Charge to My Line(5)By: Lani Lynn Vale
She looked cute driving the little Ford Ranger.
Even cuter when she rolled down the window, waved, and then started blasting country music as she pulled out of the parking lot.
Save a horse. Ride a beard.
-Tru, Note to self
“What a small world! I can’t believe, out of all the COTA’s in Shreveport, you’re the one that has him!” Iliana exclaimed as I stood at the sink and washed the dishes. “You lucky bitch!”
We didn’t have a dishwasher.
It was so old and decrepit that it now served as a pantry since we didn’t have one. Most of the time it only held bread, but I had an evil bastard of a dog that liked to eat stuff off the counter, so if we had a cake or something, it’d go in there, too.
“I know. He’s so freakin’ hot. And I had my hands on him the entire afternoon. I pissed him off, though, when I told him he wasn’t trying very hard,” I snickered, remembering the expression on Grayson’s face.
The look on his face had shown me the fire I knew was hidden in there.
Grayson struck me as calm, cool, and collected.
I wondered if he ever got mad enough to yell.
Even after nearly an hour of exercises, and me telling him he wasn’t giving his all, he still didn’t frown, or even get snappy, like some clients did their first few times. My job was always interesting, that was for sure.
Pain had a way of changing how even the most respectable of people acted. Even the little old ladies who’d fallen and broken hips got moody when they were hurting. I’d have thought at least I’d have gotten a frown out of the man. Instead he smiled and joked the entire time, keeping me very entertained throughout.
“Hey,” Iliana said, interrupting my recollection of the afternoon. “Do you want to go run at the trail, and then go grab a burger?”
I snorted. “Getting a burger after working out seems kind of counterintuitive.”
Not that it didn’t sound damn good, though.
She grinned. “Yeah, but if I run, it’ll be like the cheeseburger never happened. Then I’d feel no guilt tomorrow morning when I step on the scale.”
The girl was pretty particular about her weight.
Where I fluctuated in between one thirty and one forty, Iliana was a cool one twenty, and she never deviated. She was the most annoying person on the planet, and it was depressing at times to live with her when I’d look at a cookie and gain ten pounds, while she could eat two boxes of Oreos and lose two.
It was nice to have a workout partner, though.
If anything else, I got to stare at her shapely ass while she ran in front of me, keeping me extremely motivated.
“Sure, whatever you say, Ana. I’ll go get dressed,” I grinned at her.
I’d just bought a new pair of running shoes. What better way to break them in than to actually run in them?
“I’m just letting you know, that when my ass no longer fits into my jeans, that I’m going to come into your room at night and haunt your dreams,” I teased as I got out of the car and walked with Iliana into Halligans and Handcuffs.
Halligans and Handcuffs was a bar, but still had a nice restaurant portion attached to it. Why Iliana wanted to go there when we were both sweaty and nasty was beyond me.
I was fairly positive that tight shorts and a neon pink tank top was most definitely not appropriate.
However, Iliana had won the race, and I was never one to back down from a bargain.
If she wanted to go, I was going, too.
“I’m sure. I go to bed after you, so it’d be impressive if you actually woke up to do that,” Iliana laughed as she grabbed the door handle and swung the door open.
I’d expected to be blasted with classic rock, which is what usually happened when we entered Halligans and Handcuffs.
What we got was a celebration.
“Shit,” I said as I started backing out of the door. “Turn around. I think this is a private party.”
I was stopped by a giant hand coming down and wrapping around my wrist.
“No, darlin’, you can stay. We’re just celebrating a friend’s life, that’s all,” an older man said.
I followed the hand up until it reached a brawny shoulder, and even further to a leather covered chest.
I blinked. The man I was staring at was the president of the local motorcycle club. The Dixie Wardens MC.
I’d seen them around town, and in fact had known that they owned this place. What I hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing yet, was talking to one of them yet.
And, of course, I would be choosing the president to make an acquaintance with first.
“Oh, okay. Are you sure?” I asked worriedly, looking around at the massive amount of police officers and firefighters, as well as leather clad men, filling up the bar.