CHAPTER TWO
MANE
The past two nights of working the graveyard shift meant that I didn’t spend my nights tossing and turning in bed, worried about Mason. I don’t like the fact that he’s traveling that far of a distance alone, but I have to keep in mind that he’s a grown man that’s been by himself for a long time now.
From the last text I received from him, he’s an hour out so I quickly jump into the shower so I can shave, shower, and hydrate my hair with the mask I use once a month so that my hair is shiny and healthy looking. Maybe I should’ve started this process earlier in the day, but I’ve been so uptight that I’ve been puttering around the house instead. As I methodically go through my process, I worry that the feelings I’ve developed for Mason may not be reciprocated to the same degree.
He calls me baby. He hasn’t hidden his desire to be a couple, as a matter of fact, he reminds me of the bikers I’ve grown up around because he all but claimed me as his. I wasn’t the kid that fantasized about having a biker as an old man, but the more I imagine Mason in a cut riding a bike, the more that fantasy has taken fruition.
I’ve never been one who falls into line as far as being like the rest of my family goes. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum and refuse to apologize for doing so. I’m all about fixing what’s wrong with the human mind instead of putting someone down. Although, through time as well as gaining experience since getting my degree and working at Kings, I’ve discovered that some people aren’t redeemable.
It’s a damn shame that some people’s wires get crossed in their brains the way they do. Even with the advances through psychology and scientific explorations, there are some diseases that still confuse all fields of medical professionals. Unfortunately, no amount of intervention can help those sorts of individuals.
As those thoughts float out of my head, I look back at myself from the mirror and bob my head in satisfaction. I’m not dressed flashy, I decided since I’m going to the clubhouse for a welcome home party the club is throwing, I should dress the part. I’m in a racerback tank top, tight blue jeans with natural rips in the material, and my boots. My makeup is done at a minimum—I have cotton candy pink chapstick on my lips, a light brushing of foundation and blush on my face and cheeks, plus I swiped some mascara across my lashes. I’m not a girly-girl, I’ve always been too active of a person to deck myself out. Hell, I was a tomboy up until I graduated from high school where I discovered my own unique style.
The alarm on my phone goes off letting me know it’s time for me to head out and pick up the cake I ordered from Heartland Bakery. I can’t wait to see it, it’s been customized and seeing as the bakery has only recently opened, I was one of her first customers so I got it at a great discount as a thank you from the owner.
* * *
“Ireland, this is phenomenal. You did a fabulous job on this!” I exclaim, admiring the personalized cake. Mason’s not club, but he is a rider who owns his own chopper.
“Did I get the right shade of blue for the gas tank?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.
“It’s dead on,” I confirm. “Matches the swatch I gave you flawlessly.” I’ve only seen photographs of Mason’s bike through text messages, but I opened up my album at the paint store and the salesman helped me find the closest hue to the paint that coats his bike. The tank is the only color on his bike, everything else is black as night. Even the pipes, which are usually chrome, are dark.
I open up my phone and search through our text strand before finding the picture I want. “See? Here’s his bike.”
“Whew,” she hums with relief, but there’s a huge smile gracing her face. “Let me get the lid secure and I’ll help you cart it out to your car.” Now I’m the one releasing a sigh of relief. I was antsy about carrying this box that’s nearly as long as I am tall out to the car without jostling it and possibly losing my footing.
“You should come out after you close for the night,” I suggest. “I know you’re new to town and haven’t had the chance to make many friends.” She looks hesitant but then I see excitement light up her eyes.
“Are you sure it would be okay for me to come?” she asks. “I mean, it’s not really wild or anything, is it?” I’m not sure how to answer that question and be honest about the way I word it because the parents are coming too and with my uncles mixed into the group, you never know what the night will consist of.
I internally laugh because some of the parties do get out of control, but that typically happens after the old ladies and the kids have left for the evening and the single men are left to their own devices. I seriously doubt Ireland will be there that late, she’ll most likely take her leave when the rest of us women do but I make a mental note to keep an eye on her so she doesn’t get traumatized because some of the single brothers are a bit—wild.
“Okay, so it can be wild and crazy, but initially, it’s a family party so there’ll be kids, as well as young teens, in the mix. However, before it gets completely off the chain, the old ladies and the kids will leave. That’s when the single guys kind of let it all hang out, so if I happen to be occupied and you see any of the women leaving, go ahead and head out. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re there for another reason.”
“What other reason?” she questions as she tapes the box to secure it for the drive.
“Um, well, there are women in town who like to come to the parties because they want a walk on the wild side.” When she still looks confused, I continue. “They want to take a ride on a biker’s dick.”
“Oh!” she exclaims, her face flushing. “I’m not looking for that at all.”
I snicker then say, “Well, at least, not right now. We all got needs, girlie.”
“Maybe so, but I’m such an introvert, I know there’s no way a biker would be interested in me at all.”
I raise my brows because she’s got that all American girl next door appeal that I know several of the brothers would claim in a heartbeat. They might enjoy sowing their oats with the club whores, as well as the townies who come prowling around at the clubhouse for their next conquest, but at the end of the day, the cousins I grew up with, as well as myself, want what our parents have—someone to grow old alongside. Someone loyal and committed to you and never, not once, glance at another woman because you are their entire world.
“Well, don’t worry during the family part of it. I’ll introduce you to some of the other women around our age because we all need a posse to go shopping with, or bitch about the male race, or grab some coffee, you know?”
“Yeah, I know there’s more to life than my bakery and my pug, Mugsy.”
“Oh my goodness! They’re so cute!” I reply in regard to her pup. I love their squishy faces and the way their little tails curl.
“He is, but he’s still a puppy so he’s a bit demanding sometimes.”
“Well, Auntie Mane can’t wait to meet him so she can spoil him,” I tease. “I love animals but haven’t gotten my own pets yet.”
“Pets? As in plural?”
“They’re like potato chips, you can’t have just one,” I reply, deadpan. Of course, that lasts all of two seconds before I burst into laughter with her joining me.
“What do you want?” she asks as we carry the box out to my car.
“I love dogs, but I’m partial to kitties because they’re a bit more independent. With the hours I work, I’d hate to have to kennel a dog that long. I plan to go out to the shelter soon because they’ve got animals of every variety who need a home. Who knows? I could end up with a foul-mouthed parrot or something.”
She snickers as I hit my key fob to open the rear of my SUV. Somehow, we manage to get the box inside and then we stand there looking at it because unless I find something to help hold it in place, it’s going to slide all over and end up looking like a wrecked bike instead of the masterpiece that Ireland created.
Once the box is in the back and we’ve secured it so it won’t shift with the turns and bumps on the road, I hand her my phone and tell her, “Put your number in for me and I’ll send you directions. It’s at the clubhouse, but GPS will lead you to an empty field if you depend on it alone to get you there.”
“Is it at least near the empty field?” she asks, mirth dancing in her eyes. I know by the merriment sent my way she’s going to fit in with us ladies.
“It’s close, but close doesn’t get you to the food,” I joke. “And trust me, the guys are mean grillers. They love to outdo each other so we always end up with way too much food, even with the mass we feed.”
“Can I bring anything?” Ireland asks.
“You pitched in on dessert so you’re good,” I state, reaching out and taking my phone from her outstretched hand.
“That doesn’t feel like much. Maybe I’ll bring some other treats for those who don’t like cake,” Ireland offers.
My head whips up and my eyes widen when I sputter, “Who doesn’t like cake! That’s blasphemous.”
“It happens, believe it or not,” she informs me. “I was taken aback the first time I came across a client who demanded I offer things outside of that as a treat for parties.”
“I was just thinking earlier today that it's a shame that some peoples’ wires get crossed,” I harrumph. “I can understand some not favoring the icing because it can be a little on the sweet side, but the entire cake, there’s something monumentally wrong with that.”
She giggles and it’s a chain reaction because we both end up laughing so hard that we end up swiping tears from under our eyes.
“See you there?” I ask, making sure she’s not backing out.
“I’ll be there,” she promises. As we part ways, and I back out of my parking spot, I notice Ireland wearing a grin that stretches from one ear to the other. As I drive north, I look in my rear view mirror and smirk when I see her dancing in place. Yeah, she’s going to fit in just fine.