Page 113 of Truck Off

She owns a small dive bar in Chillicothe that I’ve visited a few times. It doesn’t look like much, and the drinks are cheap, but it’s successful. She’s got a regular crowd that is enough to keep in her business but still manages to pack the place on weekends.

She’s got a sad story of her own that also happens to be connected to another MC in the area. Her story ended in heartbreak, where mine ended in years of fear, followed by resentment and disdain.

Being a tattoo artist is sometimes like therapy sessions. People come in and sit in my chair and then dump their life stories on me. Sometimes I take in every detail, and other times I wish they’d just shut up. I am not therapist material. Lord knows I don’t have good advice to give anyone. Look at how much I fuck up my life on a daily basis. I don’t need to spread that to others.

But Jazz is different. And over the years, she became my friend.

Where I ran from the MC from my childhood, she ran to one as an adult. One random night at a dive bar named Crackers—the dive bar she now owns—and her life changed forever. I often wonder if that change was for the better, considering the outcome.

She was in her early twenties, took one look at Jimmy, and that was it. It was love at first sight. I’m not sure if I believe in such things, but she holds strong to her feelings.

She didn’t care that he was in an MC. She didn’t care that they did dangerous and illegal things. She loved him, and he loved her. That was all that mattered to them.

They never married, but from what she tells, they lived like they did. Losing him nearly destroyed her. A rival MC killed him, ending their romance far too soon. He left everything to her, including the bar.

Crackers is still an MC hangout, but they’re not as prevalent as they were when Jimmy was still alive. She runs an honest business and doesn’t take anyone’s shit.

The love she shared with Jimmy scares me. To be that connected and beholden to another person can’t be easy. Love makes people stupid. When you’re stupid, you lose control. And losing control isn’t something I can afford to lose.

“You’re thinking awfully hard over there,” Jazz says. “Mind telling me what’s got you twisted up in a bunch?”

“I’m not all twisted up.” I insist.

She scoffs. “And I’m Princess Dianna. Spill.”

“It’s nothing. I swear. Just focused on this last bit of shading.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Before she can push further, the front door opens and the air in the room shifts. It’s heavier, sending a rush of awareness through my veins. I don’t have to look to know who just walked in. I feel it all the way to my bones.

Apparently, Jazz senses the shift too. She lifts her head and lets out a low whistle. “Is that tall drink of water that just walked in the reason for your distraction?”

I don’t look. I can’t. If I do, her tattoo is not getting finished. “I’m not distracted.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a shit liar?” She chuckles.

“Anyone ever tell you not to piss off the person holding a needle to your skin?” I retort. This only makes her laugh harder. I shake my head and pull the needle away before I mess up. “If you don’t stop shaking, you’re going to make me fuck this up.”

“Hey, baby,” Chase’s smooth, deep voice washes over me like a calming wave. I keep my eyes on Jazz’s tattoo, but my focus is shit. Chase leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Damn that’s good.”

His words of admiration do the trick, and I can’t stop myself from looking at him. He’s staring at Jazz’s tattoo like it’s a Picasso.

“Thanks,” I whisper. “I’m almost done. Then we can go.”

“Take your time. We’re in no hurry.” He runs his hand down my hair and then squeezes the back of my neck. “Can I watch you finish up, or will that be too distracting?”

“Oh, she’s distracted,” Jazz cuts in. “Been that way all evening.”

Chase lets out a deep rumbling chuckle that makes my belly feel light. “Is that right?”

“Yep, now get that sexy ass of yours over here, where I can see you better. Can’t be looking over my shoulder to check you out.”

Chase kisses my cheek before he moves around to the front of the chair where Jazz can see him. She studies him for a moment before she speaks. “You’re a pretty boy. A good-looking one, but a pretty boy nonetheless.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Chase asks.

“No, just not what I expected Lina to fall for.” She looks him up and down. She’s not wrong. Chase is very pretty and always well put together. “What do you do for a living?”

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