. This is where you’ve been hiding?”
Gus was in his late sixties by now. The more sober he was, the less he could hear. Since he was too drunk to see the gawking audience, of course his hearing was like a hawk’s.
He harrumphed, narrowing his eyes, “I know you?”
Channing pretended to be hurt and held his arms out wide. “Gus. Come on. My bar’s your second home.”
At the same time, Rebecca decided to scoot around Channing.
Her heels went left. She went right.
She crumbled to the floor.
“Ow,” she moaned. “That’s not very ladylike.”
She shot Brandon a look, her cheeks reddening, and bit her lip. She grabbed Gus’s stool and started to pull herself up. One of her boobs popped out, and her daisy dukes came up to her waist. She was simultaneously flashing us tits and crotch.
At the mention of his name, Congo jerked back inside. The side door slammed shut.
Moose sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, we’re all kinda on the same page with this one. It’s been too long. Traverse should’ve called by now. You’ve been all happy in the land of Heather’s pussy—”
“Watch it.”
“—which we understand, because you two are adorable right now, and I can’t believe I just said that, but you get my drift. You’ve been happy, and we didn’t want to push you out of the zone.” He faltered.
I narrowed my eyes. “But it’s time to get pushed out of the happy zone?”
“It is.”
My very large, very trustworthy best friend finally regarded me fully. He’d been voted the spokesman for the crew, and maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to drive to Frisco and get a look for ourselves at what was going on.
Moose wasn’t the type to believe in gypsy aunts, but Chad did. Congo did. Lincoln wouldn’t join the conversation, but he wouldn’t have argued against it.
I was so glad we’d called Chad back—and yes, that was sarcasm there.
Well. Damn.
The big ginger loathed fighting. It was like nails on a chalkboard for him, so if he was pushing it, and if Moose was going along with it and being the voice—I had to listen to them.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Yeah.”
They were right. It was time.
“They have a place outside of Frisco. Let’s go there first. It’s where I’d hide out if I was in their MC.”
“We’re scouting tomorrow?” Moose’s eyes narrowed. A mean glint replaced the surprise, mixing with anticipation. He was comfortable with this—sneaking up on anyone who threatened us and rolling heads, so to speak.
I began walking backward to my bike. The truck had stayed home this evening.
“I’m getting laid tonight.” I picked up my helmet, fitted the keys in the engine, and swung my leg over. “Tomorrow we scout.”
“Good.”
23
Heather
I was having déjà vu, except… I wasn’t.
I wasn’t in my house. I wasn’t hungover. I didn’t have to rush downstairs to Brandon’s aid. Instead, my brother’s stalker was in Manny’s. That’s correct. Code red. Stalker red. Rebecca, the frizzy-lioness-hair stalker had braved my wrath. She was here, folks.
Katrina sidled up next to me. “Too bad you had Suki go home.”
I grunted. She was right. Those two would’ve had an epic showdown. One yelling in the third person, and the other lecturing her on being classy as she was anything except classy.
I grumbled, “Where’s some salt when we need it?”
Katrina barked out a laugh. “You need me to do something?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll handle it. She’s half Brandon’s problem anyway.” I gestured to the rest of the diner. “Just manage everything else.”
Ava went by, her arms straining around a tray of drinks.
“Why is Ava still working?”
My fill-in manager frowned at me. “She said you were understaffed. I should send her home?”
“Long ago.”
Ava paused next to Roy’s perch, and it clicked into place.
What happened to the boyfriend?
“Wait.”
Katrina had started to move away. She paused, and I added, “Just tell her she’s on an hour break. My orders. Then tell the girls she’s done for the night.”
“And when that hour is done?”
I gave her a look. We’d be closed by then.
She gave me a sheepish grin. “Got it, boss.”
Ava would feel guilty, thinking she needed to leave if she wasn’t working. She’d stay with Roy this way. Roy was good. That A-hole boyfriend wasn’t.
“If she doesn’t listen, tell her she’ll have to battle me,” I added.
And on cue, I heard a different battle start up again.
“Rebecca, you need to leave.” My brother’s voice was ripe with irritation, and I saw the white around his lips. He was biting down, hard.
Rebecca wore a red halter top, her breasts almost falling out of it, with bright lipstick to match. She had on daisy dukes that didn’t quite fit her, and a navel ring.
It was inflamed, so I was guessing it was new.
With hooker heels, a not-so-seductive swaying back and forth, and a pink drink in one hand that she kept spilling, my brother officially had a problem.
The stalker was prime entertainment. Our other customers had congregated around her, all except Gus. He was our regular, and though he was sitting two barstools away from her, he was the only one oblivious to her. Hunched over a beer in front of him, he kept his eyes on the television mounted above the bar. ESPN.
“Gus.” I came up behind him and patted his back.
He jerked upright. “A—what? What?!” He turned around, drool sliding down his chin. The front of his shirt was soaked. “Huh?”
Brandon laughed, sounding strained. “Maybe it’s time to go, buddy.”
Gus squinted at him. “You closed?”
Brandon smiled. “Yes.”
The crowd around us said otherwise.
Gus never noticed. “Oh.” His shoulders dropped. He started to slide off his stool, then saw Rebecca and stopped. He pointed at her. “Heeey. Why’s she here then?”
“Because I’ve not finished my drink. It’s not polite to force out a paying customer when her drink isn’t finished.” Rebecca’s face twisted into a scowl, and she began to fold her arms over her chest. Or she would’ve. Her glass got in the way, and the drink sloshed—half on her and half to the floor. It coated the back of one of the stools.
She didn’t seem to notice. Gus either.
“She’s going too.” I moved forward, my voice firm, and locked eyes with her. I plucked the glass from her hand, dumped the remaining contents into the sink behind the bar, and showed it to her. “Your drink is gone. You’re done.”
The side door opened.
Channing stepped inside. He saw us, and whatever he’d been saying to someone outside faded. He took in Brandon’s rigid stance, the way I was standing in front of Rebecca and barked out a laugh.
“Becs,” he called out.
She swung around. Her hair almost hit me. “Wha—oh.” Her tone went from angry to a warmth that could melt butter. “Channing! Hi, helllooo. How are you?”
He came toward us. “Gus, my man. This is where you’ve been hiding?”
Gus was in his late sixties by now. The more sober he was, the less he could hear. Since he was too drunk to see the gawking audience, of course his hearing was like a hawk’s.
He harrumphed, narrowing his eyes, “I know you?”
Channing pretended to be hurt and held his arms out wide. “Gus. Come on. My bar’s your second home.”
At the same time, Rebecca decided to scoot around Channing.
Her heels went left. She went right.
She crumbled to the floor.
“Ow,” she moaned. “That’s not very ladylike.”
She shot Brandon a look, her cheeks reddening, and bit her lip. She grabbed Gus’s stool and started to pull herself up. One of her boobs popped out, and her daisy dukes came up to her waist. She was simultaneously flashing us tits and crotch.
