The parking lot for Joe’s Tavern is more than half-full, which I expect most nights of the week, but tonight I’m not in the mood to socialize. I just want to fill my body with booze.
The heavy wooden door calls to me, tells me that on the other side of that door with the brass handles is an icy glass half-filled with whiskey, hard rock playing on the jukebox, and a pretty girl or two to distract me from my worries. If I’m in the mood.
“Come on, Coop. Shots and babes on the inside.”
I laugh. “You really are just a big ass kid, Cotilla.”
He shrugs. “Just doing all I can to enjoy my second chance at life.” At twenty-four, Joaquin is more than just a young punk. He’s a former gangbanger who’s lived a hard fucking life. He’s looking for a better life, one that uses his skills and his talent to make some money. “
Shots and babes? They make life worth livin’.”
“And bikes?” The kid is a genius when it comes to fixing anything with an engine. Cars, bikes, even those fucking electric scooters. He does it all.
Joaquin smiles, and yanks open the door. “Bikes and cars? That’s life, man.”
I know what he means. Growing up around bikers, nothing feels as good, as settling, as being around your own people. Bikers and beatdowns, those are my things, the shit that gets me as excited and wistful as Joaquin when it comes to fixing up a bike.
“All right, Shakespeare, I was promised a fucking drink.”
“I was just waiting on you to find your nuts and join me.” He motions to the open door, a teasing expression on his face.
“Asshole,” I mumble and step inside Joe’s. The place is more packed than it looked from the outside, and I groan as I make my way to the bar.
“That’s Mr. Asshole to you,” Joaquin adds before tapping his knuckles on the bar. “Joe, my man, how’s it hanging?”
Joe, one of the owners, smiles and shakes his head. “Joaquin. Staying out of trouble?”
“Mostly,” he shrugs. “Here to keep this one out of trouble for the night. Four shots to start and whatever is on tap.”
“When did this place turn into a Spring Break hangout?” Marjorie, the other owner and Joe’s better half, saunters from the back with a dimpled smile on her face.
“Shots. Shots. Shots. Every fuckin’ body wants shots.”
“Marjorie,” I grin and wrap an arm around her when she circles the bar to size me up. “You’re looking even more beautiful today than the last time I saw you.”
She smiles and shoves me away. “Get outta here with your pretty words and prettier face. I have no use for all that charm, son.”
She scowls but it transforms into a smile that lights up her whole face, removing decades of wrinkles. “No use for it,” she repeats, “none at all, but you keep it up. Makes an old woman feel good.”
I frown. “Who you callin’ old?”
“Woo boy,” she tosses her head back and laughs. “He’s laying it on thick tonight.” Marjorie grabs a hand full of black and silver curls that hang to her waist and grins. “Years of experience and wisdom. Pain. Heartache. This gray hair means I survived it all, that I’m still here.”
“Thank fuck for that,” I say and raise my glass. “To still being here.” I wink and knock the shot back, leaving Marjorie smiling as she goes to check on the other customers.
“Hiya, Joe.” A gorgeous blonde presses up against the bar, wearing a traffic-stopping smile. “Think we can try some Mezcal?”
Joe raises one brow and smiles. “Did you girls drink all the tequila?”
“Not yet, but we probably will, so I want to be proactive, see what we’ll have once the tequila is gone. So, Mezcal?”
“Takes some getting used to,” he cautions. “Have a taste before you decide.”
Her blue eyes widen comically. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Oh, Joe, thank you. That would be great.”
Damn, she is innocent as hell in addition to being gorgeous and stacked. What the fuck is she doing in here? Everything about this girl tells me to look the other way, to pretend I don’t see her, to pretend that wide smile did nothing for me.
Or my cock.
I can feel her gaze on me, sizing me up, and I keep my gaze on the game on the television behind the bar. I’m not in the mood. Nope, not in the mood at all.
“There you are, Kelsey.” Joe hands her a shot.
Through the mirrors behind the bar, I can see her take one tentative sip, frown, and shake her head before she finishes off the glass.
“Holy shit! That’s hot and sweet and surprisingly yummy.”
Yummy? Definitely an innocent.
“Let’s try two of those. And one for you.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is,” the girl, Kelsey, coos. “It’s my birthday, and everyone knows it’s good luck to share a toast with someone who’s older and wiser.”