this plan a long time ago when we realized my sister was hanging out at some rough places.
“Can I help you?” the bikini-clad bartender asks as I approach. I tap my chin as I gaze behind her, acting like the typical party girl about to go binge drinking. I went to college with many of them, so I know the look well, even if I never partook in their detrimental life decisions.
“Yes, can I please have a margarita on the rocks, but can you put it in that bigger glass?” I point to her Long Island tea glasses.
“It won’t be very strong unless you want a double.”
“If you’ll fix it normal and then top it off with Sprite, that would be perfect.”
Her brow raises, not impressed in the least bit with the changeup. Less alcohol means less money in her case.
I lean in. “I want my date to think I’m drinking, but still have my wits about me. You know, just in case. This is our first date.”
“Ah, that’s a neat trick and smart, to boot.” She winks and goes about making my drink. She sets it on the bar, and as I go to dig out my cash, she holds her hand up. “It’s on the house.”
“Wow, thank you!”
“Ladies drink free as long as it’s not something crazy. The boss doesn’t like to advertise that, though. If we pretend that we’re giving it to a pretty woman for free on the down low, then you’re more likely to tell your friends.”
Laughing, I nod. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I grab the cup, taking a sip. It’s the Sprited-down version of a margarita so I can do recon and not get tipsy. If I weren’t looking for my sister, I’d have a top-shelf double margarita in a heartbeat, especially with Richardson watching my back. I love tequila, but unlike Madison, I don’t indulge often. It’s also a relief knowing I have Richardson around to watch over me if I feel the need to. He’s not interested in me sexually, so I feel safe with him. I can drink without worrying I’ll be unexpectedly taken advantage of by anyone meaning me ill will.
I’m headed back to our table when my hip brushes one of the biker’s arms resting on the back of the plush chair. I pause, feigning shock, even though I did it on purpose. “Oh! I’m sorry about that, are you all right?” I ask, meeting his stern stare.
“Of course, I am, darlin’,” he rumbles, and I glance to the patch on his breast.
“Plague?” I ask. “Wow, how’d you get that name?”
He chuckles, his dark features lighting as he buys into my act. “I like to party, and by the looks of it, so do you. Long Islands aren’t for weak drinkers.”
My smile grows, pleased that the big cup did the trick. “I like to call it my frog drink. It’s loaded with more ta-kill-ya than anything.” I wink to sell the lie better. Politics and acting go hand in hand, so it’s no wonder I’m pulling this off with flying colors.
“I’ll have to give that one a try sometime. Though I usually toss back tequila straight, no need to pussy around when you know what ya want.” It leaves him rumbling with a growl, and I have no doubt in my mind that he’s no longer talking about alcohol. This is where I have to be careful. It’s okay to be friendly—a little flirty even—but if I lead this man on, I’m liable to be raped.
The other bikers’ lips curl with amusement at my term for tequila. The two of them flash cautionary glances over at Richardson, seeing what he makes of this exchange. The oldest of the group speaks up. “You’re trouble, sweetheart, aren’t ya?” His green eyes sparkle, enjoying my attention on their group. He doesn’t strike me as the mean type. The other two are a bit rougher around the edges, but this one doesn’t project that. With the way he gazes over me fondly, I suspect he has a thing for younger women. He’s probably pushing somewhere between fifty and fifty-five. I’m not usually drawn to men that much older than me, but he’s extremely handsome.
“I mean, I could be, but it depends on who’s asking.” I giggle, offering him a wide smile. He doesn’t want to hurt me, just have a good time. It’s the other two that have me on edge. The guy in the middle—Blow, according to his patch—he’s got that just fucked