Kickflip

by Christina Lee

  “Sure thing, Mal,” the brunette said and headed toward the unoccupied pool table, Jude and Cory long gone.

  I moved down the bar to check on my other customers because I couldn’t even look Smoke in the eye without wanting to jump over the bar and tackle him onto the floor. Also, because even though Mal didn’t hide most conversations from me, I wasn’t going to act like I could listen to club business freely.

  Besides, it was hard for me to stay sedentary in my own bar. There was always something that needed to be done, and I liked keeping my hands moving.

  “Vaughn,” Mal said, halting me in my tracks. “What happened to your part-timer?”

  “Joe?” I asked, keeping my gaze focused on Mal. “Doing time on an assault charge from some neighbor dispute. Supposed to get a reduced sentence but still not sure when he’ll be out.”

  “Sounds like you’re shorthanded.”

  “I’ll manage.” Joe helped tend bar three nights a week. It was hard to find somebody trustworthy who would be willing to keep his or her trap shut. Joe had enough of his own troubles to be really concerned with club business. He rarely interacted with anybody, but I could count on him to get the job done.

  Mal thumped Smoke on the back. “Why don’t you give our friend here a hand for a while?”

  My eyebrows rose and my lips felt cemented together. I could hear the thump, thump, thump of my heart.

  “You used to tend bar at your family’s business, right?”

  “Uh, sure,” Smoke struggled to get out. “But I…”

  “You could split time between here and the auto shop,” Mal said, his forearms flexing on the bar top. “I’ll move you off regular patrols since I need you for that other club business.”

  Still I stood there and gaped at Mal.

  “You cool with that?” Mal asked, waiting for me to say something. Anything. “Smoke’s a hard worker. Loyal. Trustworthy.”

  Finally, I got my body unstuck. Along with my mouth.

  “Don’t have to convince me.” I shrugged. “You say he’s good for it, then he is. Would help me out until Joe is released.”

  Smoke’s head was angled toward the back of the room, looking at the ladies racking up the balls at the pool table. As if he couldn’t possibly maintain eye contact with me, either.

  “Why don’t you…uh,” I said, trying to form some semblance of a sentence. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon so I can bring you on board.”

  He turned at the sound of my voice and stared hard at me. “Yeah, sure.”

  Mal nodded as if dismissing the conversation, so I moved down the bar, trying not to stumble over my own two wobbly boots. For months on end, I saw Smoke only in passing in my bar, and now I’d be stuck working with him. Fuck.

  After a few minutes of shooting the breeze with the regulars at the other end, I moved back down the bar to reach for the remote and change the channel to a different game.

  “I need you to be my go-to guy on this operation. You cool with that?” I heard Mal ask Smoke.

  “Yeah, Prez,” he said. “What’s it about?”

  Mal turned to Fish and tipped his chin, silently giving him the go-ahead to explain the details.

  “We need you to share some intel on the Asylum,” Fish said. “Word is they’re casing the Russians goods, and we’re trying to make it right.”

  “No problem,” Smoke said, though from studying his features dozens of times across the room, I could see a split second of trepidation in his gaze.

  And that surprised me because Smoke—hell, all of these guys—seemed to have nerves of steel. The most I’d ever had to deal with was some punks showing up and kicking them out on their asses.

  Or that one time a rival club tried to bring their bad blood into my bar. Guy aimed a knife in my direction, but Mal quickly diffused the situation.

  I’d admit I’d grown to admire and probably even care about these guys, so I worried about them. All of them—not only Mal and Smoke.

  But fuck. Best never to let that show.