Page 11 of Jagger
Old Ladies. Now that was a term I knew, even before reading about it last night.
“Wow, that’s more than I expected. How big is your club?”
He paused for a moment before answering, “Well, there are twenty-six patched members, plus a couple who are retired, like Sinner, who still come around. A few of those twenty-six aren’t fully active. They don’t work at club-owned businesses, but they do show up for mandatory Church and club rides.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you guys had other businesses besides the bar. What else does the club own?” I asked, wondering if it was any place I’d been to before.
“We have a custom bike shop, a mixed-martial arts gym, a barber shop, a tattoo shop – which is where my brother works – a strip club, and a security company.”
I ignored the part about the strip club, focusing instead on the security company. “Is Guardian Angel Protection the name of the security company?” I asked, recalling the circle of flames in the company’s logo.
“Yeah, it is,” he told me proudly.
I was impressed. My apartment was equipped with their alarm system – although I usually forgot to set it – and I knew several other people who used them as well.
“Are you ready to go, Jag?” I heard a woman’s voice ask in the background. He muffled the phone again, so I couldn’t really make out his response.
“Sorry, it looks like we’re ready to head out, so I need to go. Have fun with your folks tonight. We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” he confirmed.
“Yes, just let me know where you want me to meet you,” I replied with a smile.
He groaned. “Let me pick you up, Angel? I don’t like the idea of you having to drive home late at night.”
“I’ll be fine, Jagger. I’d really rather meet you there,” I said nervously, hoping he didn’t press the issue.
He heaved a frustrated sigh. “OK, I get it. I’m glad you aren’t letting men you just met know where you live, but Angel, after tomorrow, I want to pick you up for our dates.” His tone left no room for argument, so I didn’t even try. Besides, I was kind of stuck on the idea ofmoredates with him.
“Thank you for understanding,” I replied, relieved he wasn’t angry about it.
“I’ve gotta go, now, before they leave my ass behind. Talk to you later, Angel.”
“Bye, honey. Have a safe ride,” I said, before pressing the button to end the call.
I spent the afternoon finishing the unpacking and organizing that I’d worked on the day before, and fielding calls from Emma and Brad. Emma wasn’t thrilled when I told her about Jagger, but she was cautiously optimistic once I’d told her all about him. Brad just wanted details about the size of his dick. I’d threatened to tell Drew, which had finally shut him up. They were a mismatched pair, but they adored each other, and their relationship was solid.
Brad was a gym teacher at the same elementary school I taught at. He also helped coach the high-school football team. He was very tall, and so muscular that he looked like he could bench press a small car. He was also one of the goofiest, sweetest, most laid-back men that I had ever known. He rarely took anything seriously. Drew, on the other hand, was an investment planner. He was only a few inches taller than me, slender and fit, but not overly muscled. He was also intense and serious, and the total opposite of Brad in every way.
I’d told my mom that I would bring dessert for tonight’s dinner, so I baked a chocolate cake in between phone calls. I jumped in the shower once the last box was emptied and broken down to be taken out to the dumpster. I threw on shorts and a T-shirt leftover from my college years, threw my hair up into a messy bun, grabbed my purse and the cake, and headed out for my parents’ house. They lived in a suburb about twenty minutes away, in the house I’d grown up in.
Mom was a teacher, although she taught fourth grade. Dad was in charge of public relations for one of the IndyCar race teams based here in Indianapolis. My brother Matt worked for the same team as part of the pit crew, so he traveled all over the country with them, following the racing circuit for a good part of the year.
I’d dated one of the drivers, DJ, for almost three months last year, and even spent part of the summer traveling to the races with him. I’d stayed home one week, and then dumped him after Matt called early one morning from Florida to tell me he’d just caught a groupie taking the walk of shame out of DJ’s custom RV. Matt had punched him in the gut and then called me. DJ’s car took a hit on the third lap of the race later that day, after he repeatedly disregarded the advice of his seasoned crew chief and made an epically stupid move on the track. He was fine. The car was not, nor was his racing career once the team owner got hold of him. I hadn’t been heartbroken over DJ, I was more pissed off than anything, but my ego took a beating that had been only slightly soothed by his public firing the day after the race. I actually hadn’t dated anyone since.
Dad greeted me at the door and took the cake from me to carry it into the kitchen. Mom was getting the steaks ready for the grill, and as I got a whiff of the marinade she used on them, I realized how hungry I was. Since I’d gotten up so late, I’d eaten breakfast and then skipped lunch.
Luckily, the grill was hot, and it didn’t take Dad long to have them ready for us. I helped Mom by making the salad while she got the potatoes finished up. I had decided on the way over that I wasn’t going to mention Jagger. Not because he was a biker, but because they – Mom especially – would keep asking me about him every time we spoke. There was no sense telling them about a man I likely wouldn’t see for more than a couple of dates, if that. I couldn’t imagine his interest lingering on me any longer than that. Not only was I sure I wasn’t his type, but he had also already admitted that he didn’t do relationships.
Mom and I talked about teaching as we usually did, sharing stories about our students and venting about some of the ridiculous guidelines that we had to abide by that had very little to do with education and a lot to do with bureaucratic red tape.
This was one of the rare weekends that the IndyCar teams weren’t racing, so Dad and Matt were both able to join us for dinner. Matt, of course, had walked in the door just minutes before we sat down to eat. God forbid he get there any earlier and risk getting put to work in the kitchen. He and Dad spent a good part of the meal regaling us with the latest news and gossip from the racing circuit. Apparently, my ex-boyfriend was in danger of being fired from yet another race team after getting into an on-camera shoving match with someone on his pit crew after the last race, followed by a bar brawl with some disgruntled fans later that night.
“He was already on thin ice for being such a cocky little shit and never listening to anyone, but now he’s getting a reputation as a hothead, too. Rumor has it that his days with that team are numbered.” Matt’s expression was gleeful as he shared this news. He absolutely despised my ex.
Mom asked me to pass her the butter, then smirked as she commented that it was a shame that DJ had torpedoed such a promising career. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” she added with more than a hint of sarcasm. She wasn’t a fan DJ’s either.
“Yeah, karma’s a real bitch. That’s what the sonofabitch gets for cheating on my little girl.” My dad scowled as he reached for another helping of potatoes. He despised my ex even more than Matt and my mom combined.
I just snickered and rolled my eyes at them. To this day, they were all more upset about his cheating than I had ever been.
