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“And queso,” Brielle added.
The server came by and we ordered drinks and appetizers.
“So, if you’re not going to date Bones,” Brielle said. “Does that mean you have another biker in mind?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to date a biker.”
“Excellent!” Brielle straightened her spine, leaned over to the chair next to her, and began rummaging through her purse. She pulled out her cell phone. “You should date one of my brothers. I have three of them to pick from—”
“She’s fresh out of a relationship,” Jazz said. “I doubt she’s ready to date anyone.”
“Jazz is right,” I agreed. “But I’m still curious.”
Brielle scrolled through her phone and then showed me the screen. “That’s Roman. He’s the oldest.”
I nodded. “Handsome.”
“He does nothing for you physically. Got it.” Brielle grinned and swiped. “This is my brother Virgil. He’s the playful one.”
“Totally Tavy’s type,” I suggested.
“Oh, good to know.” Brielle swiped again. “And this is Homer.”
“The grumpy, surly, pain-in-the-dick one,” Jazz supplied, reaching for her margarita.
“Hey, I’m trying to sell it here,” Brielle snapped.
Jazz shrugged. “She’ll learn soon enough when she meets him. Homer’s an ass.”
“He’s not an ass.” Brielle glared at her best friend. “He’s just…”
“An ass?” Jazz supplied.
Brielle’s phone rang. “Speak of the devil.” She pressed a button and put the phone to her ear as she shoved back from the table. “Hello?”
She strode away to take the call, leaving me with Jazz, who was staring into her glass.
“So, you’re in love with Homer, huh?” I asked gently.
Jazz’s head shot up. “What? No. I’m not in love with Homer.”
I raised my brows.
“Please don’t say anything to her,” she said, pitching her voice lower. “Not that it matters. Homer won’t date me. Much to my dissatisfaction. Pining for someone who doesn’t want you sucks.”
She swallowed a few gulps of her margarita.
Without a word, I took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
Brielle returned to the table, her phone clutched in her hand. “They’re joining us. As soon as Virgil finishes with his last customer for the day.” To me she said, “They own Three Kings Tattoo Parlor. They ink all the Tarnished Angels.”
“Ah,” I said. “That’s the connection. I was wondering.”
“You should call your friend,” Jazz said to me. “Might as well make this a party.”
I grinned. “Parties are good.”
Two hours, three pitchers and four rounds of nachos later, Tavy looked at me and said, “I think moving here was the best decision either of us could’ve made.”
