Page 6 of Nave
“Where’s Perish?” I asked, looking around.
“A couple of the club girls called. Their car stalled out over by the beach. He went out to see if he could fix it. Should be back soon,” Brooks explained.
“Good. Because these new guys aren’t gonna be interested if it’s a complete sausage fest around here,” I said, glancing around at the brothers either setting up or hanging about.
We were in short supply now, we uncommitted few.
It was just me, Perish, and the twins.
Maybe Fallon was right about wanting some fresh blood around the club.
“Rune and I could head over to the bar and see if we can get some more women to come party,” Croft offered.
“Not enough time,” Brooks said, glancing at the clock. “They’re gonna be here in half an hour.”
“You underestimate me,” Croft said, a smile spreading, his dimple on full display.
“Looks like Perish saved the day,” Rune said, glancing out the front window as a bike rumbled into the lot.
A couple of minutes later, he was walking in with his arms thrown over the shoulders of two blondes. Trailing behind was a brunette, a bottle redhead, and a chick with a split-dye—black and silver.
“Don’t worry. The girls called their friends,” Perish said when they walked in, as if he could see me doing the mental math.
“Well, big, strong heroes deserve all the cat,” one of the blondes said, making a little meowing sound and curling her hand up like a paw, her claw-like fake nails doing a little scratching motion. “He saved us from a creeper.”
“I dunno if he was a creeper,” Perish said. “He was trying to—”
“Leer down our shirts while making gross comments about gang bangs?” the split-dye girl said. “Yeah, he was.”
“Sounds like you need some shots,” Croft said, appearing behind the bar and lining up the glasses.
More of the club brothers came in then. Not far behind them were the friends of the girls with the broken car, evening out the odds a lot better.
“I got all the donuts from the bakery before they threw them out,” Dezi said, coming in the front door with five boxes of donuts. “The crullers are a little hard but edible.”
“Did you actually leave us any?” Sully—in one of his Hawaiian shirts printed with (I shit you not) his girlfriend’s face all over it—asked.
“Your girl let you out of the house in that?” I asked.
“Not without begging me to take it off,” Sully said as he lifted the top donut box and extracted a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. “And, hey, when your girl wants you naked, you get naked.”
“But you put it back on,” I observed.
“Told her that I wanted to make it clear I was taken. Simple.” He waved down at his shirt.
“So those are the new guys, huh?” Dezi asked after dropping the boxes down on the coffee table. “They look alright,” he decided, taking a big bite out of a jelly donut, the powdered sugar snowing down on his shirt. He absentmindedly brushed at the spots, only managing to smear the stains more widely across the material.
I turned, glancing back toward the door where two men were greeting Fallon and Brooks.
They were a study in contrasts. One, the taller one who would almost dwarf Perish, had black hair, black eyes, deep cheekbone hollows, and a swimmer’s type thin but fit build. The other was still tall but with a wider build that indicated he hit the gym reasonably often, a square face, light blue eyes, and dark blond hair.
Both of them seemed comfortable in the clubhouse and with the president as they spoke like old friends for a moment before Fallon gestured them out toward the party.
The black-haired one moved over to the bar, where one of the blondes was stretched out on the surface, her shirt tucked up under her bra, her belly on display. He walked over, seamlessly pouring tequila into her bellybutton, then leaning down, sucking it out, and fishing the lime out of the woman’s mouth like he’d done it a million times before.
He was still sucking on it as he made his way over to us.
Somewhere on the path between, the lime disappeared.
