Confessions Of An Old Lady by Christina Morgan Read Free Book Online

at the bar, walked confidently over to it, and jumped up onto the barstool.
    “What’ll ya have?” asked the husky bartender. He had a thick black beard, but not a hair on the top of his head.
    “I’ll have a Blue Moon…with a slice of orange.” I had heard other girls order this drink before at other bars, so I thought it must not be that bad.
    He just chuckled and said, “Honey, where do you think you are? We’ve got three kinds of beer on tap or liquor, that’s it.”
    I looked over at the tap and recognized Budweiser from my night with Renley and Beauford. “I’ll have a Bud, then.”
    “Now that’s more like it.” He laughed, poured me a draft from the tap, and slid it over to me. “Will this be it or are you starting a tab?”
    “No, this is fine. Thank you.” I laid down a five-dollar bill and turned around on my barstool to look at the crowd. There were probably about fifteen people in the bar and none of them looked familiar to me. The files had said that Sonny and his dad came in nearly every night, so I was puzzled as to why they weren’t there that night. It was already ten thirty.
    I sat there listening to the music that played on the jukebox. ZZ Top, Waylon Jennings, and Johnny Cash all blared through the speakers set up in the corners of the bar. I sipped on my Budweiser until it was about halfway gone. I started to feel slightly lightheaded for the first time in years. I checked the clock on the wall…eleven o’clock.
    Just when I was about to give up and leave for the night, I heard a shout go up from the small crowd. I turned back around on my stool and saw Leroy and Sonny Jackson walking through the door of the bar, which was now propped open, the loud music spilling out into the night.
    “There they are!” someone yelled out, raising his beer toward the two men who’d just entered the bar.
    “To the president!” yelled another.
    “To the president!” the crowd repeated.
    The older of the two used his hands to try to calm down the crowd. “All right, all right. That’s enough. Simmer down. Get back to your drinks!”
    I immediately noticed exactly what Renley and Beauford had told me about the younger of the two, Sonny Jackson. He was good-looking. He had brown hair that curled only at the ends and fell just above his shoulders. He had his wavy hair pushed back behind his ears. I couldn’t really tell the color of his eyes, but they seemed to be dark and deep. He had a goatee that matched his dark hair and he had a swagger in his step that was unmistakable.
    The elder Jackson, Leroy, was not too bad-looking himself. He looked like an older version of Sonny, only he had completely white hair and a long white beard that hung down to his stout chest. He wore a black bandana wrapped around the top of his head. He too had a certain kind of confidence when he walked.
    Both men were wearing their cuts—a black leather vest with their patches sewn all over, I had learned in my training—with jeans and black leather boots. They could have almost been mistaken for twins, if Leroy’s hair wasn’t so white.
    Both men swayed as they walked from the doorway to the bar, stopping to shake hands with and high-five other bikers along the way. They stepped up to the bar a few seats down from me and talked with the bartender, whose name was apparently Big Jim. They both ordered shots of whiskey and threw them back as soon as Big Jim slid them over. They immediately ordered another round and threw those back just as quickly.
    I sat there, trying not to look directly at them, but I guess I wasn’t as slick as I thought I was, because Sonny did a double-take when he caught me looking. Luckily, he just smiled and raised his third whiskey shot up in the air in my direction. I nodded and smiled, trying to play it flirty and coy at the same time. It must have worked, because Sonny turned around from his spot at the bar and walked over to me and the empty stool next to me.
    “This seat taken?” he