Page 35 of Jacob

Lifting his brows, he considered an idea. With a heavy sigh, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird. It might be a pain in the ass. He’d feel weird, but really, it was only a few feet walk. He’d done far worse.

Without any better ideas, he bent over his bike and fumbled with the straps and buckles. Pulling the leather straps, he undid them and turned toward the door. A gaggle of women was giggling at the prospect at the door, petting his shoulder and flirting—one of the few perks of prospecting.

He slung the saddlebag over his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had a purse. Lifting his chin, he shoved the thought from his mind. Doing his best, probably trying too hard, to be honest, he took confident strides toward the bar.

By the time he reached the door, the prospect still had someone’s license in his hand. Giving the group a good few feet, so as not to give the wrong impression, Jacob waited. A petite brunette turned tentatively, and grinned as her gaze swept up him. Keeping his expression stoic, he returned the smile with a curt nod.

He didn’t need to be too friendly. The slightest hint of— “You’ve got more patches than he does,” she said after she licked her lips. Yeah. Even a nod was too much interest.

The rolling rumble of the purple Road King was unmistakable. He didn’t even have to turn to know Dash had just pulled into the lot. Thankfully, the sound had caught the brunette’s attention because she scanned, looking for the source.

“Jen! Come on,” her friends called and the woman soon disappeared inside the bar.

With any luck, Jacob could duck inside before Dash saw him. He stepped up to the prospect. “Hey.” He nodded.

Drawing his brows together, the young bulky prospect with the short crew cut looked him over. His gaze scanned the patches and lingered on the saddlebag. “Drop?” he asked.

Drop? The fuck? In the damn Spoke?They did business in theirlegitbusinesses? “Nah.”

More confusion.

“Romeo!” Dash called. His sponsor’s arm slung around the younger biker’s shoulder and tugged him down toward the bald biker. Forced to bend at the waist, he shoved at the thick corded muscled arm squeezing around his neck as Dash rubbed his knuckles against his skull.

Noogies. Jesus Christ. Were they twelve?

Once free, the younger biker glared at his sponsor as he ran his fingers through his hair, finger combing the knots out of the thick length. Dash just laughed and tossed a soft punch to the shoulder of the man at the door. “Prospect,” he greeted.

The doorman’s gaze flicked between the two, then between their patches. With a chin jut, he gestured for them to go inside.

Dash reached for the door and then waved for Jacob to enter. “After you.”

Shifting the saddlebag over his shoulder, Jacob felt the arrangement move inside. Between the long ride, the shape of the bag, and tussling with his sponsor, it’d be a miracle if the thing looked anything like it had when it started. This had to be the most epic of fails. He wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or depressed.

Tightening his jaw and his grip on the strap, his body decided for him when his ears were assaulted with an off-key rendition of a Sonny and Cher duet. Fucking karaoke night. Surveying the tightly packed bar, the familiar waitress shook a shaker while shouting to someone in a cut about beers. A waitress lifted her tray high above her head before she got swallowed by the crowd.

“Damn,” Dash hissed as he slapped Jacob’s back as he assessed those around them. “No one better have signed up forFriends in Low Places,” he said and offered a few more pats before he took off toward the temporary stage area.

Now, where to drop this bag?“Hey, you got a drop, it goes in the back room,” the bartender called from the edge of the bar as she opened bottle after bottle and thrust them on a tray for a waiting waitress.

Again with the drops. He had to talk to Monty about this drop business.

“Yeah,” he said, scrubbing up the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

But the back room was probably the best place—stowed out of sight. Everyone would just assume she left it there. Only she would know he’d brought it back.Perfect.

The smile played on his face as he turned to head toward the room where they’d shared their almost kiss. His fingers wiggled as the excited energy of a toddler with a secret pulsed through him. He couldn’t wait for her to find it. He wished he could see her face.

He let the door to the back room close, which—thankfully—drowned out the terrible singing in the bar and left him in the dimly lit storage room. Racks of extra glasses of various sizes, napkins, straws, swizzle sticks, booze, and other bar supplies filled the space. Several purses were plopped on a shelf and he realized the waitresses stored their belongings there.

He couldn’t have asked for a better set up.

Shoving an open package of napkins aside, he found an excellent spot for the lollipop arrangement. He crouched down and opened his saddlebag. Frowning, he noted a few pieces of candy had come loose and were now at the bottom. Sighing, he lifted it and placed it on the shelf. The giant rainbow centerpiece had cracked.

“Fucking Dash,” he muttered, shaking his head. He’d wanted this thing to be this grand gesture. She was supposed to be swept off her feet by this amazing sugar display. As he tried to stick the straggler lollipops back in their places, he wished a night of whiskey dick on his club brother.

It wasn’t the splendor it had once been. He wasn’t a candy florist. Was that a thing? Apparently, someone was. They had made this stupid thing that was meant to impress Sparrow. He’d done his best. There was still a gaping ass hole from where Dash had taken a piece. Jacob turned the display to hide it. She wouldn’t notice—not right away at least.

Taking his saddlebag, he exited the storage room only to once again be assaulted by people who could not sing but didn’t let it stop them. Immediately, his eye went to the small temporary stage. Three women, huddled around a monitor, reading the words to Gloria Gaynor’sI Will Survivewhich were on the projected screen behind them.

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