The cold front moved on, and the night was warm, so she didn’t sit in the window but out on her tiny balcony. She fell asleep out there, and it took a lot for me not to climb up and fix the blanket when it slid off her shoulders.
She got up in the middle of the night to go inside.
When she left to meet with me, I followed well behind before cutting up a side road to get here before her.
Two-Shit and Fancy will come by later to follow her back to Miami proper. She only seems to know about them watching during the day. I’m not telling her about my shift. She won’t like it, and I don’t want her aware that I see what she’s like alone in the night.
I wander the bar, adjusting a chair here and there. The place feels so much bigger with the remodel. There are no windows for me to check when she pulls up. Those were bricked over years before we took over. But she can’t be far behind. My short cut didn’t buy me a ton of time.
I wait another minute, then stride to the front door and unbolt the locks.
Sunlight pours inside, sending dust motes to dancing.
Marietta is walking up. She shields her eyes, and lifting her arm exposes a line of skin between a blue sweater and her white jeans. She’s cute in matching sneakers and a blue scarf holding her hair back like a girl in a 1950s ad.
No way someone like her belongs to a motorcycle club. She’s like an angel.
I step back and let her inside. She looks around. “It’s different in the morning. Almost fresh.” She stands in the triangle of light on the floor, bright and shiny compared to her surroundings. I don’t close the door for a moment, hating to ruin the pretty image, but eventually, it doesn’t make sense to keep standing there.
The door clangs shut like a dungeon. I bolt it closed.
When I turn around, Marietta has hopped onto the bar, her purse beside her, swinging her feet. “It’s fun being here when it’s empty.”
It’s hard not to stare at her. When she’s come to the bar before, she’s been dolled up in makeup and tight clothes.
But this morning, she’s natural and innocent. I find my throat tightening. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I want her to keep being that wistful girl in the window.
But it’s not up to me. I sit on a stool a few feet away from her.
She gets right to the point. “I want to be a club bunny. I want to have fun. I don’t care if I have to have sex with old men.”
The words coming out of her mouth are so out of sync with her sweet, gentle appearance that, at first, I think I’ve imagined them.
I stare at her as she watches me, her blue eyes as vivid as her scarf. “I mean it. I understand that you’re not interested in me, and I’m not going to throw myself at you anymore. Do you think I will get to choose who goes first? I’d really like to pick.”
I’m still in a daze. “What?”
“Please don’t make me say it all again. I’m awkward, in case you haven’t noticed. I figure if I have sex with a bunch of people in a short amount of time, I’ll catch up. Then I can decide what I want. Maybe I won’t scare men off anymore.”
I don’t know what to say about any of this. But I start with, “You scare men off?”
Her white tennis shoes swing back and forth. “It’s not like I’ve never dated. I had a boyfriend in high school. He was kind of a chess nerd, though. The one time he put his hand up my shirt, something happened because he jerked it out and straight up left me in the back room of a party. I had to call my mom to take me home!”
I can’t imagine getting that close to her and then just taking off. “He left you?”
“I mean, I know I’m not exactly well-endowed. But maybe there’s something about them that makes people squeamish?” She presses her hands to her chest. “Wait, can you feel me up and tell me?”
This girl is a shocker a minute. “I don’t think I should do that.”
“You have to! Remember when Jake kept staring at them months ago? You told him to stop ogling me. It’s because they’re weird, right?” She still cups her chest. “They get all pointy sometimes.”
“I’m not going to feel you up, Marietta.”
She huffs out a breath. “I knew it. But I’m willing to settle. Seems like several members of the club were happy to put up with my weirdo chest. I’m still a girl, even if I’m don’t have much of what is appealing about one.”
I can barely keep up with how hardcore she’s hating on herself.
“Marietta, stop. Just stop. You’re fucking gorgeous. And your breasts are fine.”
