Chapter 6 #2
“Sussing? That sounds like one of the big-ass words Pope’s always using.”
“Sussing means finding, and I notice you didn’t deny it.”
“Why bother when it’s true?”
“Why set yourself up to be bitched at?” Ocean asked.
“Maybe I’ll explain some morning,” Roan said, hastily jerking his tank top on. “Right now, I’ve got to hurry and change and hope I don’t track too much sand on the office floor, or I’ll wind up sweeping the whole bar as penance.”
“Gonna hold you to that,” Ocean called after him as Roan rushed away.
As he always did, Ocean lingered beside the water, basking in the sun’s rays as he savored the glittering electric blue tranquility of the Atlantic Ocean, so different from the aquamarine hues of the Pacific.
He couldn’t resist wading back in so he could float, staring up at a sky lightly streaked with thin, wispy clouds.
A gentle wind carried with it the scent of meat cooking over an open flame, a reminder that there was always something delicious to be found in the Jokers Wild kitchen.
The best part was the variety. He could have fish tacos at lunch and hit the beach again a half hour later without his stomach feeling heavy, then pig out on steak tips and smashed potato bites at suppertime with the rest of the guys.
The drive across country had been boring as fuck without someone to talk to; now, there was a steady stream of folks to chat with and incredible stories to listen to when people started feeling nostalgic. He’d already learned more about his old man than he ever had from his scrapbooks.
Speaking of which, he’d better get moving if he wanted food and a shower before he went to see Dalton. Night had promised to make Dalton a batch of double chocolate cookies Ocean had been tasked with delivering, without getting caught by one of the staff members.
“If you get caught, quietly explain that they are an approved recipe, but Dalton isn’t supposed to know that,” Night hissed when they were out of earshot of everyone else.
“Why not?”
“Because if he knows I use a sugar substitute, he’ll immediately start complaining about them not being sweet enough. If you sneak them in, he thinks they’re the real deal and he’ll chow down.”
“Understood.”
The Jokers truly were a family. When he’d set out hoping to meet a few, he’d never expected to find so many or for them to embrace him the way they had.
It felt good, belonging to a family again.
Inside his cabin, he snagged a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, took a quick shower, and was back out the door less than ten minutes later, stomach growling as he entered the bar.
“Was wondering when you were going to show up,” Ms. Kat said, greeting him with a warm grin.
“Did Roan make it on time?”
“Honey, he came charging in here, skidded on a wet patch on the floor, and went careening down the hallway like it was comedy hour,” she replied. “But he was two minutes early.”
“Good for him.”
“And good for you, taking the time to help him be more comfortable in the water,” she said. “He’s still trying to find his footing here, which isn’t easy when you go about it wrong right from the jump.”
“Yeah, he said something about constantly pissing people off.”
“Meh,” she grumbled and pulled a glass from beneath the bar.
“He wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. Some of the people around here need to pause sometimes and take a moment to reflect on what they were like when they were prospects.
It takes time to work out issues. Doesn’t excuse him being a little shit, but it is cause for grace sometimes. ”
“It’s not always easy fitting in where everyone else already belongs,” Ocean said.
Her smile faded to one Ocean recognized from his own mother’s. Instant mama bear mode.
“Someone giving you trouble?”
“Nah, everyone’s seriously been chill,” Ocean replied.
“But being on the circuit, there are the core guys and then there are the ones who seem to rotate in and out. Maybe they can’t afford to do the full season and haven’t gotten sponsors yet, or maybe they’re just not in the right headspace and go home early, but those are the ones I’d see on the fringes after events.
The guys I started out with and I had been tight since we were kids, but our circle really expanded when we started inviting those guys to join us.
Made some amazing friends in the process too. ”
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “And are you having beer or sparkling lemonade today?”
“Lemonade, please,” he replied. “I’ll save the beer for later when I can smoke with it and enjoy a good crossfade.”
“You and Danger, I swear, I see you guys near the end of the night, slumped down in your chairs, arms crossed, heads occasionally bobbing to a song. There’s been a longstanding wager on when Danger is going to slide out and land on the floor, and he still hasn’t had to pay up yet.
Don’t be surprised when they put one on you.
Personally, I think you’ll last awhile, but gravity will catch up to you both eventually. ”
“Am I allowed to bet on myself?”
“Yup.”
“Perfect, let me know when that wager happens and what the odds are,” he replied as she sat his drink in front of him.
Night had a regular menu and a daily special written on the chalkboard behind the bar. Today it had sloppy joes and fried pickles on it.
“Could I get the special, please?” he asked.
“Sure thing, you want the regular or the vegan.”
Screech!
His thoughts crashed against one another while he struggled to figure out whether he’d heard her right.
“He made vegan sloppy joes?” Ocean asked, glancing in the direction of the man emerging through the swinging kitchen door.
“Sure did,” Night replied as he snagged a bottle of lime juice from behind the bar. “Used ground-up mushrooms in place of meat and cooked them just like regular sloppy joes.”
“Can I get one of each?”
Night shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me; they come two on a plate anyway.”
“Perfect. Thanks. You’ve got me curious.”
“My husband, notorious carnivore that he is, had one earlier and proclaimed it the most badass mushroom he’d ever put in his mouth. Considering his affinity for psychedelics, I’d say that was a complement.”
“Works for me,” Ocean said. “I’ve got vegan friends. I’m as used to eating at the places they picked out as at a burger joint.”
“Hey man,” a heavy hand landed on his shoulder to accompany the voice. “Got time to shoot a game?”
Ocean glanced at Night, not wanting his food to get cold before he could taste it.
“Yeah, you’re good; I’ve got to make the pickles and a fresh batch of sloppy joes.”
“Sounds like I do,” Ocean said, spinning the barstool around to see that it was the green-haired biker everyone called Kermit, who’d invited him to play.
Since Ocean had never seen him far from his Mama Sunshine’s side, it didn’t shock him to see her sitting at a booth near the pool table with Pope, keeping a watchful eye on him.
Out of everything else he’d discovered about the club; it was watching the various dynamics play out that had been the most eye-opening.
His thoughts had gone to the duffle bag in his room when he’d been given a tour of the dungeon just as soon as they’d realized they didn’t have to explain what a pup, boy, service sub, or little was to him as he was introduced to them.
The Jokers compound was home now, and as he headed over to shoot a game with Kermit, he realized that he couldn’t have wished for a better place to land.