They also had the pool that I very much envied. It was perhaps the only thing I missed about my childhood home, the Olympic-sized swimming pool I used to swim endless laps in on bad anxiety days.
But there was no telling what the inside looked like. Especially with all-male partying residents.
Inside the front door toward the left was a staircase tucked in a corner in a room that should have been the dining room, but was dominated by a beer pong table, red cups all lined up.
To the right was a living room that was, in fact, decorated as such with a leather sectional and a massive TV. If you, y'know, ignored the fist holes in the walls and the utter lack of any hints of decor. Like curtains or throw pillows, any art on the walls. It was bare-bones, a bachelor pad through-and-through.
"You must be Harmon," a voice declared from the living room, pulling my gaze off the holes in the walls.
There, situated among about half a dozen bathing-suit-clad women was one man. Whoever he was, he was a little person with keen eyes, and a nice suit, who also had the balls to wear an actual bowler hat in this day and age.
"I, ah, yeah. You are?" I asked, moving with the dog into the room slightly.
"Teddy," he supplied. "You would be looking for Remy," he told me. Boyish good looks. Bleached hair. Lots of ink. He's around here somewhere."
"Okay. great. Thanks," I said, backing out of the room, making my way down the front hall toward the back of the house. Where I found myself in the kitchen. I also found the most hideous and worn linoleum known to mankind.
The space itself was nice, roomy, with a center island and a seating area to the right. The cabinets were an outdated style and the stain was wearing off, the copper plating on the handles chipping, and the black fridge and the white stove clashed with the stainless steel dishwasher. But it was, overall, pretty clean. You know, save for the island that was completely lined with bottles of alcohol and stacks of plastic cups along with a few bags of opened chips.
"Ramona!" a voice called. "There you are. I was looking all over for you."
At the sound of his voice, the dog lurched out of my grasp, bounding away from me, making me whirl around to find her leaping up at a tall, fit man in a blue and white striped tank top, a pair of white board shorts, with the bleached hair I'd been told to look for.
"Neighbor girl," he said, giving me a smile, all bright white teeth and charm. "Did she find her way to your place?"
"Yeah. She was, ah, hanging out on my back porch. The girls here seem a little reckless about leaving the doors open."
"Yeah. She should have been up in my room with the others. But someone must have ducked into my room for a minute and she pounced out."
"And then they were too afraid to admit they lost the dog of a biker dude," I surmised.
"Exactly," he agreed. "Thanks for bringing her home. She's not usually one to wander. She probably saw you , and decided to come say hi. She loves people. And, sometimes, they don't love her back because of her breed."
"People suck."
"They do," he agreed, smiling. "Remy."
"Harmon," I said, not extending my hand because he didn't first. "Well, I just wanted to bring her back safely. I will let you get back to your party," I said, giving him this embarrassing low wave.
"No, hey, stick around," Remy said, gesturing out toward the house. "Plenty of fun to be had. Alcohol to be drank. Cold pizza to be eaten."
"I shouldn't," I said, shaking my head.
I wasn't against parties. But I didn't know anyone here. And I wasn't sure that bikers and their groupies were exactly my people.
"Girl, yes," a voice said, coming in from behind Remy, making us both turn. And there was a woman in a neon green bikini top and a paisley wrap over her ample body, the color setting off her dark skin. "Love this outfit. Don't give a fuck works on you," she added, waving a hand toward me.
"I, ah, I was just returning Remy's dog," I said, waving. "I live next door. I wouldn't usually wear this to a party."
"Why not? if I had legs like that, I'd never cover them up."
"This is Ayanna. She's an old friend."
"I knew this one before he learned what a pussy feels like," Ayanna declared, eyes twinkling as she flipped her one chunky braid made up of a bunch of smaller braids back over her shoulder. "I was best friends with Huck's little sister before she fell in love with a biker in New Jersey, and ran off on me," Ayanna explained. "And your little ass just happened to move in next to a biker compound, huh?"