Falling Fast

Yawning, I come out of my thoughts and pick up my coffee to take a sip, needing the caffeine to kick in already. I’ve been up since seven and have already applied at two different locations. The daycare center I went to this morning would have been my ideal job, since that’s what I was doing in Chicago, but the woman who interviewed me didn’t seem to like me very much. The second interview I went to at a grocery store in town would be okay, but the hours would be at night doing stock, and since I can’t work nights, I knew that wouldn’t work. But the man who interviewed me did promise to call if something opened up on days.

Which brings me to now, at the Rusty Rose—a biker bar at the base of Ruby Falls. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be considering working at a biker bar, but I needed a job, and since Nina called to tell me she got me an interview, I couldn’t pass it up. Taking one more long pull from my coffee, I drop it back down in the cup holder then open the door and jump out, grabbing my bag as I go. Slamming the door shut, I curse when it swings right back open. I don’t know what the hell is going on with my Jeep, but I need to get it looked at, and it probably should be a priority even though it isn’t.

After I know the door is firmly shut, I head toward the front door of the bar, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms down the front of my pants. Putting my hand to the door handle and pulling it open, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior, and when they do I scan the bar, noticing it’s completely empty, which fits the whole biker lifestyle I’ve built up in my head. It consists of scary giant men with too much facial hair rolling out of bed sometime around noon, having a beer for breakfast, and then hitting the bar sometime after it’s dark. Definitely not before.

Scanning the bar again, I look for any sign of life then check my phone to see what time it is. Nina told me I needed to be here by ten to meet with a friend of hers named Rose. I’m a few minutes early, but not much. Walking a little deeper into the room, I take in the huge space. It’s bigger than it looks like it would be from the outside. In the back, a long bar takes up one entire section of the room. In the middle are high, round tables scattering the floor, then to the left are pool tables. Four of them are all lined up with more than enough room for people to move around if they’re playing a game.

“Hello?” I call out when I reach the bar, putting my hands to the top and leaning over slightly to look toward a room at the end, where a door is open an inch with bright light shining through.

“Just a sec,” is rumbled back to me, and that deep timbre causes my stomach to dip uncomfortably.

“Okay!” I yell back, spinning one of the barstools around to climb up onto it. Once I’m settled, I smooth out my top while crossing one leg over the other, looking around and wondering if I’m way too overdressed for this place and if I shouldn’t have gone home to change. My black slacks, silk cami, and sweater, both lavender that match the floral design sewn into the leather of my booties, don’t really say “biker bar,” they scream “teacher.”

“Gia.”

Looking to my left when my name’s called, my lungs freeze as my eyes connect with the man coming toward me. He looks a little familiar, but probably because I’ve seen men who look like him in magazine ads for outdoor wear and spicy colognes that smell like musk or the sea. Swallowing, I take in the long-sleeved dusty blue Henley accentuating the muscles of his chest and arms, his long legs covered in jeans, and boot-covered feet. My heart pounds as I realize he’s the guy I saw standing with the group of bikers outside of Daisies.

“Gia?” he repeats as his deep brown eyes surrounded by thick long lashes scan me.

“Um…” I breathe, and his lips twitch, drawing my attention to them and his strong jaw covered in a thick layer of stubble. “That’s I… I mean, that’s me. Gia is me,” I stutter out, trying to ignore the way his grin is making me feel. “I’m Gia,” I reiterate, thankful when the words come out clear. Hopping down off the barstool, my feet wobble under me when they hit the floor, and then I hiss out a breath when his hand wraps around my bicep to steady me.