Ride Steady (Chaos #3)(39)

“We girls gotta look out for each other.”

That wasn’t my experience.

Nevertheless, I said, “Right.”

“Okay, I gotta go. I’ll text you when we’re there tomorrow and I’ll see you there. Yeah?”

“Yes, and thanks again.”

“No probs, babe.”

“See you later.”

“Yeah, later, Carissa.”

She hung up.

I put my phone on the counter and stared at it, feeling a variety of things.

First, I was a little afraid. A biker party would be something all new to me, and I had a feeling parts of it would be shocking, parts of it I wouldn’t like. But all of it would be Joker’s world, and I liked Joker, so I had to be brave and nonjudgmental. Things might get crazy, but my experience so far was that, surface and deep down, these people were good people. They accepted me how I was; I had to do the same.

I was also more than a little nervous. Joker would be there and, again, I liked Joker. But he seemed at odds about how he felt about me. And I’d never had to try to catch the eye of anyone. I caught Aaron’s eye when I was fourteen and that was it. It wasn’t that I was out of practice, I’d had no practice. And I liked Joker enough it meant a lot that I could beat down that shield he had up for whatever reason. I just had no idea how to go about doing that.

Further, I was a little confused. Mostly about why I barely knew this man but all of this seemed so important to me. Very important. More important than, rationally, it should be.

But last, and most, I was excited. Things had been terribly lonely since I lost Aaron. Joker’s question about when I got to live my life had hit home. I had no life. I had my son and I had my work and I had my worry about what was going to hit me next.

But I had my son. And I wasn’t teaching him anything that was good if I taught him life was narrow. If I taught him that life was about sacrifice, not about living. If I had nothing but him to make me happy, rather than just being happy all around with things to do and good friends to do them with.

So I was excited. I was excited I suddenly had places to be, things to do, and people to do them with.

And I was excited to have exciting things to think about.

Those things being Joker. How his beard felt against my skin when he was kissing me. How he tasted. How tight his arms closed around me. How I wanted to know what his hair felt like (I should have taken that shot when I had my arms around him, but his shoulders felt so lovely, I didn’t). How I wanted to know what was behind that guard he had over his eyes. How I wanted to know if he liked my pie.

And being mostly excited, for the first time in so long I couldn’t remember the last time (outside having Travis), I was happy. I had a spring in my step. I had something to look forward to.

And it felt good.

* * *

I felt terrible.

This was a disaster.

An utter, complete disaster.

And I wasn’t talking about the disaster that was me assuming, since it was a party, the done thing was to bring something when absolutely no one brought anything. So I’d looked like an idiot when I strolled in with two bags of LeLane’s fresh tortilla chips and a huge tub of their signature guacamole (that was handmade to order at the deli counter).

Although that was embarrassing, the chips and guac were all gone and I hadn’t even been there an hour.

“Girl, you want a fresh one?”

I turned my head from my wounded contemplation of Joker with the big-haired, tube-topped, ultra-mini-miniskirted brunette at the pool table (I just knew biker babes wore tube tops!).

Joker was not smiling and flirting. But he was still flirting. I knew it. I knew the way she sashayed around him and gave him knowing looks and rubbed up against him every chance she got and licked her lips after they’d take a shot of whatever they were shooting.

I’d been at the party for forty-five minutes. I got there after my shift, rushing home and changing clothes because Tab had texted to say she and Shy were already there, so I’d gotten there pretty late (or late for me).

And when I got there, the party was in full swing. There were a lot of people there, lots of women, other bikers from different clubs (if the patches were anything to go by), and it was what Tabby said it would be. The music was loud. The people were loud. There was making out. Groping. Flirting. Drinking. Shots thrown back. And smoking, including the marijuana variety.

In this mess, although Tab found me right away and got me a drink, Joker hadn’t even looked at me.

Not once.

I looked to the guy behind the bar. I’d just met him and he’d told me his name was Snapper. He was in the Rush/Shy/Joker age group of the Club. Currently, he was acting as one of several bartenders (though they didn’t seem to have an official one, guys went back, girls went back, you wanted it, you got it or you asked whoever was back there to get it for you).

I had my hand around a warm beer and my seat on a stool, my eyes locked to Joker, and Tabby had left to go to the bathroom.

So I was alone.

Again.

Even at a big biker party.

“Sorry?” I asked him, the fact he’d spoken to me belatedly processing through my thoughts.

“Fresh,” he said, tipping his head to my plastic cup that was not even half-drunk. “Toss that warm shit and I’ll get you a cold one.”

“Um…” I couldn’t answer because I couldn’t think.