Page 36 of Jacob

Lifting his brows, he plugged one of his ears with his fingers and shook it while the women cackled through their version of a single woman’s anthem. He needed to get out to his bike, reattach the bag, and then he could find his club brother and have a few drinks. Looking over his shoulder, he scanned the bar for his bright bald head. It didn’t take long to find him chatting with the brunette and her friends who’d arrived just before them. When Dash caught his eye, he lifted his beer in a nonverbal invitation. Jacob gestured to his saddlebag and got a nod of understanding from his sponsor before he headed out to do what he needed to.

Chapter 20

Sparrow

Pulling into the packed parking lot, regret settled into Sparrow’s gut. She’d forgotten. When she started working at The Spoke, she specifically said she didn’t want to work on Thursdays. She hated karaoke. She wanted nothing to do with it.

As she lingered in one of the informal lanes made by the jammed in vehicles, she considered her options. She could turn around, stop at the liquor store, grab a bottle, and drink alone at home.

Pursing her lips, she imagined getting another call from Pipes and drunkenly laying into him. Oh, howgoodthat would feel. Then she imagined getting fired from the Spoke. Pipes’ sponsor managed it. He may only be a prospect, but he was a hell of a lot closer to being a patch than Sparrow ever would be.

If she didn’t work at The Spoke, she wouldn’t be able to get her hands on the books. If she couldn’t get her hands on those books, there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d be able to be anything more in the club than ass. She brought her head down on the steering wheel and banged it a few times.

Well, she could always go to another bar. There were other bars in Akron. The Spoke wasn’t theonlybar in town. It’s not like Akron was some podunk one road town. She reached for her purse and shuffled around inside for her wallet. Opening it, she used her finger to shift the few bills she had inside around.

Moths might as well have flown out. Seventeen dollars wasn’t going to do much.

Once she got her phone, she unlocked it and opened her bank app. Tap tap tap. With her password entered, she checked her balance. Chewing on her bottom lip, she considered bills she still had to pay, and that went back in her purse.

“The Spoke on karaoke night it is,” she grumbled to herself. There was nothing more defeating than having to endure karaoke to get a good buzz.

Seventeen dollars just wasn’t enough to drink as much as she wanted—needed—to that night. Even at The Spoke, she’d probably have to sneak the money in a jar somewhere while Kimber wasn’t looking. Either way, she stuffed the little bit of cash she had in her back pocket and hid her purse under a bunch of blankets on the floor in the back of her car.

For all the drawbacks of being involved with the Roughneck Riders, they took care of their own. It’s when they deemed you not one of their own, that’s when the problems started. Having been born into the club life, Sparrow had only heard anecdotes about what happened to the women and their families once their men fell out of favor with the club. Sure, her father had died, but her mother made it a point not to fall out of favor with the club. So, Sparrow didn’t truly know what it really felt like—nor did she want to find out.

After she’d finally found a spot, she climbed out of her car, and pulled the tiny shorts down, as though they’d somehow grow longer. Fabric wasn’t going to magically appear at the hem. Out of habit, she’d dressed as though she’d be working—in cut off pale jean shorts, a thick black belt, her comfortable boots, and a cropped t-shirt. Since there was a bit of a nip in the air, she’d opted for a long-sleeved shirt, though she’d cut the bottom so her midriff showed, widened the neck exposing her shoulder, and poked holes toward the edge of her sleeves for her thumbs.

Checking her reflection in the side-view mirror, she tapped on a bit of lip gloss before she ran her fingers through her wild mane. There was nothing she could do with it. So, instead of fighting, she used the elastic around her wrist and threw it up in a messy pony before she straightened and sauntered toward the door.

She breezed past Jack, the prospect at the door, with a laugh because he was too busy patting down some random ladies trying to flirt with him. A bastardized version of Garth Brooks’sFriends in Low Placesslapped her right in the ears. It was almost enough to have her turn right around. If it wasn’t for the giggling gaggle of women behind her pushing forward, she might have.

Groaning, Sparrow headed toward the bar, looking for either a spot or Kimber’s attention. Refusing to work on karaoke night was probably career suicide. This was most definitely their busiest night. Tips were the best. The waitresses fought over this night. It was the easiest one to get off. She just couldn’t handle all the off-key renditions. She preferred her singing in private, in the confines of her shower, likenormalpeople.

As she surveyed the elbow room only bar, she decided the only way to get to Kimber would be to help her out. Good thing she dressed the part. So, she flipped up the side and offered a gentle hip check to the woman frantically shimmying a silver shaker. “Tell me Tut called you in. Smitty called off and I’m drowning,” she pleaded.

Frowning, Sparrow took in the chaos. “What do you need?” she asked with a jerk of her head.

“Three lights to Frat guy,” she gestured to the end of the bar. “Two vodka crans to the club whores, and Julie needs a Jameson and craft something for the patches from out of town.”

Sparrow had already been opening beer bottles as her friend rattled off what she needed. Though she halted upon hearing the last bit. Out of town patches—Jacob. Fuck. Did he ever go the fuck away?

She lifted her head and scanned the crowded bar. She spotted the bald biker up on stage as he sang the last lines of Garth Brooks’s song. Funny. He didn’t look like the country type. Panning the throngs of people, she didn’t see him. Not right away at least.

“Seven fifty,” she said to the men who ordered the beers, still looking past them for Jacob.

Ohio rockers peppered the crowd. The lone Montana one descended the low stage while the DJ called a list of names to sing the B-52’s.

Reflexively, her eye went to the squealing and she saw him, laughing as a brunette ran her fingers through his long hair when she got up to join her friends. Clenching her jaw, Sparrow’s eye twitched. Her fingers curled tightly around the plastic cups she’d just filled with ice, making them crinkle, rendering them useless as vessels.

The group of four cackling women held hands and headed toward the stage and she watched as Jacob sat back bringing his cup to his lips. His gaze didn’t follow the woman who’d just fondled his hair. Instead, he scanned the crowd, as though searching.

She kept staring as she dumped the now useless cups into the trash. Starting over, she filled them with ice. Two quick pours of house vodka. Then topped them off with the cheap cranberry juice. The little straws and a stir. “Ten,” she told the women without looking at them.

She leaned over the bar, intent on hearing the next order, completely forgetting the craft beer and Jameson for the Odin’s Fury bikers. Apparently, she forgot to listen to the person shouting in her ear too, because it was that moment when Jacob met her eye. Her cheeks blazed, and she immediately looked away.

“What?” She focused on the blond guy in front of her holding a twenty in her face.

Beer. He’d asked for a beer, but how many and what kind? Some fancy lager. She pushed open the cooler in front of her, reached in, and grabbed two of the disgustingly thick crap he asked for. Pretentious asshole. Getting the money from him, she turned away and rang all the drinks into the register and then stuffed the tips into the jar to be split at the end of the night.

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