“Before the baby comes,” Andre said with another grin. “He ain’t here yet, is he?”
“Not yet,” Jennifer agreed, and she went inside. She got to the bar just as Bert was leaving. Steven was already there, filling a beer for the only customer in the place, an older woman with a tattoo of a rose on her throat. Everyone called her Rose, and she was a regular. She came in every day at two, shot the shit with Bernie, and then left half an hour after he did, drunk as a skunk. Jennifer liked her, though she was pretty sure her name wasn’t really Rose. She was also pretty sure Rose didn’t have a job and was getting disability due to the fact that she hobbled everywhere on a cane and could afford to do nothing but drink all day.
“Hey, kid,” Rose said.
“Hey, Rose,” Jennifer replied. The old woman always called her kid. Rose was a tough woman, a biker chick, clad in jeans and a black T-shirt with a Harley on the front, but she was warm and nice with Jennifer, taking on an almost motherly role.
The day wore on and the night came fast, the burning Arizona sun dropping quickly from the sky. As it grew darker, the place filled up.
If there wasn’t at least one fight that spilled out into the parking lot, it just wasn’t Chuck’s. That night the fight came early, just past eight, when two men started screaming at each other over a game of pool. Punches flew, Jennifer screamed at them to take it outside, and they did so, with three-fourths of the other patrons slipping out behind them to watch. Jennifer took advantage of the sudden slowdown and did some cleaning behind the bar. When she spun around, she was greeted by Rocky.
That wasn’t his real name of course, but then Jennifer didn’t know his real name. Rocky was close to her in age, if not a couple of years older. He was the definition of a bad boy. He was a member of one of the local motorcycle clubs, a rowdy group of men who called themselves the Reapers. They all wore black leather vests or jackets, and on the back they had sewn large patches of a skull-faced grim reaper in tattered black robes, holding a long scythe.
Rocky was handsome, with a square chin and dark brown hair grown a bit long. He had a scar just below his lip, and he drank too much. Jennifer knew she shouldn’t be interested in him, but she couldn’t deny the attraction. She had fantasized about the man so often, though she had never acted on it. He, of course, had tried. He kept trying with her, and Jennifer knew he wasn’t used to being turned down, judging by how many different women she had seen sitting on his lap in the bar.
“Hey,” Rocky said. “Can I get another beer?”
“All right,” Jennifer said. She turned and grabbed a bottle of the brand she knew he drank and placed it in front of him. He grabbed it and took a swig. She expected him to turn and go outside to watch the fight, but he didn’t. He pulled the bottle from his lips and looked at her. She giggled. “What do you want?”
“I want you to come back to my place so I can fuck you all night,” Rocky said.
Jennifer laughed, and though she felt a stirring between her legs, she shook her head. “You’re bad news,” she said.
Rocky laughed. “That’s true,” he said, and then he turned and walked away. Jennifer watched his ass as he did so.
2
Saturday came around, and Jennifer found herself in Tempe with Ryan. The drive was nice; they made idle chit chat, and she learned about his childhood. He had grown up in Ohio and gotten a job there. The company had sent him to Arizona three years previously. He liked it, but he missed his family.
Jennifer didn’t tell him much about her childhood. She had been born and raised in Maryland, where her father drank too much and her mother cheated on him constantly. They divorced when Jen was fifteen, and she got into her car and left the day after she graduated from high school. Her car broke down in Arizona, and that was where she had stayed. It wasn’t as nice or quaint a story as Ryan’s. He wouldn’t want to know about her asshole father or stepmother.
The dinner was actually nice, and Jennifer felt a strange sense of pride when Ryan was given his award. He went up to the stage to accept it and give a small speech. Jennifer found herself feeling a little sad for the man as well. He would have much rather shared the moment with those he cared about back in Ohio. When he got back to the table and they finished dinner, Jennifer brought up old girlfriends.
“I’ve dated a few women out here,” Ryan said with a shrug. “It never works out.”
“You’re cute,” Jennifer said. “You have a good job. What’s the problem?”
“They aren’t you,” Ryan said truthfully, bolstered by the three glasses of wine he had drunk.
The dinner wasn’t over until nearly ten, and Ryan’s business had comped him a room at a nearby hotel, but he insisted he could drive her home that night.