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“Don’t let it bother you. The systems rarely go down. In the two years you’ve been here, how many times has it happened?”
It takes me a minute to answer him. “Actually, I think they went down one other time, but fortunately, I was off that day.”
“Exactly.” He shuffles some papers on his desk. “I’ll get the calculators ordered today for the bar and waitresses. I’ll pay for the expedited shipping so they should be here by tomorrow night.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He leans back in his chair. “Don’t you have a shift starting?”
Relief floods my system, and I jump to my feet. “See ya!” I run out of the room like my ass is on fire, and Rogue’s laugh follows me.
I scurry to the bar and help Tony get ready for the night. Tony lifts his brow in question but doesn’t ask why I was called into Rogue’s office, and I’m not about to give him anything. As far as I’m concerned, no one else needs to know about my so-called failure at math. It’s bad enough that Waylon and Rogue know.
The night speeds by pretty fast. Of course, I’m not being sabotaged by technology, so that helps. Customers are in a giving mood as well, and my pockets are increasing in size due to tips.
“Yo, Skye!” a voice shouts over the music from the other side of the bar.
I glance up from the tedious task of cleaning dirty mugs to see Possum and Knuckles taking a seat.
“Gentlemen,” I greet. “Your usual?”
They both snort, but it’s Knuckles who answers me. “Water for me. I’m training.”
I hand Knuckles a cold bottle of water from the cooler and fill a mug for Possum. “Is the gym ready to open?”
Saints Purgatory recently purchased a building in town, and they’re remodeling it into a gym. It’ll serve as a place for MMA fighters to train, as well as a standard gym for people to stay fit and take other classes like self-defense.
“Fists of Fury should be opening any day now,” Knuckles says proudly. “We’re putting on the finishing touches. We just have to get the cage up.”
“I’ve heard some of the members talking about it. Sounds like it’s going to draw in a huge crowd.”
“Oh yeah. We’re already putting the word out to start recruiting possible fighters.” Knuckles swivels on his seat when Zippy calls his name. “I’ll catch you later.”
“See ya,” I say, but he’s already halfway across the bar.
“When are you gonna let me take a go at you?” Possum asks.
Stepping back from the bar, I slide my hand into my back pocket where my knife waits. “Excuse me?”
Possum tips his head in my direction. “Your ink. When are you gonna let me have a go at your skin?”
Rolling my eyes, I place my hands back on the bar. “You really need to work on your communication skills.”
Possum’s mouth drops open as my words sink in. “Oh shit… I didn’t… Fuck, that’s not what I meant.”
For the first time today, I actually laugh. Not just at Possum but at my own stupidity.
Like any biker would want me.
I pat his arm. “No worries. I was actually thinking I needed some tattoo therapy. It’s been too long since my last one. I don’t know what I want though.” An evil smirk slowly forms on Possum’s face. “I don’t fucking think so! I know all about your little trick. I’m not coming to your chair until I know exactly what I want.”
Possum pouts. “These motherfuckers need to quit telling my secrets. They’re taking all my fun.”
Word around town is that if you enter Persuasion Ink and you’re lucky enough to have Possum do your tattoo, you better know what you want because if you don’t, he’ll put a possum on your skin. Hence, how he got his road name. No, thank you.
Suddenly, an image comes to mind.
I know what I want… how I didn’t think of this sooner, I’ll never know.
