Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Just after we’d said goodbye and I’d thanked him again, I added, “I’ll make sure Sienna’s safe at night.”
I didn’t miss the humor when he replied, “Oh, I’ve got no doubts about that.” But that was thanks to the fact he did while he was laughing.
Chapter Nine
Sienna
“You keep mentioning his name, but you won’t tell me what he’s like,” Mom complained as I pushed a load of laundry into the machine. I refused to believe it wouldn’t take the last three items, so I was determinedly shoving them into the small gap at the top of the drum. “Is his name Jinx or Jordan?”
“Jordan, but his club name’s Jinx,” I replied automatically, not thinking about what I was saying.
“Club? What kind of club? Your dad went to school with someone who joined this weird gentleman’s club, Sienna, and I’m not sure—”
With a wince as my hand hit the metal at the back, I pulled it back out again and sank back onto my haunches, staring at the clothes all squished inside the drum.
Seeing Jinx’s white t-shirt in amongst all the dark colors, I pulled it out and lifted it to my nose. It might seem like the move a creeper would make, but he always smelled so good. Masculine from his shower gel, clean from the detergent he used, musky from whatever else he sprayed on himself, all topped with a hint of leather and motor oil.
“A bikers club, Mom.” The words came out so softly, I wasn’t sure she’d hear them.
Her gasp was answer enough, but then she squealed excitedly, “Like those hot boy bikers on their crotch throbbing bikes, who wear leather and beat people up.”
Thinking of the members of the club, I could see them doing it if it was warranted, but I’m not sure they’d fit into that stereotype all of the time. “Not quite.”
“Shh,” she hissed. “Don’t ruin my fantasy.”
Yeah, my best friend was a lot like my mom in the crazy department. That’s why they got along as well as they did.
“He also owns Daniel’s Bar and a tattoo shop.” I nervously bit my lip, waiting for her to change her mind.
“Wow, your daddy and I used to hang out in Daniel’s Bar back in the day. That was such a great place, and the food was unreal.”
“Still is, even under the new management.”
There hadn’t been many occasions when I’d shocked my parents—getting stabbed by a pencil aside—so I could understand it when she gasped, “You’ve been?”
“I have. He introduced me to the other members of his club when it was shut for a function one night.” Then, lowering my voice, even though I was the only one in my house, I added, “He reserved a table for me in the far corner so I could see the room, and he made sure people didn’t crowd around me.”
“Sweet Jesus,” she breathed. “Your dad and I had our first date at a corner table in Daniel’s.”
That was something I’d never heard before. “Okay, if you’re standing at the entrance, facing into the bar, was it to the far left near the bathrooms or the far right.”
“Far right.”
It was just as well I was already sitting the way I was, or I’d have fallen on my butt. “That was the same table.”
“Was it your first date together?”
Could it be considered a date? I guess so. “Yeah.”
There was a ‘thunk’ as she dropped the phone, then I heard her clapping and squealing, and could picture her jumping up and down excitedly. Knowing she’d be at it a while, I put the detergent and softener in and got up to start the machine.
“I’m back. Sorry, so sorry. It’s just, this is so exciting. What does Jordan look like?”
“Very different from the boy I went to school with. He’s about six foot two inches tall, has short dark hair, and a dark beard that he trims down so it doesn’t get crazy. Oh, and green eyes that are a shade I can’t even describe—like a cross between grass and olives.”
I swear I heard a sigh from her. “If he does tattoos on people, he’s bound to have them himself, right?”
I doubted there was much space left on him to do any more tattoos. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s got a lot of them, but they’re all artistic and represent something.” I knew this because he’d told me one night while we were painting the vase.
“His left arm has them in black and gray, and they look almost tribal. But his right arm has colors, and you can’t help wanting to run your fingers over them to see if they’re real or not. And get this.”
When I didn’t say anything else, she growled, “What?”
“We’re working on projects in the workshop together. A Maddie-sized vase and something for his shop.”
“I love that you’ve found someone artistic who can share your interests with you.”