Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

My job was no different from what I used to do in New York. The only difference was, I got to spend my afternoons with my oldest best friend, and I made a lot more money. Philadelphia was a decent city, and I was slowly making friends in the company. Everyone was kind and the atmosphere in the office was always lighthearted and casual, which was the opposite of some of the big, stuffy ad agencies I had worked at.

But there was something missing in my life, some gap I had trouble filling. My mind wandered as Amy talked, and I daydreamed about Rex. I pictured his muscles and his tattoos, and remembered the way he didn’t hesitate to beat those guys down for knocking me over. I knew I should have been more modern and find physical violence appalling or something, but I had to admit it was really exciting. He protected my honor or whatever, which was more than any other guy had ever done for me. He was mysterious and dangerous, and I couldn’t stop thinking about running my fingers over his ripped chest.

I wasn’t usually the type to fantasize about a stranger, but that guy was stuck in my head. I kept thinking about the place he said he worked, and wondered if I could find it. As Amy wound down, we found ourselves chatting idly again.

“I got a question, kiddo,” I said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Do you know a bar called Drake’s? It’s in South Philly apparently.”

Amy scrunched up her face, then shook her head. “Nope, doesn’t sound familiar. I don’t get into South Philly that often though.”

I felt disappointed. “Alright, I heard it was cool. I might check it out.”

Amy brightened. “Great! You should. Want me to come with you?”

“No, that’s okay. I know how busy you are.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “Really, it’s fine. I should learn the city on my own, anyway.”

Amy shrugged and started gathering her things. “Alright then, Darcy, you got it. Let me know if you change your mind.” We walked out of the conference room together, and then went our separate ways.

––––––––

My desk was in the far corner of the open office, directly in front of a row of single-occupant quiet rooms. It was a great spot as far as I was concerned: just enough privacy that I didn’t feel crowded, but not completely secluded. My neighbor was named Marissa, the same girl I had gone out with on Saturday night. She was a sweet girl, but she spoke too fast and was about as interesting as an enema. Actually, an enema would have been more interesting, and sometimes I wished I were getting one instead of listening to her blather on.

“And like, that’s how we got our first beach house,” Marissa said, winding down some incredibly boring story about how her family picked out a beach house when she was a kid. They were rich New Jersey people, and both her parents were doctors. I assumed the New Jersey thing explained how gauche and clumsy she was, but I also knew that was just my typical anti-Jersey, New York attitude speaking.

I could relate to having a wealthy family, but only partially. I grew up in a really similar situation to Marissa. My parents were extremely well off when I was in grade school, but when I hit high school, something happened, and they lost all their money. It devastated my family, and we were never the same after that. I moved in with my grandparents for the end of high school, and hadn’t spoken to my father in years.

Marissa’s family was still blissfully married and still outrageously rich. She had it easy, and was completely tone deaf to anyone else’s situation in life. Part of me hated her because of that.

“Great, Marissa,” I said, barely pretending to be listening.

“I know right!” she said. Her words tended to blur into single-sentence streams of sound. I had to really pay attention to understand her, which meant that I barely ever understood her.

The day dragged on like that. Marissa alternated between long bouts of silent concentration and monotonous stories about nothing. I did my best to remain calm, but sometimes I wanted to yell at her to shut up. It was frustrating, but I kept telling myself that she wasn’t a bad person, just an annoying one. I was trapped at my desk next to the most boring person in the world, and all I wanted was to daydream about Big Stranger Rex. I knew I was on edge in general, and it wasn’t Marissa’s fault. I was floundering lately, trying to find my footing in a new, unfamiliar place. I felt purposeless and adrift.

As the end of the day drew nearer, a plan started to form. I did a quick search on my laptop and found a website for the bar Drake’s. It was somewhere south of South Street. I assumed it was the right place, since it was the only Drake’s in South Philly, at least according to the internet. I typed the address into my phone, and leaned back in my chair.