Kansas (Ruthless Kings MC Atlantic City #2) - K.L. Savage Page 0,10

barstool.

“I don’t want you there anyway.” Ulysses waves his hand at Homer and shuffles his feet as he leaves while using his walker to keep his balance.

“Always was an ass.”

“Homer, be nice. Good god, would it kill you?”

His eyes seem bigger through his new prescription glasses as he glares at me. “What? I’ve known Ulysses since I was a young buck in my prime. He liked my Betsy. Kept asking her out even after we were married.”

“Want me to go take his walker?” I crack my knuckles, not liking Ulysses so much now. A man should respect when a woman is taken, and when he doesn’t, it usually means he has no respect for anything. Not even himself.

“Eh, another time. I’m tired. Take me home.”

“Yes, Ms. Daisy,” I tease him and open the door for Homer.

He pulls out a joint and lights it as soon as we are outside. It doesn’t matter where we are. He finds a way to smoke. He says it’s for his glaucoma, but we all know better.

Fucker doesn’t even have glaucoma.

The wind chill wraps around us, and the clouds filling the sky threaten to add more snow to the few feet we already have from the previous storm. One thing about Jersey that I have never gotten used to is winter lasts forever.

We step off the sidewalk onto the parking lot and Homer slips on a patch of black ice. I’m quick, catching him right under his arms. My heart is pounding, and my skin is sweating. Our worst fear almost came true. This is why he always has someone with him. He might be old and ornery, but this club wouldn’t exist without him.

He’s kind of the glue that holds us together. I’ll never say that out loud.

Ever.

But it’s the truth.

“You okay, Homer?” I set him on his feet, and he jerks away from me, catching himself on the hood of the car.

“I’m fine. You guys need to stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I know, Homer. We just care.” I open the passenger side door and get ready to lift his tiny self into the truck.

“Homer, wait!”

A woman’s voice has me turning my head, and Homer hides behind the door that’s opened. Not that it actually hides him. His legs show.

“Homer, I brought you something.” The lady stops in front of the door, and she has a bright smile on her face. She has big blue eyes that pop with her long silver hair. She’s wearing skinny jeans, black biker boots, a green shirt, and a bright pink marshmallow jacket.

“Aren’t you going to greet the nice lady, Homer?” I cast my eyes toward him, and he is running his hands on either side of his head to fix his hair.

For the first time since I’ve known the man, when he looks at me, the tough exterior is gone. He’s terrified to talk to her, but he swallows and steps out from the door. The woman grins, her eyes lighting up like those damn fireworks Boomer loves so much.

“Elise,” Homer finally speaks. He leans in and gives her a quick hug that’s awkward, yet adorable. “How are you?”

I give them some privacy by stepping a few feet away, but close enough to where I can still hear them. I kick the snow on the sidewalk, waiting for this torturous moment for Homer to be over so I can give him shit for it.

“I’m good. I didn’t do that great at bingo, and I’m sad I didn’t get to talk to you much this time around. I’m happy I caught you before you left,” Elise says.

My smile fades when I think of how much effort Elise is putting in. She’s giving all the signals, but I don’t think Homer will ever move on from Betsy. No matter how much we all wish Homer would date, we all agree no woman can stand against the memory of Betsy.

“I brought you your favorite.” She hands him a baggy of more weed. “I know how much you like the Mile-High flavor.”

“Thanks, Elise. I…I really appreciate that. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I always think of you, Homer.”

Aw, damn. That hit me right in the heart.

“I was thinking,” she begins to say, and my eyes round in fear because I know she’s about to shoot her damn shot. She’s going to get turned down. Her cute fragile, elderly heart might stop beating, and she’ll die.

“Hey, Homer! Sorry to interrupt, Boomer just texted.” He didn’t.