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I scuttle my ass back into the diner only to be met with a wall of biker backs and Blanche taking bets.
“What are we betting on?” I ask Joy who is holding a handful of $5 notes.
“Hobby horse dressage.”
“Come again?”
She turns to me, face alight with glee, “Pops is in a snit with Mad Dog so that loud ginger boy told them they should challenge each other to a duel. Somehow they landed on hobby horse dressage. I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
I turn my wide eyes from Joy, through the crowd to Mad Dog standing tall and proud with a horse head stuffy mounted on a broomstick clenched between those powerful thighs.
“Sweet fancy Moses,” I fan myself at the ridiculous and hot sight.
“I know girl, I know,” Debs says, her eyes glued to her man with a matching stuffy head mounted broomstick galloping through the diner.
“Outside, Peasants!” Chewy demands and, hell, who am I to deny her?
“Well, I guess we're doing this.” I link arms with Joy and we follow the club out into the sunshine to watch whatever the hell this is.
And you know what? As ridiculous as this whole day has been, I’m not hating it. For some reason that doesn’t scare me as much as I thought it would.
Chapter 8
Mad Dog
That little shit. Pops, not Rodney. Although actually, that little shit didn’t help the situation. He’s the reason why I’m currently astride a fucking hobby horse. I don’t even know what the hell dressage even is.
“So how does this work?” I growl to whoever will listen.
We’ve come outside, which is a bad idea given Willa’s ex wandering around town. I’m trying to keep eyes on her and my brothers to make sure they also have eyes on her but the women are so bloody mobile. Add in the 600 kids we seem to have and its utter chaos.
“It’s equestrian, you peasant,” Pops says galloping past me a lot damn quicker than a man of his age should.
“You ever seen those horse competitions where they walk sideways and stuff?” Cove asks, the skin around her lips a horrifying shade of green from whatever she’s been drinking.
“I think so?”
“Just do that.” She shrugs as if it’s that easy. “Besides, Rodney is judging, he’ll cut you some slack.”
Her little gang walks past, but Rodney hovers in front of me. “I’m not cutting anyone slack. You excel or you lose.” He gives me the stink eye and I wonder if I can maybe pay the Big Littles to stay away from that little asshole.
“I hate that kid,” Rider mutters, narrowed gaze on Rodney.
“What the hell did he do to you?”
His head jerks toward me before he mutters something unintelligible and stalks off toward the Ol Ladies.
“We can agree that was weird, right?” Pops says out of nowhere.
“I’m not fucking talking to you,” I growl.
“Hey! You wanted my services, which means you gotta listen when I tell you to do shit. How the hell do you think these other losers got their women?”
“Hey!” Marx growls.
“I’m talking statistically.” Pops waves him off.
“That doesn’t even make damn sense.”
