19. Willow
19
WILLOW
I've never written so much in one day. Colleen would be blown away if she'd seen me today. She might actually get the book she's waiting for if this continues.
And it's good. Sexy. Wild.
The only problem is that my male leads are getting a bit too rough for the genre I’m supposed to be writing in. According to her feedback, she still wants me to make them good guys, but do good guys act good all the time? Also, she thinks they swear too much.
The sex scenes, though… no notes.
Which is good, because every time I try to edit them, I have to practically read them through my fingers out of sheer embarrassment that I actually wrote something that dirty. And then I need some time for myself. It's a good thing the bedroom isn't far from my office, that's all I've got to say about that.
Even Blackout's blindfold made it into the story, though it was black silk instead of my tank top. On the other hand, improvising with the tools at hand is sexy too.
No, I can't rewrite—again.
Despite all the pauses and rethinking of the characters, I've got six new chapters ready for editing. Grace is going to be a busy girl when she gets it to read. And hopefully, Terry will be a very happy hubby. I giggle out loud, a little punch drunk after so many hours behind the keyboard.
Speaking of Grace, she's supposed to be here soon so we can check out the local biker bar together. I’ve driven past the Burnout dozens of times, but never set foot inside. I think it’s time to change that. In the name of research, of course.
And also? I think I need confirmation that the feelings I have for Blackout, Dragon and Skyhigh are actually about them. There's this voice in the back of my head asking if maybe it’s just the idea of sexy bad boys swooping into my life and carrying me off to do all sorts of dirty things to me. What if it had been someone else from the club? Or a different bike club altogether?
I don't think that’s the case, but this is a chance for both a girls' night out and for me to see what it’s like without my bikers. Not that they’re mine. But they kind of are, right?
I get dressed in an outfit similar to what I wore to the party the night of the shooting, but not showing quite as much skin since I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. With about five minutes to spare, my phone rings. Grace.
“Hey! I’m almost ready. Are you on your way over?”
“Lo, I have bad news.”
“What? Noooo. Come on, we haven't been out in forever. You have to come.”
She sighs, not sounding happy about it either. “I’m sorry. You know me, I would drag myself out no matter what, but Terry's exploding from both ends and my stomach doesn’t feel that great.”
“Eeeeeeeeww! Yeah, stay away. I love you, but not enough to want to clean up your vomit in a biker bathroom.”
She makes a horrible noise.
“I mean I would, obviously, ” I clarify. “But I don’t want to.”
“It’s fine. I don’t want that either. Next time for sure, okay?” To be fair, she sounds really apologetic. “And you’ll wait for me, right? Don’t go there on your own.”
“Right. Of course not.” Maybe.
On the other hand, I'm already dressed and ready and the bar is only a couple of blocks away. It's a public place. I should be safe. And it's definitely valid book research. If my book actually gets out there, I can write this off on my taxes, even.
The whole walk there I feel guilty, and almost call the guys, but inviting them would defeat part of why I’m going.
Even by foot, it's only a couple streets down from the front gates of the Outlaw Sons compound. It's in an old strip mall, pulled back from the street, making room for a long line of motorcycles in front of it. The building is connected to storefronts on either side, but their windows are blacked out and the doors locked, so I guess they expanded? There's a neon sign over the entry that proclaims it open, and a beefy bouncer standing at the door, watching people entering and leaving like a hawk. Through the open door, cigarette smoke and hard rock seeps out into the night.
After a long drawn breath for courage, I step forwards, prepared to enter the biker den. A couple of guys in biker leather who're smoking outside watch as I approach, but don’t say anything.
“You sure you're in the right place, girl?” The bouncer looks down at me with a curious expression. “If you searched for bars and this popped up, I gotta warn you, this might not be the atmosphere you’re looking for.”
“What? No, I know where I am. No one dared me. I um… I hang with the Outlaw Sons.”
He looks deeply skeptical. “Yeah? Who’s their prez?”
Really? He's going to quiz me at the door? “Hellfire.”
He narrows his eyes. “Give me a couple names.”
This is starting to feel like wearing a shirt with a band on it and getting accused of not being a real fan. Rude. “Um, okay. Blaze, Ocean, Bonnie, Paige…”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Fine, fine. I get your point. Go on in.”
The heady scents of leather and beer wash over me. The floor is worn hardwood, the walls dark and decorated with movie posters and motorcycle paraphernalia. A smoky haze hangs over everything like a cloud. Girls dressed in barely anything are hanging off the arms of grizzled bikers, and the volume of the rock music flowing from the speakers is just on the right side of uncomfortable. It's packed, even on a Wednesday. If this is what it's like now, I can't imagine Friday night.
I get a sucking feeling in my chest that I’m way out of my element and should probably have listened to Grace. But I can't just go home, not without at least getting a drink. I decide to order a beer and stay long enough to drink it and people watch. I weave my way through the crowd until I find the bar and climb up on one of the stools. Sitting gives me a better view of what's going on, but only a bit. Bike clubs must aim to recruit all the guys who don’t make it pro in basketball and football.
A few people glance at me, but so far it’s… fine? Just like at the club party, I would have to really stand out for people to pay much attention. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m not about to have a nip slip. I probably could have gone slightly less modest without worrying.
Have my guys been here? I’d be surprised if they haven’t. I actually hadn’t thought about the possibility that they could be here. That I could have walked in to find them with girls hanging off of them, or worse. The thought makes me growly, even though I’m here on my own without them.
No, I'm not thinking about them. Not right now. That’s the whole point.
“So can I get you something or are you waiting on someone to buy you a drink? Might want to get a little more proactive if that’s the case. You’re dressed more like an old lady than someone interested in landing herself a man.” The gruff voice belongs to the bartender, a muscular man wearing a denim vest over a white T-shirt that's stretched to the limits around his big biceps. His head is shaved bald and polished to a shine. A gold earring decorates one ear, and tattoos cover his exposed arms and slither up around his neck. “Hello? Earth to whoever the fuck you are.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Sorry, I want a beer, please.”
“Please.” He scoffs, looking skeptical. “Any preference?”
“Whatever’s the most popular.”
He narrows his eyes. “What’s most popular is what’s cheapest. I’m going to pick for you.”
“Oh, um, okay?” Now I’m glad I didn’t ask what kind of wine they have.
“You meeting someone?” he asks as he pours a pale golden beer from a tap into a tall glass.
“If not, she just did,” a deep voice says from behind. “What's a sweet girl like you doing at a place like this?” A big guy drops into the stool next to me, beer glass in one hand and the other resting on his belt. His beard is thick and red, and his right ear has spiky studs in it. His open leather vest has a patch over the left breast that says, “Blitz.”
He's handsome. Built like a professional athlete, colorful ink covering his arms, ticks all the biker boxes, but I don't feel even a hint of thrill. He just makes me wonder where Blackout, Skyhigh and Dragon are. I flash Blitz a smile to be friendly. “I’m Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. This is a rough place.” Putting his elbow on the bar, he leans in closer, just far enough into my personal space to make me want to back up a little. “Pretty girl like you probably shouldn't be alone in here.”
He's not being aggressive, exactly. Not even pushy, but there's an implication there that I find uncomfortable. It can be so hard to tell whether someone's being earnest or is coming at you with ulterior motives. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.” I take a big gulp from my beer, willing it to go faster.
“Hey, relax. I'm not trying to give you trouble.”
I glance at the bartender who’s chatting to a couple of guys at the other end of the bar, his back to me.
“I know. You’re fine. I'm just not looking for company right now.” I push my glass away from me, prepared to leave without finishing it if this is going to be an issue.
“Hey, you fucking with my girl?” A burly biker with the shoulders of an ox and a buzz cut presses in, leaning his hand on the bar behind me and leaning over to thrust his face right into Blitz's business. He's so close I have to lean forward to not be plastered right against him.
“I’m not your?—”
“Shush.” The burly guy cuts me off with a wink.
“Get the fuck outta my face.” Blitz pushes himself to his feet, slipping off the bar stool and bumping into the new guy. “She's not your damn girl.”
Burly guy shoves him right back. “Not yours either, so fuck off. Or you wanna fight for her? Think you got a chance against me?”
That’s enough of that. I push off the stool to leave, when Blitz stops me with a big hand on the small of my back. “Don't touch me,” I snap at him.
At this point, the bartender’s noticed something’s wrong and is coming our way. “Rein it in, boys.”
“Keep your ass outta this, Hector,” burly guy growls, just before Blitz slugs him in the face.