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“Alright, brothers, that’s it for me,” Ryder said.
I looked up from my bike to see Ryder standing up and brushing off his dark jeans. He nodded at Moves and me as he headed for the door. We had been working on our bikes at the shop for the last hour or so like we did almost every Friday afternoon.
“Aw, you’re really blowing us off for drinks again?” Moves asked.
“Yeah, I’m sick of dragging your drunk ass home every night,” Ryder snapped.
I smirked down at the ground. I loved it when Moves and Ryder badgered each other. They never meant any harm. It was all in good fun, just one of the things that made us brothers, bonded by our devotion to our club, the Outlaw Souls.
“Pin, I’ll see ya later,” Ryder said.
He clapped my shoulder as he headed out, his back ramrod straight. Ryder was the type of guy who thought he had to carry the whole world on his shoulders. It showed sometimes in the way he walked with purpose and a hint of weariness.
Once the roar of his motorcycle had faded into the distance, Moves glanced at me. “You’re coming to Blue Dog Saloon, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
Moves was the enforcer of our group. He had earned that position through a dedication to street fighting that was, frankly, terrifying. Nearly every day, I thanked my lucky stars that he was on our side.
As enforcer, Moves always liked to be in the thick of things, and he never missed a meet-up among club members. It was Friday, so that meant drinks and music down at the Blue Dog Saloon, our unofficial headquarters.
The bar was located on the dingy side of La Playa, far away from the glistening sandy beaches and the boardwalk. Blue Dog Saloon was scrappy but proud, just like the club itself.
“Sweet,” Moves said. “Maybe this time you’ll actually get a girl’s number.”
He grinned at me beneath his messy mop of sandy brown hair.
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get a woman, it was just that I only liked having one for a few nights. I wasn’t into all that soul-changing all-consuming type of love. Moves was, but somehow he could never find it. He was always getting his heart broken or breaking someone else’s heart and then breaking some noses as well, just to round everything out.
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “You’d be screwed without my wingman skills.”
As I stood up, Moves jokingly shoved me in the chest. I dodged away with a laugh, but patted my chest to make sure my glasses were in one piece. Moves had already broken my accounting glasses three times in the last six months and I was sick of getting replacements.
I had been the treasurer for Outlaw Souls for over three years. I kept my glasses on me at all times in case I needed to crunch numbers at any point. We always had gigs, odd jobs, and fundraisers, so keeping track of all the influx and outflow was no joke.
I was happy to do it though; the club was everything to me. I had been born and raised on the wrong side of La Playa. Sick of my mom’s non-stop fighting with her boyfriend, I had joined up as soon as I was eighteen. I was never the guy to grab the center of attention, so I had always wanted to be treasurer – not in the middle of things, but still pulling strings behind-the-scenes.
I remembered when the older guys had suggested I get an accounting degree at a local college, I’d been almost offended. I thought they were trying to get rid of me or hint that I wasn’t suited for a biker club. Instead, they explained that they needed someone with certain skills and, since I had done so well in high school math courses, I had potential.
I had done well in math because it was a good distraction from whatever jerk my mom was seeing that month, but I didn’t tell them that. Instead, I got into an accounting program with the club paying for the whole thing. They didn’t ask for a single penny back. That’s when I knew I would do anything for the Outlaw Souls. It’s been almost ten years since I first asked to join, and I feel the same way.
I grabbed my leather jacket with the patch and pulled it on as Moves gathered up his stuff. He looked at his phone and then up at me. “Kimmy just texted, she’s headed that way as well.”
I rolled my eyes. Kimberly Delasante was a pledge who hated – absolutely hated – being called “Kimmy.” So, of course, Moves called her nothing else. Kim was a tough girl though, and always gave as good as she got with Moves.
Moves and I pushed our bikes out into the bright sun of La Playa. It would start to set soon, so we had just enough time to go for a quick ride and grab dinner before heading to Blue Dog.
The auto shop we liked to work out of was on the corner across from a rundown taco place and a loan’s office. The taco place needed a serious paint job and had grimy windows, but we all knew that they were the best tacos outside LA. There was another, shinier version of La Playa, but it wasn’t for me, never had been.
“Seriously, man, I worry about you,” Moves said as the sun hit us.
It was pretty out of the blue, so I raised my brows.
“You got walls a mile high, brother,” Moves continued. “Being single is fun for a while, but come on, you don’t wanna be grabbing beers with your brothers every Friday for the rest of your life, right?”
