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“Yeah well, you’re bigger and older now. Got that California look,” Smoky teases as he grabs three bottles of beer for me, Ford and Nova. “You boys ain’t here to cause no trouble, are ya?”
“No sir,” I assure him, smiling as I lay two twenties on the bar. “We’re here to shoot some pool and a few cold ones, that’s it. Next round is on me, too.”
Smoky’s salt and pepper brows shoot up and deep dimples form in his dark skin. “Oh, fancy pants. Guess you’ll be leaving a mighty fine tip.”
“With this shoddy service,” I joke. “We’ll see.”
“Hmph,” Smoky grumbles and pours three shots, lining them up on the bar in front of us. “Good to have you home, son. On me.”
“Damn, Smoky. I come in here all the time, and you never give me a damn thing,” Ford’s brows dip into a frown.
“I give you the drinks you pay for, and I don’t tell none of your girls about the others.” Smoky pulls out a tray of balls and a rack. “Enjoy your game, boys.”
“I guess we should toast this fucker, eh?” Ford flashes a wide grin, swiping one of the shots off the bar. “Good to have you back, Stone. To kickin’ ass and takin’ names.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Nova picks up the other shot, leaving the last one for me. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” We take the shots and slam the glasses down hard. I take two beers, and Ford grabs the balls before we head to the back of the bar, where four pool tables line the wall.
Nova racks the balls while Ford and I test the cue sticks. “How is it being back?”
I shrug. “It’s all right, man. How’s it been around here?”
“Same old, same old. Bikes, bitches, and bullshit. Literally.” Ford snorts.
“You got an old lady yet?”
“Do you see me with a pretty girl on my arm, Stone? No. I was hanging out with Beatrice until she got up and left. Took off one day, never to be seen again. Heard from her about a year ago. Says she’s in New York City. Chasing her dreams, if you can believe that.
“Damn, man, that’s tough,” I say, and Ford goes to break the balls.
The bar is mostly empty at this time of day, which is perfect because we can all relax without constantly looking over our shoulders. It’s peaceful in a way I hadn’t expected when I returned. Then again, the nonstop action in California might have given me an unrealistic expectation of biker life.
“You’re up,” Ford calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. “Stone ever tell you about the time he stole Gunnar’s bike?”
I look up to see Nova’s shocked expression. “You didn’t.”
I smile. “I did.”
“You’re still alive to tell the tale.”
I shrug.
Ford laughs. “Only because Peaches wouldn’t let him kill the kid. He was young, about twelve or thirteen, took the kutte and everything. Lucky the little fucker trapped his leg when the damn thing tipped over before he got off the ranch.”
Nova and Ford howl with laughter, and even my own lips stretch into a smile. “Yeah, and I got stuck cleaning horse shit for six months.”
“But when you turned fifteen, you got that little sportster.”
“You laugh, but I loved that bike.” I’d zip around the ranch on it until the next year when I got the beauty that’s sitting outside in the parking lot. “And when it became mine, I knew, without a doubt, I’d be a biker.”
“Who do we got here, boys?” The voice is unfamiliar, but the tone is unmistakably mocking, the sound of someone looking for trouble.
I turn, taking in the look of the two men in black kuttes with visible patches on both sides. “Y’all need something?”
“Nothing you can offer.” The taller of the two men steps forward, his long dark hair hanging around his shoulders. “We came for pool and found something even better.” His gaze lingers on me as if we know each other.
I take a step forward until only a few feet separate us. “Then I suggest you move the fuck on.”
