Smokey’s Distraction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club

by Wilder, Chiah

  Georgia smiled from the doorway, a set of papers clutched in her left hand. “Here are the spreadsheets you wanted.”

  Ashley reached out and took the documents from her. “Thanks.”

  “Do you need anything else?”

  “I’m good.”

  Nodding, Georgia returned to her cubicle. She was a pretty woman with blonde, shoulder-length hair and pale blue eyes, as well as a nice figure. For a moment, Ashley wondered if her assistant and Smokey had at some point hooked up after hours. The idea didn’t seem so far-fetched considering Smokey enjoyed having only women running the front end of his business. Besides Sabrina and Georgia, there was Ivy, the scheduler, and Katrina, the bookkeeper, both of whom were sharp, attractive women, who morphed into giggly airheads whenever the boss was around. It was so damn infuriating.

  Since Smokey didn’t seem to be in a hurry to implement the marketing strategy she’d come up with, Ashley decided she’d spend time on other pressing projects. Ashely walked over to the filing cabinet and riffled through the folders until she snagged the one for Tech Plus, the Aspen client, and made an appointment with the CEO for the following week. Once that was done, she got to work, wanting to make sure her presentation for the meeting was flawless.

  As the afternoon waned, the sun broke through the clouds, its rays streaming through the window and spilling across the desk. Turning away from the computer, she took a moment to relish in its warmth. Since arriving in Pinewood Springs, it had been cold and snowy, and she’d been itching to jump on her bicycle and ride the mountain trails she’d read about before coming to the town.

  Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, exhaling slowly. Restlessness coursed through her, along with an unfamiliar reluctance to spend the rest of the day working like she normally did. Impulsively, she opened the bottom desk drawer, took out her purse, and dug out Whitney’s business card. Quickly tapping in the bartender’s number, she pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?” a tentative voice answered.

  Swiveling around in the chair, Ashley looked out the window at the sunlight filtering through the leaves of a spreading oak tree, dappling the corner of the parking lot.

  “Hi, Whitney, this is Ashley. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at Blue’s Belly. I was hanging out at the bar to hear the Raging Demons—the band from Denver.

  There was a slight pause, as if she was thinking, and then she giggled. “You’re the one who was talking to Smokey that night, right?”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Okay. You gave me your business card and told me to give you a call.”

  “I’m glad you did. Are you getting used to living in Pinewood Springs?”

  “I haven’t done much outside of working.”

  Whitney laughed. “I’m sure the snow hasn’t helped.”

  “It hasn’t, but at least the sun has come out.”

  “According to the weather reports, the storm’s moved on, and the temperature will be in the seventies tomorrow. Crazy, huh?”

  “Totally. So, how are things going with you?” Ashley inquired.

  “Busy. One of the bartenders is out sick, so I’ve been working my ass off.”

  “That’s a drag. I thought we could go out for dinner sometime this week, but it sounds like next week may be better.”

  “Yeah, I’m working doubles for the rest of the week.”

  Ashley heard a cat meow in the background, and Whitney’s whispered, “Hang on, Luna.” There was a noise, like pennies dropping against a metal surface, drowning out the feline. After a pause, Whitney said, “Next Monday will work. Is that good for you?”

  Ashley smiled. “Yes.”

  “Do you like Italian food?”

  “Love it.”

  “We can go to Little Pepinas. It’s real good.”

  “Sounds great. I can meet you there after work. Is six o’clock a good time?”

  “Yeah, that’s perfect,” Whitney said.

  “Just text me the address and I’ll see you then.”

  A surge of joy coursed through her as she laid the phone on the desk. Since she’d arrived in town, she’d been missing her friends like crazy, and it would be nice to meet up with Whitney for a glass of wine and some light conversation. Before coming to Pinewood Springs, Ashley was hopeful at the thought of connecting with some of the employees at A+ Construction, but after meeting Smokey’s glee club, those hopes were quickly squashed.

  Pulling out her compact mirror and a mauve-colored gloss she’d bought at a drugstore the night before, she swiped the color over her lips and dropped the items back into her purse before clearing off the desk.

  Georgia’s voice rang out from the doorway, “Ms. Callahan?”

  Looking up, she remarked, “You can call me Ashley.”

  Georgia’s cheeks reddened as she fidgeted in place. Ashley glanced up at the wall clock: 4:45 p.m. She rose to her feet and swung her handbag over a delicate shoulder. “Do you need something? I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, so I have to run.”

  “It’s just that … something’s come up, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I came in late tomorrow morning?”

  “That’s fine. Is that all?”

  “I’ll put your appointment with Mr. Harty into your virtual calendar. Pearl talked to him, and he said lunch at noon next Monday would work.”

  A flash of irritation rushed through her. Gritting her teeth, she tamped it down and walked around the desk, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Georgia.”

  Hurrying down the hall to the elevators, Ashley stood there, looking at her reflection in the shiny chrome doors: eyes narrowed, lips pursed, jaw clenched. So he’s decided to grant me a fucking audience on Monday. Why the hell am I even here, seeing as he doesn’t give a shit about his business? I bet if Tyler were here instead of me, the marketing campaign would already be in motion. It’s obvious to me that Smokey can’t see a woman as his professional equal. And there’s no fucking way I’m going out to lunch with him to talk about the campaign. It’s 100% business on Monday. Damn! The jerk pisses me off so much—

  The ding of the elevator interrupted her thoughts. The doors swished open to reveal an older man leaning against the back wall of the car who tipped his head when Ashley entered. Offering a small smile in return, she stared down at the vinyl floor, hoping the stranger wouldn’t start a conversation.

  After several awkward minutes, the doors opened to the main floor, and Ashley strode out of the building, hurrying toward the Buick. She had an appointment with the director of the Mount Vista Shelter for Homeless Teens. The year before, Ashley and some of her colleagues helped out at a Denver shelter for runaway and homeless teens as part of a “giving back to the community” campaign that Zach and the other partners at IMG organized for downtown businesses.

  At first, she had dreaded putting in the hours at the center, afraid it would open up a flood of emotions she’d kept locked up tightly for several years. But after taking the plunge, she found that she loved working with the kids, helping them deal with the confusion and chaos of being homeless. The one co-worker who shared her enthusiasm at the shelter was Maryann, while all the others—Tyler and Chandra in particular—bitched about having to be there.

  Ashley pulled in front of the Mount Vista Shelter, and switched off the ignition. She glanced and took in the two-story, red brick building. Hanging out on the front steps was a girl, who looked to be around fourteen, sitting next to a boy about the same age with red, moppy hair down to his shoulders. Seeing her, he bent his head down and cupped his hand around a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  Grabbing her purse, she got out of the car and walked toward the youths.

  “Hi.” She smiled broadly.

  Grunting, the boy exhaled a stream of smoke that swirled around in the air above his head. The girl leaned back against the step, clasped her hands around her knees, and fixed
her eyes on Ashley. With neither replying, Ashley hefted the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and climbed the steps to the front door.

  Several minutes later, she sat on a metal chair, looking around the cluttered office overflowing with folders and boxes. On one of the shelves of a bookcase, she noticed a few framed pictures of a small boy and girl.

  “Sorry for the mess.” A tall, slender man, who looked to be in his late thirties, walked toward the desk. “I’m trying to sort through case files and send them off to storage so I have room for the new folders.” Pushing a bunch of papers across the desk, he took his seat and grinned, displaying his dimples. “I’m Brady Shelling.”

  “I’m Ashley Callahan. We spoke on the phone about doing some volunteer work.”

  The director’s eyes swept over her before settling on her face. “Right.”

  She shifted in the chair. “As I said on the phone, I can put in about eight hours a week during the evenings and weekends.”

  “Do you cook?” he inquired, his gaze still fixed on her face, as if studying her.

  A small laugh slipped through her lips. “Not really. I’d prefer helping to serve the meals cooked by someone else.”

  A large smile broke out across his face, making the fine lines around his eyes crinkle. “Noted.” Leaning back, he clasped his hands behind his head. “So, why do you want to work at the shelter?”

  She clenched her jaw as images from her past jabbed at her brain. “The marketing firm I work for did a community project in Denver at a teen shelter, which I found to be a worthwhile experience for me. I have some extra time, and I’d like to help out in any way I can.”

  “Why did you leave Denver?”

  “I’m in Pinewood Springs to work on a few marketing campaigns. Once I’ve wrapped them up, I’ll be heading back to Denver. I’ll only be in town for three or four months.” And if that damn boss of mine doesn’t get his ass in gear, I may end up being here longer.

  “We can always use volunteers at the shelter. The only thing we need to do is run a criminal background check. We need volunteers to help the kids out with daily activities, aid with paperwork, serving meals, and to listen to them when they need to vent. Each volunteer brings in different skills.”

  “I could also help out with school assignments and job skills. Anything would work, except for cooking, which we’ve already covered.”

  Brady nodded, his gaze piercing. Looking away, Ashley focused on the small children in the photos.

  “Are those your kids?” she asked.

  He glanced over at them. “Yes. Justin is ten, and Trina is seven.”

  “They’re cute.”

  “Thanks. They can be a handful sometimes. I’m divorced, but my ex and I share custody. It seems to work. What about you? Do you have any children?”

  “No.” Rubbing her hands over her skirt, she peered up at the clock above the bookcase.

  “Do you have to go?” he asked.

  “I do. I have another work-related appointment,” she fibbed, not liking the direction the conversation was going. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about herself, or her past.

  “Do you have time to tour the shelter?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He rose to his feet. “Then let’s do it.”

  Thirty minutes later, Ashley pulled away from the curb in front of the shelter and merged into traffic. The facility housed twenty-four minors ranging from twelve to seventeen in age. As she expected, the residents eyed her with suspicion as Brady showed her around. They seemed to like and feel comfortable around him. Ashley knew it would take time before they trusted her as well.

  Several times during the grand tour of the shelter, Ashley caught Brady looking at her, making her a bit uncomfortable. She almost decided to chuck the whole idea of volunteering at Mount Vista, but then she saw a boy of about twelve sitting by himself in the corner of the family room. She was mesmerized by his pale face, and the dark strands of hair resting on his furrowed forehead. When he glanced up, their gazes locked. She saw fear and loneliness in his eyes, causing her to suck in a breath as images of the past assaulted her. In that moment, she saw the child she had been: lonely, sad, and full of shame. She remembered the pain and resentment that festered into rage whenever one of the neighborhood kids teased her for living in a homeless shelter. She’d spent her school days scared to death her classmates would also find out that she, her mother, and siblings lived in one. Ashley saw herself as she looked at the miserable boy in the corner. She understood him, and her heart broke for him.

  The honking of a horn made her jump, chasing away her thoughts. Looking over, a bicyclist was flipping the bird at a car driving through the intersection. Up ahead, she saw the sign for Ruthie’s Diner. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since early that morning. Not looking forward to another night of take-out, she turned left at the stop sign and pulled into the diner’s parking lot.

  Stepping into the eatery was like walking onto a 1960s movie set. The chrome and steel sparkled, and the multi-colored checkerboard floor gave a punch of color to the diner. Booths lined the perimeter, their black faux leather complementing red cushions on seats that lined a silver-specked Formica counter that stretched across half the restaurant.

  “Can I help you?” a young hostess with curly brown hair asked.

  “I’d like a booth,” Ashley said scanning the packed space.

  “It may be a while,” she said. “Counter space opens quicker.”

  The thought of sitting sandwiched in between two strangers who would most likely want to talk didn’t appeal to her, but the smell of fried chicken permeating the air was making her mouth water.

  “That’s fine.”

  Nodding, the hostess then walked over to a family of four. Ashley skimmed over the chalkboard with the specials hanging on a wall behind the cashier’s counter: fried chicken, smothered meatloaf, and pork ribs.

  “Here’s a menu to look at while you’re waiting.” Smiling, Ashley took it and opened it up, but before she could peruse her options, the hostess laughed. “Actually, a spot just opened up. Follow me.”

  Closing the menu, she walked behind the woman and down the long aisle where a well-built man in jeans and a leather jacket was headed her way. As he drew closer, she noticed the faint scent of motor oil surrounding him. He stared at her, and then down at her chest as she squeezed past him in the narrow space. Once away from him, anger rippled through her as she looked back and caught him checking out her behind. Turning back, she pushed her anger aside and slid onto the empty stool, thanking the hostess. Breathing a sigh of relief that a woman was seated on either side of her, she relaxed, and again opened the plastic-coated menu.

  A shrill laugh cut through the noise of iron trays clattering, dishes rattling, and voices calling out for drinks.

  “Stop it! I’m gonna pee my pants!” a female shrieked.

  Swiveling on her stool, Ashley took in the three men and four women seated in a booth against the wall. The man facing Ashley had his head turned toward the laughing hyena—whose low-cut blouse left little to the imagination—saying something that made her fall into a fit of giggles. Ashley recognized her as the woman she’d met at Blue’s Belly—the one who loved to talk. What was her name? It’s just on the tip of my tongue…

  Then Ashley recognized the man—Smokey.

  Leaning back against the counter, she shifted a bit closer to the woman on the next stool, and watched him. A pretty waitress sauntered over to his table and offered him a dazzling smile as she squeezed his right shoulder with her pink-tipped fingers. Winking at her, he said something that made her giggle, causing the blonde to pout. As the other women at the table leaned toward him, the curly-haired hostess sashayed over to join them, seeming to want to get in on the fun. And by his bright grin and comfortable manner, Ashley could see he was enjoying every bit of the attention.

  She couldn’t really blame the women, because Smokey was one sexy package. The ma
n oozed raw sex appeal and power, giving off a bad boy vibe in spades. And with those magnificent ebony eyes, dark hair, hot-as-sin physique, and gap between his two front teeth, it was no wonder women were so infatuated. The way he smiled at each one of them as they clamored for his attention would make most melt on the spot.

  Ashley sighed heavily. There’s no doubt about it—Mr. Sexy is a major heartthrob, and he knows it. How many women have you left pining for you long after you’ve moved on? Just then, as if he knew she was checking him out, Smokey looked over, his gaze latching onto hers. Ashley’s heart raced. For endless moments, they stared at one another, until he winked at her and turned his attention back to the bubbly blonde.

  Jealously sliced through her so suddenly—and unexpectedly—that a loud, “Oh,” escaped past her lips. Swiveling back to the counter, she chugged down half her water to cool the anger that had shamefully possessed her. Why the hell do I care who he’s with? He’s just my boss on this project and nothing more. Nope, I’d be nuts to get involved with that arrogant Casanova.

  “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?” a waitress in her mid-thirties asked. The woman’s top three buttons on her pink uniform dress were undone, revealing a little slice of her beige brassiere.

  “Uh …” Ashley scanned the burger section of the menu. “I’ll have the Santa Fe Burger, medium-well.”

  “Fries?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You want a side of chili with that?”

  Ashley handed the menu over to the waitress. “No, thanks.”

  The woman whirled around and walked away. Slapping the order onto the dolly, she spun it around, yelling, “Santa Fe, MW. Fries.”

  “Got it!” the cook yelled back at her.

  A few seconds later, Ashley heard the sizzle of her burger as it hit the grill. As much as she wanted to turn back around and see what was going on at Smokey’s table, she forced herself to read the chalkboard above the service area, listing the available homemade pies. For a split second, she’d even contemplated starting up a conversation with the woman seated next to her.

  “Smokey, you gotta come by and watch me dance,” the blonde, whose voice she recognized, said.