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Toad doesn’t flinch as inches of overgrown hair is shorn right off his head. I don’t know what his story is, but I can tell by the hard look in his eyes, that there is one.
“You need me to hold your hand?”
“Hell, no,” but his voice cracks.
“What’s goin’ on?”
The vibration from his rich velvet voice moves through me straight down to the apex between my thighs.
“Hey,” I turn around, pretending he’s just my boss.
One eyebrow is raised, waiting for an answer.
Toad’s face is as red as the clay desert I drove through coming out here from Chicago.
“Nothing. What are you up to?” I ask playing it cool. Like it’s normal for me to be hanging out at Supercuts at a little after nine in the morning with a young motorcycle club gangster with a sleeve full of tats and a gun tucked in the back pocket of his jeans.
His lips try not to tip up. I wait for him to lose the battle, just when I think he might actually crack a smile—he stares me down hard whipping off his aviator lenses. “Guess I wasn’t clear enough the other day?”
“You were. Am I not allowed to go for my daily run anymore? Toad here has been my shadow.”
“Looks like he’s more of a goddamn lapdog than a guard dog,” he turns away swiping a hand across his face muttering, “she’s leading more than one dog around by the collar.”
“What’s that?” I ask with a sweet smile.
“Nothing. Hurry this shit up and go shower. I need you to work the lunch shift today. Tina’s out sick.”
“You mean she’s hungover?” I ask elbowing Toad in the side. We both saw her making out with one of Smith’s boys from Creed last night after closing.
“Whatever, just be there,” he grunts putting his sunglasses down to shield his eyes, turning to walk out.
“I can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have plans.”
“Break them.”
“You don’t own me. So, no I won’t. I’ll show up at six like the schedule says.”
He stalks towards me stopping an inch away. He leans down, the whiskers from his beard gently brushes against my ear as he whispers, “I do own you sugar. You just don’t know it yet.”
“No man will ever own me.”
“That’s quite a statement. But I wouldn’t bet on that sugar. You just haven’t met the one who will,yet.”
Or maybe I have, and I’m fighting like hell to pretend otherwise. Since you don’t look twice at me anyway.
He smacks the door open so hard the bells jangle for minutes after it shuts. His bike roars out onto the road kicking up dust and turns right towards the cemetery.
“Hey Toad.”
“Yeah?”
“Whose grave does he go visit?”
“Colin. He was the original founder of Creed, and our first Prez. He died a month ago. He and Meat were tight.”