by Parker, Ali
They weren’t all like that, but the morning rush tended to bring out the wealthy business types who worked seven days a week, making money on their brains. It was no wonder they were always grumpy. Another cup slid my way. I looked up at Deanna Chevault, my best friend and coworker. Although, it was weird to think of her as my employee. I tended to just think of her as my buddy helping me out and I paid her.
“You hanging in there, Addy?” she asked, using my nickname instead of my full name, Adelaide.
I laughed. “Do I look that bad?” I asked, feeling a little harried.
Her green eyes were dancing. “You have a bit of a wild thing going on, but it’s working for you.”
I giggled, picking up the cup and reading the drink order. “Thanks. Not all of us can roll out of bed looking like we’ve primped for hours. Being a natural beauty must be such a drag.”
Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, showcasing the tan she had year-round with the help of a skilled spray-tan technician. She was gorgeous, somewhat tall at five six, which felt Amazonian compared to my five four height. Her body was perfect, toned, and lean due to her obsession with the spin bike and jogging. She worked as a spin class teacher but helped me out a few days a week in the coffee shop. I always felt like the ugly one when we were together. She assured me I wasn’t. She was gorgeous and humble.
“Don’t be jealous,” she said with a wink before turning her attention back to the line of customers waiting to place their orders.
In my haste, I spilled more coffee, squirted chocolate syrup too fast, and ended up wearing most of it. Why I had picked out white shirts for my uniform I would never know. I required all my employees to wear clean, stain-free shirts and yet, I usually ended up dirty. My uniform bill was excessive. Seriously, black would be a better color choice.
“Black it is,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What? No, it’s a decaf,” Deanna said.
I shook my head. “No, I meant the uniforms.” I turned and lifted my arms and let her see my dirty shirt.
She burst into laughter. “You really get into your work.”
“I wear it. I wonder if I can absorb caffeine through the skin?”
“That explains why you’re always buzzing with energy,” she agreed.
I laughed, my hands moving fast as I poured and pushed buttons on my machines like a seasoned pro. It was the rushes that gave me a thrill. I wasn’t really an adrenaline junkie, but a line of thirsty customers always got me fired up. It was a goal to go faster, make more drinks than I had the previous rush. I was my own competition.
It was one after the other until finally, around ten, things slowed down. I breathed a sigh of relief, pushing my strawberry-blond hair out of my face and surveying the damage.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, taking in the spilled milk, syrups, coffees, and the napkins scattered around the floor that hadn’t quite made it into the trash.
Deanna laughed. “We have got quite the mess. It looks like a tornado tore through here.”
I shook my head, bending over to grab a clean towel to begin the cleanup process. “No matter how careful I think I’m being, it still ends up looking like this,” I muttered.
“I’ll get some fresh coffee started,” she said moving to the commercial coffee system.
I looked into the dining room and saw plenty of tables that were in need of cleaning. I’d get to them as soon as I cleaned up the destruction behind the counter. There were probably ten customers in the dining room, each of them in their own little space. A couple were sitting at small tables with their laptops open. There were a few ladies seated on one of the couches in the back corner, chatting and sipping their drinks. Another man was tucked into one of the large, overstuffed chairs reading a book.
My coffee shop was an eclectic blend of furniture with the idea of creating a space that anyone could enjoy no matter what they were doing. I kept the music low, allowing the customers to relax and unwind without the noise.
Deanna and I had worked the Saturday rush together for months. We had a pretty good system worked out. She would take care of the restocking while I did furious cleaning in a hurry. While she spent a lot of time purposely working out to stay in shape, I only had to go to work for the day to get in my cardio. With the dining room back in shape, I moved back behind the counter to help with the restocking chores.
“Dalton is coming back tonight,” she said, excitement in her voice.
“Really? He was gone a month or so, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“Yes. It was a long time. He’s never gone that long,” she said.
I smiled, appreciating the close bond between brother and sister. “What time does he come in?”
“Four.”
“Is he going to be staying home for a while?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I doubt it. He’s usually here for a week and gone for a few days. I’m hoping since this trip was so long, he’ll be able to stay in his local office. Honestly, where else can they send him?”
“He’s an excellent rep and people love to buy whatever it is he is selling.”
I grinned. “I’m sure his surfer-boy good looks don’t hurt. That man could charm anyone,” I told her.
“Do not tell me you are still crushing on my big brother,” she teased.
I shook my head, wiping down the countertop. “No. I was cured of that a long time ago. I can, however, recognize a good-looking man and he is very attractive. A little too much of a pretty boy for me. I prefer the hard-edged type.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not me. I like my men clean-shaven, suited, and gorgeous.”
“You should come out with us tonight,” she said.
“No thank you. You and your brother need some time to catch up,” I told her.
She waved a hand. “Come on. We don’t need to catch up. We talked while he was away. We’ll grab a drink, and if you are hating it, you can go home. It’s one drink. You haven’t been out in forever,” she pointed out.
“Because I’m always here at the crack of dawn,” I reminded her.
“I know, but you are young. You can stay up late one night. Besides, it’s Sunday and you don’t open until later. Come on, you never go out with me.” She whined.
I sighed, mulling it over. “You’re right. I could use some downtime. A little dancing and a little drinking—not too much.”
She grinned, clapping her hands. “Awesome. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’m going to grab some cups and stuff. Holler if you need me,” I told her, heading toward the back.
I loaded up my arms with all the supplies that were in need of being restocked. I was already mentally going through my closet. I wasn’t big on wearing pretty, frilly things, but I did like to change things up from my work clothes. I liked daring and sexy, and I loved to make the boys look.
I carried my load up front, setting everything on the back counter. Then I jumped back on my station to start making drinks for the small group of people who had come in while I’d been in back. The rush continued. I was tearing into the sleeves of cups and napkins, creating yet another mess that would have to be cleaned once the rush was over.
“Whew, that caught me off guard,” Deanna said once the dining area had cleared out again.
“I think there is some festival or something in the park. We’ll probably get these little rushes all day,” I told her. “I’m going to call someone in. I know you need to get going soon.”
“I can stay until three,” she said, but I knew she had plans. She had a spin class at two almost every day.
“No, I’ll be fine. I know you have class. I’m going to go call right now,” I told her and headed into my office that was about the size of a closet.
I called in one of the college kids I used to fill in on weekends. She jumped at the chance to pick up some extra hours. Usually, I could handle a Saturday afternoon on my own, but today was proving otherwise. That was a very good
thing. I was thrilled to have the income. Things had been in a bit of a lull lately and the extra revenue would be a nice pad to the bottom line.
It wasn’t long before the bubbly blond walked in, taking over for Deanna.
“Don’t stand me up,” she warned.
I shook my head. “I won’t. I will be there. I’m looking forward to some time away from here and away from my regular life. I’ll meet you at seven,” I told her.
She waved goodbye and walked out. I thought of her and Dalton as my family. We’d basically grown up together. The crush I had on him throughout high school was long gone, I hadn’t been lying. Kissing him or touching him would be gross. Even thinking about it skeeved me out.
Chapter 3
Mason
I groaned, rolling over and staring at the red numbers on my bedside clock. It was eleven, which wasn’t really all that late considering I didn’t crawl into bed until four. My brain did not want to wake up. My head was pounding. I needed water and aspirin, not necessarily in that order. It was moments like these I regretted drinking heavily. Didn’t everyone feel that way when the hangovers beat them over their heads after a night of good times?
I groaned, not wanting to get out of bed, but certainly not wanting to leave my bike sitting in the parking lot longer than necessary. It didn’t look like much to the average person, but a real motorcycle enthusiast would realize it was an expensive bike. I cursed my decision to ride last night. If I had taken a cab, then I wouldn’t have to get out of bed. I could lie in bed all damn day and wallow in my self-inflicted misery.
I rolled onto my back, rubbed my face—my eyes feeling like they’d been scrubbed raw with sandpaper—before mustering the energy to get my ass out of bed. I jerked open the medicine cabinet, reaching for the bottle of aspirin and popping two, then snapped my head back to get them down the hatch. I took a look at myself in the mirror and cringed. I looked rough. My hair was a wild mess and my eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Hell, I could hardly see straight. I stumbled into the shower, turning it to just above freezing, and stripped off my underwear before stepping under the lukewarm spray. The waterfall showerhead was normally luxurious, but just then, it sucked.
I gasped when the water splashed over me, hitting parts of my body that were not ready for a cold shower. “Shit!”
I suffered through the first few minutes, letting the cool water hit me hard and awaken my sleeping, hungover body. The shock of the cold had its desired effect. Deciding I had endured enough, I turned it to hot, scrubbed my scalp and then got out. The heated towel rack provided me with a nice, warm, fluffy towel to dry off with. I might not dress like a wealthy man or carry myself like a man of means, but I did enjoy comfort and nice things, like my apartment. It had cost me a big chunk of change, but my accountant told me I needed to invest some of my money. He told me real estate was almost always a sure thing. I bought the first apartment I looked at in one of the newer buildings. It had lots of frills and more luxuries than I needed, but it was nice to have everything all in one place.
I walked naked into my bedroom, a large suite with white plush carpeting and dark-mahogany furnishings. I picked out nothing. It was all the work of some fancy designer. I wrote her a blank check and told her to do whatever to make it a home. I had been on the other side of the world while she decorated and furnished the place. I put on clean underwear and a pair of jeans from the corner of the room that didn’t look too dirty. I dug around in a drawer. I pulled out a black T-shirt and threw it on before walking barefoot into my kitchen and starting a cup of coffee. I opened the fridge and looked for something cold to drink. There was a carton of orange juice. I grabbed it, shook it, and drank straight from the carton. The cold juice felt good going down my throat.
With the cotton mouth somewhat satisfied, I grabbed the coffee cup from the machine and took a tentative sip of the dark liquid. The smell was powerful, awakening my senses. The first hot sip hit my tongue and sent a jolt of fire through my body. The kitchen was galley style, opening into the living room with windows looking out over the bay. It was supposedly a million-dollar view. I didn’t see it.
“Where the hell is my phone?” I asked myself, looking around the kitchen, almost expecting it to materialize. I walked into the bedroom and picked up the jeans I’d worn yesterday, patting the pockets. It wasn’t in there. Hell, I barely remembered the ride home. I checked the kitchen table before finding it on the floor in my foyer. I had no idea how it got there, but I was glad I hadn’t left it in the cab.
I quickly called a cab to pick me up and take me back out to the bar. With the cup of coffee helping to dilute the Jack Daniels still mingling with my bloodstream, I grabbed my leather jacket and my helmet before heading to the ground floor to wait for my cab. The people in the lobby of my building always looked terrified of me. I was sure they assumed I stumbled into the building. One of my lovely neighbors had called the police on me one night after I’d come in pretty hammered and had gotten mildly confused on which floor I was on. I had the doorman stop me several times until he figured out I actually lived in the building.
When I got to the bar, there was a group of early birds already there. They had gathered around my bike. I was used to that. My bike was an impressive piece of machinery. It made me proud to know others appreciated my bike.
“Your bike?” one of the older, grizzled men asked me with a voice made harsh with years of smoking and drinking.
I nodded, pulling on my jacket and zipping the front. “It is.”
“Seventy-six?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“How much is original?” one of his buddies asked.
I thought about it. “About ninety percent. I like to keep it real, authentic.”
“That shows respect,” the first man said, walking around and studying the bike.
None of them touched it. That was a hard-and-fast rule—you never touched another man’s bike without proper approval.
“I do respect it. I have tracked down every part myself,” I said proudly.
“This is a pretty sweet bike. What’s a young buck like you doing with something like this?” the man asked.
His tone wasn’t rude. I had been asked the same question a number of times. I had a rough exterior, but I wasn’t quite as broken in as the other hardcore riders who tended to be a part of the one percent clubs. Some of them challenged me, doubting me. I had always proved I was one of them—minus the illegal activities.
“This young buck knows a fine machine when he sees one. What do you have?” I asked, looking over at the row of bikes.
“Panhead,” he replied.
I nodded. “Year?”
He grinned. “Seventy-six.”
I chuckled. “It was a good year.”
“You do the work yourself?” one of them asked.
I nodded. “Mostly. Had someone rebuild the carb, but I can take care of the rest.”
“You ever think about selling it?” another asked.
I grinned, shaking my head. “Hell no.”
They all laughed before one of them clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the right answer. A real biker would never think about it.”
I accepted their praise and took my seat on the bike. I started it up, listening to the sound of the finely tuned engine and grinning as the other men stood around, listening to it as well. There was nothing better than revving up a bike.
“Later.” I grunted, sliding on my sunglasses before taking off out of the parking lot.
Some days I liked the comfort and feel of my Harley. Other days, I liked my street bike. I would never dare ride that thing to the bar. They’d give me hell for days. They all knew I had inherited money, but no one knew just how much. My godmother, Antoinette, had loved me dearly and left me her entire fortune. My family was wealthy, but it was clear from my early days that I wasn’t my father’s favorite. Hell, I wasn’t even in the top five. With six sons, my dad didn’t have a lot of love to go around. What he did have, he sa
ved for the eldest—in my opinion.
I got onto the freeway, opening up the throttle, letting the wind slam into my face as I weaved in and out of traffic. My half helmet let the wind blow through my hair. It was the best feeling in the world. There was an old saying in the biker world that only a biker could truly understand the feeling a dog got when he hung his head out the window while driving down the road. It was an exhilarating feeling.
It was a great day for a ride. I took the long way back to my apartment on the Lower East Side, pulling into the underground parking garage and parking my Harley next to my Icon Sheene. I rubbed my hand over the bike. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll take you for a cruise,” I said, not the least bit ashamed to talk to my bike. I always did.
I walked into my apartment on the thirty-second floor, kicking the door shut behind me. The cleaning lady would bitch about the footprints on the door. I’d tip her extra. I pulled out my phone and saw I had a text message from Dalton. I vaguely remembered talking to him the night before.
Meet me at Winnie’s. Be there at seven. Your drunk ass probably already forgot I called last night. Deanna will be there.
I smirked. He was right. I had forgotten he called. That wasn’t anything new. I had probably polished off close to a bottle of Jack by myself. Add that to the couple of beers I had when I’d gotten home, and it was nothing short of a miracle I’d even made it to my bed.
I checked the time and decided I better try and get a nap in. I was running on empty. Last night had been the third night I had been out until the wee hours of the morning. I knew my family would disapprove of my lifestyle. It wasn’t exactly productive, and I could admit I was probably partying a little too hard, but you only got one life to live and I was living mine to the fullest.
I closed all the blinds in the living room before heading into my bedroom where the blinds were already closed. They were always closed. I usually slept the days away and didn’t want the damn sun bitching at me to get out of bed like a nagging mother.