“I hate cheap whiskey,” I remark, knowing full well Ryan is catching the subvert message. “It always disappoints.” With that, I turn around, and Ruby and I leave to run our errands. She hasn’t told me where we’re going next, just that she’s going to buy me a few things for my room. I protest, telling her I’d rather she not spend her money on me. I offer to pay for my own stuff, but she won’t hear of it.
We spend the afternoon avoiding the Fourth of July festivities, but it’s not easy. She drags me in and out of at least a dozen stores. We pick up mineral makeup from a local makeup artist/chemist who started his own line in town, then we head over and find some throw pillows and a desk for my room. Ruby shoots off a text to Jim, who promises one of the prospects—Tall or Squat—will pick the desk up for us. I still can’t remember either of their names since Ian thought it would be funny to tell them they can’t tell me their names, so now I’m left to my own devices to identify them.
“Can we just stop for a coffee?” I ask, eyeing the sign for the coffee shop up ahead. My arms ache under the weight of the shopping bags we’ve accumulated in the last two hours. It’s been years since I’ve been out shopping for this long, in so many stores, all in one trip.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she agrees. We walk the fifty or so feet to Universal Ground. The door chimes when I open it. Immediately, the scent of brewing coffee wafts across my face, promising an afternoon pick-me-up. The coffee shop is narrow, but deep. The walls are lined with photographs of bikers and their friends at various town events and celebrations; most of them wear black leather vests. I may not get out much, but I know enough to know that the club is special to the town, even if some residents won’t admit it. My father made our neighborhood in Brooklyn, but the club makes this entire town. Its impact is evident in the way the locals regard the men as they pass through on their bikes.
Behind the counter, a young woman scribbles in a notebook, her long blonde hair resting on the wooden surface. Ruby catches sight of her and stops in her tracks. Looking from the woman to Ruby, I stay silent, unsure what to say. She wears a spaghetti-strap tank top that’s practically skin tight, showing off her numerous tattoos. The woman looks up, revealing black-painted eyes and bright red lips. Her makeup is heavier than I normally find attractive, but she wears it well.
“Can I get you something?” she asks, her tone laced with irritation. I take a step forward to order, but Ruby stays still. It takes her another moment, but then she composes herself and steps up to the counter.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” Ruby says, clearing her throat. She leans over the counter, back to being the confident woman I’ve grown to love. Whatever startled her about this woman’s presence has since evaporated. The woman doesn’t respond.
“Okay, if that’s how you want to play it, Nic.” Ruby squares her shoulders and looks over the menu hanging above the espresso machine against the back wall and orders. I follow suit with an iced vanilla latte. Ruby pays for our drinks, and we grab a table in the back corner while waiting for our order to be called up.
“Who is that?” I ask, careful to control my volume.
“That’s Nic. She’s what the club calls a lost girl.” I tilt my head sideways, not understanding. “She doesn’t have an old man.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to string the clues together, to no avail. She blows out a breath and levels me with a flat stare. “She seems pissed.”
“Her dad hung around the club before he went to prison. Her mom hooked up with some of the guys before she split, leaving Nic with her younger brother. She’s pissed all right.”
“Wow. That sucks,” I say. “But why is she called a lost girl?”
“When a woman hooks up with a member, but isn’t his Old Lady, she’s a lost girl.” Nic nods her head at me, supplying our coffees at the pick-up station. I quickly grab the drinks, giving Nic a grateful smile, and plop back down in my seat, now totally engaged in this conversation.
“So, who did she hook up with? Was it Ian?” My mood has taken a turn for the better, much to Ruby’s enjoyment. She smiles back at me, clearly amused by my interest in this subject.
“Why Ian?” she asks.
“Because he’s all brooding, and she’s all grouchy. They just seem like they’d fit together.” She shakes her head, laughing. I try to think, and then it comes to me. “Duke,” I say with a nod. Her answering smirk tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head.
“And how did you come up with that?”
“Because he’s such a whore,” I blurt out, then cover my mouth in regret. Duke has made a habit these last two months of stopping by and catching me up on his dalliances, not that I want to hear them. Ruby’s jaw is slack, and a moment later she throws her head back in laughter. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment. Shaking my head, I find myself mortified by what I’ve said.
“I didn’t mean that,” I protest, but it does me no good. Ruby’s enjoying my honesty a little more than I’m used to.
“Oh, yes you did. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to be honest like that.”