on, son, let’s go have a few beers and forget about our troubles.” Knuckles grunted, stood, and held a hand out.
Reefer slapped the hand away. “You’re sure getting touchy-feely in your old age.”
Knuckles threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, and if you spread that lie around, I’ll kick your ass hard enough you’ll have to buy a Buick if you want to drive.”
Chapter Seven
It took no time for Sarah to find the motel where the bikers stayed. The only one in town with a parking lot filled with a mix of custom-made Harley Davidsons in a myriad of colors and chrome, and leather-wearing people who loitered around outside in seventy-five degree weather.
She hurried home, ran up to her apartment, and flung most of her clothes off before her feet hit the bathroom. She turned on the spigot and shed her underwear. If she wanted Reefer to notice her, she’d need to appear her best.
She left her hair loose, slipped on a summer dress with a pair of sandals, and double-checked the time. In five minutes she’d make the phone call. She decided to order dinner to go and arrive at the bar across the street from the motel Reefer stayed at to pick up her meal.
With no idea if she’d run into Reefer or not, she wanted to catch his attention with her girlish charms. She giggled and laid a hand on her bare chest. Ellen had blown her away earlier with her ideas on how to catch his attention. She giggled again. The idea of standing atop a table and dancing was out of the question. She might be comfortable dancing to drums on the reservation, but wouldn’t have the confidence to shimmy in front of strangers. She’d have to rely on an accidental meeting.
She carried the cordless phone into the kitchen, opened the phone book, and found the number for Bernie’s Bar. She didn’t let on to Ellen that she’d never in her life set foot inside a bar.
She played it safe around alcohol and stayed far away from the stuff. With both her parents victims of the bottle, and witnessing the destruction that happened to her own family, she’d rather not start something she might not be able to stop.
“Hello, I’d like to place an order, please.” She held her hand to her forehead. No doubt the man on the other end of the phone laughed at how clueless she sounded. “Yes, one cheeseburger basket…and do you serve club sandwiches? Great, I’ll take the turkey sandwich. Thank you.” She pushed the button to end the call. Her shoulders slumped. The first part of the plan was done. Now, on to the next.
This drama act she swore to perform might be out of her league. She thought up every possible scenario that could happen, and it drove her blood pressure up. She always tried to tell the truth. Should she stoop to lying if he caught on to her game plan?
She must not search him out the moment she entered the bar; instead, Ellen told her to swish her hips and stride across the room. What did she call it? Own the room? With her luck, she’d trip, the hem of her dress would rise, and she’d flash everyone with her granny panties.
“Oh, shit!” Sarah kicked off her sandals, ran to her bedroom, and exchanged her underwear for a white lace thong.
She stopped in the bathroom, ran her hands under cold water, and patted her cheeks. She gazed in the mirror. Keep it together, Sarah Lightfeather, or Reefer will think you’re a scatterbrained twit.
A quick check of the time on the wall clock in the living room, and Sarah grabbed her purse. She locked the door behind her. It surprised her that the further away from the apartment she walked, the calmer she grew. She climbed into the car, drove five blocks, and arrived at the bar.
Without hesitation, she strolled up the walkway. But as soon as she opened the door, her step froze over the threshold. The place reeked of spilled booze, body odor, and an odd mix of gasoline. She clamped her lips shut and squared her shoulders. Despite the seedy customers lining the bar and
Reefer slapped the hand away. “You’re sure getting touchy-feely in your old age.”
Knuckles threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, and if you spread that lie around, I’ll kick your ass hard enough you’ll have to buy a Buick if you want to drive.”
Chapter Seven
It took no time for Sarah to find the motel where the bikers stayed. The only one in town with a parking lot filled with a mix of custom-made Harley Davidsons in a myriad of colors and chrome, and leather-wearing people who loitered around outside in seventy-five degree weather.
She hurried home, ran up to her apartment, and flung most of her clothes off before her feet hit the bathroom. She turned on the spigot and shed her underwear. If she wanted Reefer to notice her, she’d need to appear her best.
She left her hair loose, slipped on a summer dress with a pair of sandals, and double-checked the time. In five minutes she’d make the phone call. She decided to order dinner to go and arrive at the bar across the street from the motel Reefer stayed at to pick up her meal.
With no idea if she’d run into Reefer or not, she wanted to catch his attention with her girlish charms. She giggled and laid a hand on her bare chest. Ellen had blown her away earlier with her ideas on how to catch his attention. She giggled again. The idea of standing atop a table and dancing was out of the question. She might be comfortable dancing to drums on the reservation, but wouldn’t have the confidence to shimmy in front of strangers. She’d have to rely on an accidental meeting.
She carried the cordless phone into the kitchen, opened the phone book, and found the number for Bernie’s Bar. She didn’t let on to Ellen that she’d never in her life set foot inside a bar.
She played it safe around alcohol and stayed far away from the stuff. With both her parents victims of the bottle, and witnessing the destruction that happened to her own family, she’d rather not start something she might not be able to stop.
“Hello, I’d like to place an order, please.” She held her hand to her forehead. No doubt the man on the other end of the phone laughed at how clueless she sounded. “Yes, one cheeseburger basket…and do you serve club sandwiches? Great, I’ll take the turkey sandwich. Thank you.” She pushed the button to end the call. Her shoulders slumped. The first part of the plan was done. Now, on to the next.
This drama act she swore to perform might be out of her league. She thought up every possible scenario that could happen, and it drove her blood pressure up. She always tried to tell the truth. Should she stoop to lying if he caught on to her game plan?
She must not search him out the moment she entered the bar; instead, Ellen told her to swish her hips and stride across the room. What did she call it? Own the room? With her luck, she’d trip, the hem of her dress would rise, and she’d flash everyone with her granny panties.
“Oh, shit!” Sarah kicked off her sandals, ran to her bedroom, and exchanged her underwear for a white lace thong.
She stopped in the bathroom, ran her hands under cold water, and patted her cheeks. She gazed in the mirror. Keep it together, Sarah Lightfeather, or Reefer will think you’re a scatterbrained twit.
A quick check of the time on the wall clock in the living room, and Sarah grabbed her purse. She locked the door behind her. It surprised her that the further away from the apartment she walked, the calmer she grew. She climbed into the car, drove five blocks, and arrived at the bar.
Without hesitation, she strolled up the walkway. But as soon as she opened the door, her step froze over the threshold. The place reeked of spilled booze, body odor, and an odd mix of gasoline. She clamped her lips shut and squared her shoulders. Despite the seedy customers lining the bar and
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