“You must be made of magic, Layla,” Ron states as he shakesmy hand then pats Sean’s shoulder. “Winning this one over, either you’re magic or he’s just gettin’ old.”
“Fuck off, old man,” Sean grunts, then grabs my hand. “Anything shiny and new, they just can’t help themselves,” he says to me.
“Lucky me?” I retort, which makes the group laugh again.
Sean leans down and kisses my forehead as sparks run the length of my spine with his lips on me. I make eye contact with the blonde woman again as we start to head in. She looks at Sean in a knowing way and then glares at me as she takes a joint from the man next to her, watching me while she takes a deep hit.
“Come on, let’s meet my ma,” Sean says. “Catch up with me for a drink later, yeah?” he says to Ron. Ron holds up his beer in salute and Sean and I disappear through the side door to the building.
The scene unfolding inside is somehow both exactly what I pictured for an outlaw clubhouse and also not even close. The ceilings are high and wood-beamed, the lights are low, and people are scattered throughout at round tables.
A few people are playing pool at one of two tables in the wide-open space, and there’s an area where couches are set up facing each other and people are drinking and talking. Behind them on the wall are framed cuts in glass cases that I assume belonged to people that have since passed. There are people dancing to Aerosmith on a makeshift dance floor. The music blares through a sound system that seems to be state-of-the-art. One whole wall is basically a bar area—full service from what I can tell, and not unlike the one at The Palm Club. It’s fully stocked, and a Hounds of Hell wooden sign hangs in the center. There’s an older woman behind the bar acting as bartender, but patrons aren’t paying as she passes beer and shots of whiskey to them. The vibe in here isn’t one of danger, it’s one of family. Comfort and safety. Would I want to mess with anyone in thisroom? Not a chance. But do they seem like they would keep me safe? Absolutely.
Sean stops at the bar and knocks on it twice, and the woman makes her way over. Now that she’s close, I’d say she’s in her late forties.
“Can we get two Hellbenders?” he asks her before turning to me.
“This is Remi, she’s Robby J’s ol’ lady. She helps us with the bar.”
“Hey, darlin’,” she says, passing me a shot of whiskey with a friendly smile. I take it gratefully, hoping to calm my nerves, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat as I wait for Sean’s mom, aka the woman I picture as Xena, to emerge at any moment and club me.
“There she is.” Sean nods to the back, grabbing my hand, surrounding me with his warmth again as he pulls me to a corner where an older woman with hair so platinum it looks white sits at a table with a glass of what looks like sweet tea and lemon. Her lips are red, and she has deep lines around them, as if she’s been a smoker all her life. The bridge of her nose has a noticeable scar, but it’s faded and she’s done a good job of covering it with makeup. She looks to be in her mid-sixties.
When we get close, I realize she’s doing a large puzzle and there’s a bag of crochet yarn and a hook sitting on top of the table. She’s puzzling and crocheting in the MC clubhouse?
I’m in the upside down, I’m pretty sure.
“This is my mom, Shelly,” Sean says, as the woman looks up from her puzzle. She has the same green eyes as Sean’s. On her first finger, in the same place as Sean’s, I notice the same intricate dagger-cross that he has, only hers isn’t anchored by a chain or compass.
They have matching tattoos? Shit, that’s really cute.
I look down at her work, expecting a field or lake, and justabout laugh out loud when I realize her puzzle is in fact a picture of a completely naked man, his body muscled, Michelangelo-style, with flowers covering his cock. She smiles up at me, and out of nowhere I really miss my own mother. Her smile used to light up any room, just like Sean’s mom’s does. This woman hasn’t even spoken to me yet and I instantly love her. I can already tell that here, in this place, the last thing I’ll be is judged.
Shelly stands and gently pats Sean on the face.
“I was just taking a break. I can only clean up after these assholes for so long before my back starts to bug me.” Her voice is raspy but sweet as she turns and offers me another warm smile, one that puts me completely at ease. She throws her arms around me in a hug.
“You’re Layla, then, I take it,” she asserts confidently, backing up to look at me like a long-lost aunt.
I hug her back when she comes in again.
“You’re so beautiful,” she says.
“Thank you,” I answer, totally charmed, as I tuck my hair behind my ear. “So are you,” I add. She really is.
Shelly smells like Chanel with a hint of smoke, but somehow it’s comforting. Another pang of missing my own mother punches me in the gut. I look up at Sean over her shoulder, in complete disbelief because she’s not like Xena, she’s more like Tinkerbell. I think she’s even smaller than meandshe has heels on. Her button-up cheetah sweater is soft and her jeans hug her slim hips perfectly.
“I am, aren’t I?” she quips, sliding her hand down to hold mine and pull me toward the table. “Pull her chair out, boy,” she commands.
“Christ, give me a chance to,” Sean replies, doing just what she orders, sliding a chair out for me and then one for her. I don’t miss that they’re pulled out exactly the same distance from the table.
“I forgot to tell you how fuckin’ bossy she is,” he tells me asShelly hugs him. She’s a third of his size and it makes me wonder how on earth she birthed this man.
“I’m not bossy, I’m assertive. There’s a difference,” she corrects. “And his dad was a big man,” Shelly says to me. My mouth falls open and I look at her quizzically.
“You just look like you were wondering where he got his size from.”
“I was,” I admit with a laugh.
