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

asked.
    It worked! I got his attention the first night!
    “No, not at all. Have a seat.”
    He pulled the stool away from the bar and sat down on it immediately. “Well, thank ya, Miss…”
    Luckily, I was ready with my cover story, which I had been over and over in my mind since I left Chicago. “Patricia…Trish, actually. Trish Sanders.” I held my hand out in his direction.
    He looked at it for a split second, as if shaking hands was a foreign concept. I realized in that instant that maybe it was, so I retracted my hand. Then, thank God, he just chuckled and stuck his hand out toward me. “Name’s Sonny. Nice to meet you. You from around here?” Before I could answer, he said, “Wow, that sounded like a lame pickup line. It wasn’t meant to be. I was honestly curious if you’re from around here. I’ve never seen you here before.”
    This was the moment that could make or break the whole deal. I had to cut off his curiosity at the head before it grew into suspicion. “No…well, sort of. My dad lived here. I’m from Lexington. My dad recently passed away and left me his house and affairs to deal with.”
    He looked at me for a moment without responding. It felt like the longest pause I’d ever endured. I felt like he could see right through my lie. I was ready for him to call bullshit on my story. But he didn’t. Instead he just shook his head and said, “Sorry to hear that. That’s a bum deal. When did he die?”
    Whew. I felt like I had dodged a bullet. Maybe literally. “A couple of weeks ago.”
    “Who was your dad? Maybe I’ve heard of him?”
    Oh, crap . Even though we had an identity ready for my “father” too, I hadn’t prepared for him to ask me this. “You wouldn’t know him. He wasn’t from here, either. We’re originally from Estill County. He just moved here a couple of years ago himself right after he was diagnosed. Wanted to be closer to the Markey Cancer Center at UK.”
    “I see.” Again, he seemed satisfied with my evasive answer. “What is a pretty girl like you doing in a dive like this?”
    I was prepared for this question too. “Someone told me this was a place where bikers like to get together, so I thought I’d check it out…see if I could meet some kindred spirits.”
    “Kindred spirits? Don’t tell me you’re a motorcycle enthusiast ?” He laughed under his breath.
    “Actually, yes. I got it honest. My dad had a chopper and he taught me how to ride when I was sixteen. He bought me my first bike when I was eighteen as a gift for graduating high school.”
    Now he laughed out loud. “ You ? What do you weigh, like ninety pounds soaking wet? You ride a bike? I don’t believe you.”
    “Sure do. It’s parked right out front if you don’t believe me. It’s a Harley Superlow…blue—my favorite color. I sold my car and bought it a couple of months ago. Want to see it?”
    “Of course I do. I think I’ll have to see this to believe it.” He chuckled.
    “Come on, then. I’ll show you. Follow me.” I hopped down from the barstool and led him out the front door of the bar to where my shiny new bike was parked.
    When I pointed out my motorcycle, he whistled and said, “Sweet ride! I have to admit, I’m impressed. I thought you were trying to pull one over on me there for a second. You wouldn’t believe how many girls try to pretend like they know how to ride a chopper just to get close to one of us, but you…you seem to be the real deal.”
    We stood there talking about innocuous things like the perpetually mediocre University of Kentucky football roster for a while, until we heard the bartender come on over the loud speaker. “It’s twelve o’clock, folks! I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here!”
    “Closing time,” he said, looking down at me. “Want to take this party back to my place?”
    I was shocked at his forwardness, but I was prepared for this too. “What kind of girl do you take me for? No, I will not go home with you.