Page 114 of Devil’s Disciples

Jennifer was flirtatious and outgoing, but she was acting ridiculous. For the last four years, all she’d done was complain about the late-night window rattling caused by the neighbor’s loud exhaust. I sat at the opposite end of the couch from her and clenched my jaw tight to keep from calling her out on her fictitious claims of biker love.

“Paints a pretty fucked up picture of us if you ask me,” he said dryly. “Bikers aren’t really like that.”

“I think the ones that ride in clubs are,” she said. “The hard-core bikers.”

He glared at her. “Hard core?” He chuckled. “I’ve ridden a motorcycle every day for the last ten years. Our club rode from here to Connecticut last year. We ate gas station burritos and slept beside our bikes in rest stop parking lots, using our jackets for pillows. Six thousand miles in four weeks. We make trips like that a couple of times a year. How’s that for hard-core?”

Cash – 2. Jennifer – 0.

Riding across the country and using an asphalt parking lot for a bed sounded hard-core to me. My eyes shot to Jennifer, curious to see how she would crawl out of the hole she’d managed to dig.

“Hollywood always glamorizes the violence. It doesn’t surprise me that the show’s a farce.” She tossed her hair and gave him a semi-serious look. “If it bleeds, it sells, right?”

“I guess so,” he said dismissively.

“So, you ride in a club?” I asked.

He cupped his left hand over his clenched fist and nodded. “A small one.”

I studied him, wondering what he’d look like without the scruff on his jaw. The entire beard thing looked good while he was whipping my ex-husband’s ass, but the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted it to disappear.

Millennials with untrimmed facial hair that hung down to their chest ruined my desire to see a man use a beard as anything other than proof that he had a long, tiring weekend.

“Maybe the bigger clubs do things differently,” Jennifer said. “You know, like the Hells Angels.”

“If you say so,” he said dryly.

He brushed his hair to the side and looked right at me. “What?”

“Huh?” I muttered.

His eyes narrowed. “You were staring at me. Something wrong?”

“I was just…” I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“You can’t start explaining something and then say, ‘it’s nothing’.” He cocked one eyebrow. What?”

“It’s nothing.”

He lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows.

I sighed. “Is the beard a permanent part of who you are?”

He stroked his jaw with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “I don’t have a beard.”

I pointed toward the hall bath. “You might want to go look in the mirror.”

“It’s not a beard.” He rubbed the sides of his face with the palms of his hands. “I just. I haven’t shaved in a while.”

“Is it common for you to go a month or so without shaving?”

“I think it’s sexy,” Jennifer chimed.

I shot her a quick glare.

“Depends on what I’ve got going on,” he said. “I’ll shave when I get time.”

“So, you’ve been too busy to shave? That’s your answer?”