Page 8 of Nova

3

Nova

The next day, I wake before Piper. Since my daughter doesn't have school today, I got the chance to sleep in a few more hours. Getting out of bed, I pull on a pair of joggers, run my fingers through my unbrushed hair, and make my way downstairs. Piper passed her only exam yesterday, with an A+. Since she's always taking care of me this morning, it's my turn to make her feel special. Once I have the coffee brewing, I retrieve all the ingredients I need to make her favorite, chocolate chip waffles. Do I spoil the shit out of my daughter? Hell yeah, I do. She deserves everything her family and I give her, and more. Just as I have everything set out on the kitchen island, the rumble of an engine grabs my attention. Glancing to the counter, near the pantry, I look at the security feed streaming on the computer screen and see Kiwi pulling around the circular driveway at the front of my house. Last night he asked if he could borrow my trailer to haul some of the supplies the club needs to pick up for the biker rally we'll be attending in a couple of days in Jefferson, the next town over. I wasn't expecting him so early.

I meet him at the front door. "Hey, brother."

Kiwi's window rolls down. "You look like you just rolled out of bed, mate." He cuts the truck's engine. "Want me to come back later?"

"Naw. Come on in," I tell him. Climbing from his truck, Kiwi follows me inside. "Coffee?" I ask as I pour myself a cup.

"You got some of that sweet shit Piper put in mine the last time I was here?" Kiwi sits at the kitchen island.

I raise my brow. "You like that girly shit?" Pouring another, I sit the steaming mug in front of him and walk to the refrigerator. Opening the door, I grab what he's asking for off the shelf.

I set it next to his cup, and he pours the buttered pecan flavored creamer in his coffee. "Hell, yeah. It reminds me of Hokey Pokey." Kiwi looks up, taking in my expression, and chuckles. "It's a type of ice cream from back home. Good shit."

"The biker rally is turning into a bigger event than expected," I mention as I go about whisking the batter, then pour some into the hot waffle iron, sprinkling some chocolate morsels on top before closing the lid.

"I had to pick up extra raffle tickets yesterday. I think it will be twice the turnout as last year," Kiwi tells me.

The event is to help raise funds for some of the nonprofit organizations in the area that support our local veterans. This year, a local bike shop donated a Harley, sporting a custom paint job. It will be auctioned off to the highest bidder. It's the largest prize up for grabs since the event has been held and it's bringing in a buttload of local and out of state clubs. Most of society won't look past our rough exteriors and loud bikes, but you'd better believe your sweet ass bikers care about their communities and the people in them.

After shootingthe shit over breakfast, I head out to my shop, while Kiwi drives around back for us to hitch the trailer to his truck. Waiting, I open the shop doors, letting the light and fresh air in. Gravel crunches beneath Kiwi's truck tires as he backs up alongside the building then climbs out. I grab the soft fabric sheet covering my current project. "You still workin' on her, mate?" Kiwi walks up beside the fabric, pooled on the concrete floor. He whistles. "I've known you for years now, and you still fuckin' amaze me with your talent, brother." His compliment fills me with pride as he strolls around the glass statue. The sunbeams hitting the backside of the sculpture, filter through the half-finished wings made up of many individual pieces of blue and green blown glass.

"Haven't had time to work on her lately." Walking around her, I inspect it for any weak spots or stress fractures. I started working on this massive project about six months ago. She stands about three feet, without the completion of her outspread wings. Her colors are green and blue. A feminine angel with soft curves—every smooth slope carefully sculpted to match the natural feel of a woman. She's meant to stand up on a pedestal, looking down. Art is very personal. What one person sees another interprets something entirely different. This one represents one of our brothers from the Montana chapter, Logan and his woman, Bella. It's a symbol of the love that they share.

"What do you plan on callin' this one?" Kiwi asks, knowing I give all my art and identity.

"It's not mine to name."

"This is your best one to date, brother," he tells me. "My mum still brags about the piece you were nice enough to make for her birthday last year."

Kneeling, I lift the fabric. "Grab the other side." I usher to Kiwi, who then helps me cover the statue up again. "Let's get the trailer hitched." The two of us exit the shop, and I close the doors. "Piper will be heading out soon. Why don't you hang for a few more minutes? I'll ride with you, and give you an extra hand settin' shit up."

Later that night,I'm behind the bar. It's busy tonight. Within the last four hours, we've had at least three bachelorette groups stroll in. The bar tends to get a little rowdy when we have a bunch of ladies in here helping their girlfriend celebrate their last night of being single—the last fling before the ring. And the regulars, mainly bikers, love the hell out of all the eye candy. As I wipe the bar top down for the hundredth time, I watch Everest escort a trio of frat boys out the door. That's another thing we won't tolerate here—unwanted advances—male or female. Don't put your hands on someone unless they agree to you doing so. Fucking hate people like that. Typically it's men we have to knock down a peg or two, but every so often, women get a little too handsy themselves. Another thing is that, unfortunately, we've seen an influx of—drugs. Shits getting out of control.

A good looking blonde sidles up to the bar. The pink sparkly headband on her head is the best damn thing I've seen all night. Hanging my head, I try to hide my amusement, then look her way again once I've gotten myself under control. She's eye fucking me so damn hard I almost feel violated—almost. I shoot her my signature grin, making her wait for a beat before stalking toward her. I stare at the tiny pink dicks wobbling on the ends of the spring antennas attached to her headband. Laughter bubbles up again, and I chuckle. "Nice cocks." The busty blonde flicks her hair over her shoulder, leaning her forearms on the bar top. She smiles, and I can tell she's already a little lit. "Thanks."

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" A young man steps beside her and orders a long neck. I slide him his beer and take his money while he checks the woman out before walking away.

She licks her baby pink lips. "A round of tequila shots for me and my girlfriends over there," she twists her body, pointing to the table near the stage, where Fender is gearing up for another set. I take in the rest of her group, all wearing the same accessories as her, except for the one getting hitch who is wearing a sash, along with a tiara on her head.

"You got it." Setting five shot glasses in front of her, I grab the bottle of liquor, and fill the glasses to the rim. "Anything else?" I ask knowing what her response will be as her eyes continue to take me in.

"Take me home tonight?" The blonde gets straight to the point.

"You with someone—married?" I ask this of every woman I bed. Though I'm sure I've been lied to before, I don't set out to wreck someone's life by sticking my dick where it doesn't belong.

"Not married." She cocks her head. "Would it matter?" she asks, and I let my look do the talking for me. "Ok," she adds.

"I don't do relationships," I tell her upfront. "I'll show you a good time, but afterward, that's it." My words seem harsh, but my intentions need to be clear and no reason to sugarcoat them for anyone.

"I can live with that." I place her shots on a small plastic tray, making it easier for her to travel across the busy bar without spilling them. Lifting the plate, she turns to leave but stops. "When is your shift over?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll find you before the night is over," I assure her. She smiles, and I watch her round ass jiggle a little as she retreats.

Music fills the air, as Fender starts playing a tune on his guitar while Josie walks around with a jar, stick-it notes, and a pen in her hand, taking song requests from bar patrons. He started doing this months ago, and people love it. He'll sing just about anything—rock 'n' roll, country, blues. Fender loves the club and being a part of something bigger than himself—the brotherhood, but his passion is music. Girls scream and start dancing as he belts out a little Whitesnake.

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