Lee chuckled. “That’s a motorcycle, my friend. And let me tell you, they’re a hell of a ride.”
His fingers pressed against the Jeep’s key fob, which chirped in response. “It’s unlocked. Climb in.”
The motorcycle roared to life, shooting forward in a blur of power and speed.
Lee glanced at me with a smirk. “Thinking of getting one?”
“Maybe. Maybe I am.” I pulled the seatbelt across my chest, watching as the motorcycle disappeared down the road.
We drove in silence until we pulled up to O’Donnell’s. The bar’s neon sign flickered against the darkening sky, casting a dim glow over the entrance.
Lee pulled to a stop at the curb. “I’m going to park around back. Go on in and look around. I’ll meet you at the bar—the long counter in the back where you order drinks.” He paused, then grinned, “Ask for two pale ales. You’ll like it.”
“Okay.”
I stepped out, pushing through the heavy door into the dimly lit bar. The scent of aged wood, beer, and something fried hung thick in the air.
Patrons filled the space. Some huddled in booths, others laughed at high-top tables. A few leaned lazily against the long counter, where bottles gleamed under low-hanging lights.
I hesitated, taking in my surroundings. I’d never been to a bar before—at least, not to drink. Was there a proper way to do this? Did one sit and sip alcohol?
And why were so many women here?
These are different times, I reminded myself, shaking off my uncertainty.
Squaring my shoulders, I headed toward the back.
A mirror stretched across the back wall, reflecting rows of neatly arranged bottles. The dim glow of the bar lights made the glass gleam, casting golden hues across the liquor.
I did a double-take when I caught my reflection—my short hair and sides faded, looking more kempt than I was used to. But I relaxed as my eyes flicked over the other men in the bar, many sporting similar cuts. I blended in.
I slid onto a stool next to a muddy-blond-haired fellow who looked to be about my age.
A gruff-looking bartender strode toward me, wiping his hands on a rag. “What’ll it be?”
The question threw me. My palms grew clammy as I scrambled for an answer.
“What do you want?” he repeated, eyes narrowing.
“Two pale ales,” I said quickly.
“What kind?”
I hesitated. What kind? There were kinds?
“What do you suggest?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as clueless as I felt.
“The Dragon’s Blood is popular. It’s on tap.”
Dragon’s Blood? On tap? I had no idea what that meant, but I nodded, hoping Lee wouldn’t mind. “That’s fine.”
The bartender grabbed two glass mugs and pulled a lever. A stream of amber liquid poured into one of the glasses, foam rising just over the rim.
I shifted slightly, only to realize the muddy-blond-haired man beside me was watching me. Intently.
A prickle of unease crawled up my spine.
“You fresh off the turnip farm?” he asked, his voice thick with condescension.
