I lifted my chin slightly. “You done?”
“Done with what? You look like you should be on a billboard sipping a glass of scotch and wearing a Rolex.”
“You done?”
“Done what? Done talking about what an idiot you look like?”
I clenched my teeth lightly and rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet.
He looked me over, and then turned toward the workbench. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“I’m asking her to go on the run to Palm Springs.”
He spun around. “You’re what?”
“Askin’ her to go. That’s what it is, an open run.”
“You haven’t had a woman on the back of that bike, at least for club functions, in ten years. You sure this is--”
I cocked my head. “You taking Peyton?”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“You taking Peyton?”
“I’ll ask again, what the fuck does--”
“Yes, or no, Boss?”
He let out a sigh. “She’s coming along, yeah.”
I nodded. “Until you’re ready to toss her aside and forget her, don’t say another word about me seeing this girl.”
“Whoa. Hold on, Peeb. Don’t--”
I pulled my hands from my pockets and raised my index finger. “Not one fucking word.”
He picked up the brake caliper he was working on and looked at it for a minute. After wiping it free of oil with a rag and inspecting it under the light, he set it back down on the bench.
“Tell you what, Pretty Boy. I’ll keep my mouth shut on this deal until I see it influencing the club, your performance, or your well-being. Until then.” He shrugged. “I’ll trust you’re a big boy making big boy decisions.”
“All I ask.”
“If she gets out of line, I’ll call her on it,” he said.
“I know you will,” I said with a smile. “Her name’s Tegan, by the way.”
“Not to me.” He chuckled and reached for the brake caliper. “I’ll call her Crash.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tegan
The smell of home cooked food hit me as soon as I walked through the door. My mouth began to salivate as I tried to identify a smell that I recognized, but couldn’t completely place.
Bradley looked up. He was dressed in khakis and a nice shirt. “Howdy, kid.”
I walked up to him and kissed his cheek. “You look nice.”