“Not a problem. You okay?” His voice is deep and has a rasp to it, like he doesn’t use it all that much.
“Definitely. I’ll just be getting out of your way.” His hands slide down the outside of my arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
I don’t stick around to hear him say another word, way to embarrassed with the way I acted. I mean, this is as bad as when Baby said to Patrick Swayze she carried a watermelon in Dirty Dancing. “Clearly, you need to get a life, Jolie,” I tell myself before getting started on the first room. Thankfully, the man in leather’s room is last today.
One
Rage
This place is fuckin’ whacked. The pretty little thing that slammed into me is about the only normal person who works at The Breezeway. When I took off from Texas and headed out, I didn’t think I’d land in some bodunk town in Louisiana with two innkeepers who are lazy as all get out. Only relying on the one person who seems normal, and shit, she’s also young as fuck to be doing it all.
The feel of her body pressed against mine, it has me thinkin’ thoughts a grown man shouldn’t. That doesn’t stop me from having them, though. The weariness in her face, the muttering under her breath as she ran away, I wasn’t sure if she was shy or scared of me. I can only hope it’s a combination of the two. Not that I haven’t seen the longing glances she’s given me when no one else is around. And I’d bet my left nut that the yelling the cantankerous old lady is all she seems to do is what’s holding her back from being more forward.
“Yo,” I answer my phone once I’m next to my black and chrome Softail Harley. She’s the only constant in my life and one that doesn’t talk back or ever lets me down.
“Rage, man. How ya been?” Shovel asks from the other end of the line. There are times I go silent, usually when I’m in the thick of things regarding the warehouses and transitioning of guns from there to another dealer.
“Same shit, different day. How about you all?” I ask.
“Eh, not the same without you here, brother, but I get it. The Ol’ Ladies, though, they’re busting balls askin’ when you’ll be back or if you’re okay. Do me a favor and drop Fallon a line. Doc will appreciate that.” I snort. I just bet she’s giving him all kinds of hell.
“Not sure I will. Kinda like this slice of land over here. I’ll call Fallon, though.” Shovel asks me this at least every other week.
“I hear ya. Can’t blame a man for tryin’ to get his Road Captain home. But I get it. You decide to stay nomad, you’ll keep your cut, and your slice of the pie with what you’re doin’ down there. Fuck, you get settled much more, we may wanna start a chapter there.” Since I’ve been here, there’ve been some things the club needed help with. It’s kept my mind off how shit went sideways when Fallon’s ex showed up. That was a bloody mess that made me go down memory lane, which wasn’t a good thing, so involved in the past I didn’t see what was happening until Shovel finally got my shit settled. That’s how I knew I had to leave. It’s also why I’ve called this place home for three months. The good part about it is, we’ve been able to set up a few warehouses over here to store some of our illegal guns. Sure, it’s a drive, but we’re off the radar when it comes to ATF.
“It’s somethin’ to think about. Let’s see how this goes in the next few months, then you can bring it to the table.” Shovel ain’t wrong. The good part about this place is, it’s quiet. No one is in your business, and there’s no one who will randomly start up a conversation either.
“Alright, let me know how the next deal goes. Maybe Persephone and I will come for a visit out there in the next couple of weeks.”
“Sounds good. Later, brother.” I close out the conversation to the tune of Shovel laughing. He already knows I love the brothers, but if one comes here, they all fuckin’ come. Before I get on my bike, I make one last call, this one to Fallon. Luckily, I’m saved by her voicemail, so I keep it short and sweet. “I’m good, darlin’. You take care of Doc, live free,” is what I tell her before I end the call. I’ve got shit to do, and standing around here with my dick in the dirt won’t get it taken care of.
Two
Jolie
“Well, there goes that pipe dream,” I tell myself after I went to hide in another corner of the Inn while watching the man in leather. Okay, fine, his name is Decker McKay. I knew it all along. Comes with the territory when you’re the only one who does the books and cleans the Inn all on your own. Thankfully, we only serve breakfast, and it’s usually brought in from the bakery around the corner, so all I have to do is add drinks and it’s done. “All the good ones are always taken.” The minute I heard the name Fallon, I turned away, took the steps the rest of the way up to the third floor, and started working on the five bedrooms and bathrooms that need to be cleaned today. Even in our busier season, we’re lucky that our guests are pretty low maintenance. I’ve yet to experience some of the wild atrocities you hear about at other places—used condoms and wrappers, bottles of liquor poured wherever, and then there’s always the bathroom that’s fouler than anything. A shiver of disgust washes over me just thinking about it.