Page 21 of XOXO

We still had the club, and I was still VP, but it all had a different meaning now. Our titles were mostly for tradition, but we still honored the hierarchy. And the positions the brothers held at Steely Ridge Investments were given according to rank.

Bash came blowing into town and took a job with us and it wasn’t long before Tango had her living at his place. It was oddly satisfying to see my oldest friend and brother so happy. I just hadn’t met anyone that was worth putting on the back of my bike.

“Our budget looks great. Bash and I went over numbers.”

I grunted. “I bet you did.”

Tango stood so I did as well. He was taller than I was, but he was six-two; I was no slouch at six foot even and had at least twenty more pounds on him. “C’mon man. Let’s get to The Rusty Spoke. Gotta grab my leathers. Meet you in the parking lot.”

Georgia didn’t get cold like some places, but when you’d lived there your whole life, thirty and below was considered cold as shit. But even though I had a truck for when the occasion called for it, I preferred my bike even then. January and February were typically the coldest months for us, but I had good gear, and the bar wasn’t far.

I put my jacket on over my cut, then donned my chaps before shutting down the computer and heading out.

After dealing with vendors and cranky clerks all day, a ride and a cold beer sounded great.

“Hey!” Tango shouted as he straddled his bike. “You didn’t tell the permits clerk to suck it, did you?”

I stopped and raised a brow. “If you even have to ask, maybe you should suck it!” I laughed as I grabbed my crotch. I wasn’t a hot head like him. I had enough sense to hang up before I said some shit like that.

Tango flipped me the middle finger before he buckled his helmet and fired up his Fat Boy. I loved that asshole.

Chapter 2

Adita

Staring at myself, I sighed. I was an engineer. With a degree. How the hell did I end up needing to serve drinks?

Oh yeah…I’d rather be a strong independent woman than let my parents marry me off to a nice Doctor from India. Trinidad would be great, but it’s a much smaller population so harder to find.

For the most part, they were progressive, but they still had a sliver of tradition in them and just wanted what’s best for me. Their marriage was arranged, and they seemed happy. But that was a different time. They let me choose my college and supported my career choices, but they cut off funds once I graduated because I wouldn’t entertain their attempted matches. They wouldn’t force me to marry, so they said, but they sure tried to sway me with the news of cutting off my rent money.

I dated plenty of boys they’d probably approve of, but none that gave me clitterflies. Mom always said you work at love and it’s a choice you make every day. But I at least needed some kind of heat. Some kind of passion. A spark that I could hold onto when times got hard. Because one thing I knew about relationships, any relationship, is that there would be struggles.

Even though they weren’t paying my bills anymore, it was fine. None of my friends’ parents paid for their bills. It was just sad that I had a job in my chosen field but was still doing the grunt work as one of the youngest, and dickless, employees. I wanted to be at least a project coordinator, but senior project engineer sounded even better. That would take time and proving myself of course, but at this rate, project coordinator seemed to be a silly dream.

Hence why I now stood in a shirt that was not meant to be a crop top but hugged me so tight that my obnoxiously large breasts ate it up, showing the brown skin of my tummy. At least I could wear jeans and sneakers and not little shorts like some of the places I checked out.

I’d seen the other girls when I spoke to the owner of the Rusty Spoke about his job opening and he was very diverse with his lady employees, that was for sure. All shapes, sizes, and shades. But to my knowledge, I was the only one from Trinidad. Well, originally. My parents were Trinidadian, and I was born there, but we moved when I was a baby.

The swinging door to the small locker room for the employees flew open and a pretty brunette with curvy hips popped her gum and greeted me. “Hey, you must be Adita. I’m Rickie.”

I gave her a nervous grin and took her hand in the offered shake. “Yeah, but my friends call me Adi. How long have you worked here?”

“About a year. It’s not bad. The clientele is mostly a bunch of dudes who ride bikes. But they’re harmless and tip really well.” She leaned in close, and her big brown eyes popped as she raised a brow. “Truth be told, I make more here than my day job.”

I gasped. “You have another job, too? This is my first time taking a second job, but I need the money and this place was the only one I could get to when the shift started.” That, plus nobody else would hire me. Who knew a degree makes you overqualified?

She tossed her bag into a locker and slammed it shut. “Well, probably for the best because like I said, easy and quick money. Plus,” she said as she tied her half apron over her skintight jeans with lots of tears, “the eye candy ain’t too bad.”

An awkward chuckle left my throat. I had enough issues on my own. I didn’t need some motorcycle man getting me in a tizzy.

Rickie patted my shoulder then winked before she left the locker room. I blew a breath through puffed cheeks and followed her out.

When I spotted her across the room spattered with round wooden tables, she waved me to the bar. Peanut shells lay on some of the tables as well as the floor. It was a typical bar. Certainly nothing like a nightclub.

Loud classic rock blared from the jukebox and different sports and shows were on the TVs in the dimly lit space.

I put my chin up and headed to the bar to meet Rickie.

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