Because things have changed. After what happened in that class, I can’t look at Hoss or Fancy or any other member of the Wild Hair. They are not an option anymore.
Only Merrick will do.
CHAPTER 14
MERRICK
Diesel and I both work the bar that night. I serve up drinks and chat with the regulars, but my mind is not on the tasks at hand.
I keep looking at the stage where Howl at the Dune thrashes around, pounding out a punishing, nonstop metal mashup.
How do other stages do poles temporarily? I swear I’ve seen those talent shows on TV bring in dancers on a pole, but obviously, it’s not a permanent installation.
Diesel nudges my arm. “Are you hot for the lead singer, or did your brain finally fry?”
I move swiftly to bury my elbow in his gut.
He laughs and swings around, knocking my legs out from under me.
I won’t go down alone, so I slam my head into his belly on the way.
He stumbles backward, and I’ve got him, dragging him to the ground where I get a solid punch to his jaw.
A loud whistle from above gets both of our attention.
Vicki leans over the bar. “You two have the manners of a billy goat. Get off the damn floor and pull these beers.”
Fuck. Fine.
Diesel and I drag our asses to our feet. We check her scrawled note and each grab a pint glass.
“So, what the fuck is going on?” Diesel asks.
I shrug. “Thinking about how to install a stripper pole.”
“In the bar?” He shuts off the flow of the ale. “I thought we were going for the social media crowd.”
We both turn to the bar at the same time, setting the glasses on Vicki’s tray.
I lean on the counter. “I’m not feeling the newbs. They don’t like the music. They don’t mix well with the MC.”
Diesel surveys the room. It’s segregated, a corner of young couples and girlfriend groups staring out at the mayhem like terrified hens surrounded by wolves.
Most of the Wild Hair is here, except for the ones doing protection duty, and of course, Stoney and Carol, who are waiting for the baby to arrive.
Jake keeps taking shots over to the table of girls, but when they see the ragtag bunch that sent them, they squeeze closer together, their heads touching as they madly tap on their phones.
“They buy pricier shit,” Diesel says.
“Sometimes,” I tell him. “I think, half the time, they end up drunk on shots sent by old men.”
“There are a lot of empty shot glasses in here.” Diesel fishes them out of the suds in the sink and loads them into the dishwasher for sterilizing.
I step aside as Jake fills the ice trough. “If we’re going to focus on beer and shots, we might as well have some entertainment.”
“This is about Marietta, isn’t it?” Diesel asks. “Symphony said you took her to class this morning.”
“What about it?” I’m about to throw another punch when Jake taps my shoulder. I whirl around. “What?”
