Page 1 of The Pursuit of Her Happiness

Quinn Palomeni 1.

“Are these…is that…why?” I’m at a loss. And I’ve spent a lot of time around the Congressionals Motorcycle Club and thought I’d seen it all. But this…I don’t know what THIS is. I hold the offending and confusing items in my hands, my head shaking, my eyes unable to look away. God, I think it’s following me no matter which way I turn them.

“Ain’t a fan of technology.”

“We matched on an app. Also, Polaroids are fine?” I finally break the spell and glance up at my “date” across the table from me in the mediocre Italian restaurant that I told him I didn’t want to eat at. And now this. “I didn’t ask for these.” I try to give them back, but he nods to them, grin proud…ugh, his chew is showing. I’m gonna be sick.

“I like to show ‘em right off the bat, let you know what you’re getting when you’re with Big Sturgill.” Our definitions of “big” apparently differ, not that I’m a size queen. I’ve been with one man my entire life and he got the job done. Still… “They’re complimentary. My gift to you.” He looks me up and down, what he can see anyway since we’re sitting, and frowns. “Though now that I’ve seen ya…I used a sody can for reference. How would you describe your cooter? Tight like a vise…you’ve got kids, right, so it’s probably loose like a worn-out o-ring—”

“And we’re done.” I throw his unsolicited “dick pics” at him and push my chair back as I stand up. “Have a nice life or don’t, I don’t give a fuck, ‘Big’ Sturgill. And I use that term loosely…about as loose as my puss!”

Sweet baby Jesus, what is wrong with people?Thisis the dating scene? If it wasn’t for my boys, I’d join a convent! Like a white Whoopi Goldberg, I’d shake things up at the nunnery and we’d form an acapella group and go on a multi-convent tour across the country. Maybe add a little spice and temptation with a few stops at wherever monks live. Monkeries? Abbeys?

God, I think I’ve lost my mind!

The guys at the clubhouse are going to love this. Especially Adams. The Vice President of the Congressionals MC is quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

It used to be Ford…Dammit. That ship has sailed. And every day, I’m more and more grateful that it did. Of course, the sailing didn’t have to be quite so aggressive and in my face, but he got his point across and I dodged yet another mistake in a long line of mistakes.

We’ll just chalk up tonight’s disaster as one more for the list.

I smile as I get in my car and start the engine.Imagine Dragonsfills the space and my heart twitches for my boys. They are with their father tonight and I know they need to spend time with him, but I miss them. All week, the want for a few minutes alone nags me, yet the moment they are somewhere else, like their dad’s, I want them all up in my shit.

Since my evening has suddenly opened up, I turn in the direction of the clubhouse. Might as well give them a good story while they give me alcohol to drown out the misery of dating.

A little bit later, I pull up to the compound, stopping at the gate. Wheat waves me through as he raises the gate. They have four prospects currently, and while I’m not in on the nitty gritty of motorcycle club life, from what I’ve seen, I think all four will be patched in when their probationary period is over.

Inside, I find Adams sitting at the bar, talking with another prospect, Barrel, and Langley. Scanning the clubroom, I breathe a sigh of relief when I do not find Ford anywhere and definitely not with a lobbyist. Good for him, but I don’t want to see it just yet. I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime. However, I do find McKinley, Fillmore, and Buchanan circling lobbyists of their own and it makes me giggle. Like animals doing a mating dance. Jane Goodall would have a field day here.

“Quinny, my girl, come ‘ere.” Adams waves me over with a broad toothy grin. At almost 60, Adams is still a good-looking man; naturally tan, muscular, salt-and-pepper styled hair and goatee, just under 6 feet tall and a big ol’ teddy bear. I slide under his lifted arm and squeeze him tight. “What was wrong with this one?” He asks and I can’t help but snort.

“Oh, my dear Adams, I don’t have enough alcohol in my blood to tell this tale.”

Langley smacks his hand on the bar top, “Well, let’s fix that. Prospect, get Quinn some wine—”

“We are far past wine, young man.” Langley is the youngest patched member at 22, and sweet as pie. Until you piss him off. I’ve seen his temper once or twice, and I’ll admit to suffering from some inconvenient lust when his broad muscular chest is heaving, the muscles of his tattooed arm bunching, and that dark brow furrows. But he’s a pup and not available, whether he or the woman who owns him is ready to admit that or not.

He shakes his head at me with a boyish grin, “Ain’t playing games today. All right then, prospect, get her the Old Rip Van Winkle.”

“Jesus, kid.” Adams chokes on his beer. “That shit’s over a thousand dollars a bottle.”

I perk up at the price. “That’s a lot of pressure, Langley. What if my story ain’t good enough to justify the price?”

Langley and Adams look me up and down, then glance at each other. They nod in unison, then continue the parlor trick when they tell Barrel to pour me the Rip Van Winkle at the same time. I shake my head at the two of them with a snort. A moment later, drink in hand, Adams leads me over to one of the sitting areas, not currently occupied by sex maniacs.

My ex and I had a healthy sex life…I think. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I never had any complaints. The physical part of our marriage wasn’t the problem. But the things I’ve seen here, heard, smelled, stepped in and accidentally sat on…Joe and I barely touched the tip of the sexual iceberg.

Adams draws me to his side, and I settle in, taking a slow sip of my bourbon. Damn, that’s good. Langley grabs a seat across the coffee table from us, snagging Chastity as she saunters by, pulling her onto his lap. She giggles, her cheeks turning pink as they stare at one another with hearts in their eyes. I sigh, a little jealous of their obvious connection. Adams squeezes me tighter and kisses the top of my head as if he understands.

And he might. His wife passed more than 25 years ago, and he’s admitted to me in private that he hasn’t been with anyone else since. He’s tried, but it hasn’t felt right. I loved Joe, that’s why I married him. But as we got older, we both changed, and grew into different people. I focused on the boys, my life as a wife and mother, and he focused on becoming more bitter every day untilit consumed him. Perhaps before it all blew up, at the beginning, I would have mourned him, but I don’t think I felt for him what Adams felt for his wife.

Something soul deep…I’ve never experienced that, except for my boys. Marco, Salvatore, and Enzo are my entire world. But Joe…and Ford, not even close. But I want it. With someone.

Just not Big Sturgill.

With an encouraging nod from Langley, I start to regale the three of them with my latest dating disaster. I have them in stitches, and Langley is perplexed about the whole technology hangup, when Wilson and Tilly enter the clubroom from the kitchen, food in hand. Prez, Betty, Hayes, and Stacy walk in from the hallway leading to the offices. And the front door opens, and Keller, Polk, Carver, and Ford join the festivities.

My breath hitches at the instantaneous transformation of Ford’s face. 0 to 60 in less than a second as his angry glare takes in Adams and me on the couch. I feel Adams stiffen, but he keeps his arm around me.

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