Page 28 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“Just give me ten of each of those games.”

“Sure thing.” She reels them off the rolls, counting as she goes.

I pull out a roll of bills and peel two hundred bucks off the stack. Then lean back and emit a sharp whistle. “Brick, let’s go.”

He walks up with an armful of assorted bottles.

I cock a brow. “You throwin’ a party I don’t know about?”

“Maybe. If you play your cards right, I’ll invite you, VP.”

“How you gonna transport all that?”

“My saddlebags.”

“They won’t all fit.”

“Then I’ll use your saddlebags for the overage.”

“The hell you will.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be a party pooper.”

“Are any of those glass?”

“No, they’re plastic,” he lies, and we both hear the clinking of glass as he sets them on the counter.

I pick up a bottle and study the label. “Cherry Cola Vodka? Who the hell’s drinking this shit?”

“Why ya gotta rain on my parade? All the Swifties are drinking it.”

I cock my head. The man has lost his marbles. “And you can’t just mix vodka with cherry cola?”

He slumps like a deflated balloon. “You suck the fun out of everything.”

“Right.”

“It might sound like a strange combination, but everything deserves a chance, man.”

I arch a brow. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Brick?”

He gives me a toothy grin. “I can’t help it. I’m filled with Christmas spirit.” He looks over at the saleslady. “You understand, don’t you, sweetheart?”

The lady blushes like a teen. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

“See? She gets me.”

Just then, we hear the rumble of a couple of bikes. Down at the beach, that’s not anything unusual, but I’m already on edge, knowing this isn’t our turf. I dip my head and peer out the plate-glass window, past the neon beer signs, and spot the riders.

“Shit.”

Brick cranes his neck. “Death Heads. Fuck.”

“They your rivals?” the old gal asks.

“Yep,” Brick replies, as we watch them pull in. “Big time.”

“I don’t want any trouble in here, boys. Come with me. There’s a back exit.”

---