HORIZON MC Read online

  “Do you think you’re the scum of the earth?”

  I bit off my knee-jerk reply, took a deep breath, and held my hand out. The redhead just looked at it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “We obviously got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “My name’s Ace Black. I’m the bartender at Horizon. I’m a part of a motorcycle club that likes to raise money for a variety of causes. I love to ride motorcycles.”

  The redhead studied my hand, her head ducked forward, then looked back at me.

  “The thing to do now would be to shake my hand okay, you don’t have to do that, if you don’t want to and introduce yourself, and then we get a fresh start. Slates wiped clean.”

  “Is a clean slate important to you?”

  “I give up.” I focused on the grill like cooking the meat was more intensive than it really was, willing the redhead to leave. A woman I’d never even gotten a name for, who had consumed my thoughts and my life, who I still helplessly thought was beautiful whether her personality was or not, and I was just praying to things I didn’t even believe in to make her leave.

  I saw her one more time, later, from across the park, a hamburger in hand, chatting with a couple of women, both of whom I’d slept with. The redhead was tossing her head back and laughing, and I wondered what they were saying about me. Then I shook my head to clear that thought out of there. That was Paranoia 101 right there, thinking like that. Just because people I knew were laughing together didn’t mean they were laughing at me.

  Until, of course, one of the women shaded her eyes and turned in my direction, pointing right at me, and the other one and the redhead howled with laughter so loud I could hear them like they were standing right next to me.

  Okay. So they were laughing about me. I wasn’t being paranoid.

  “Told you I wasn’t lying about the redhead,” Jack said, delivering another empty platter for me to fill with food.

  “Sorry I didn’t believe you,” I said. “You just have a history of being a lying asshole.”

  “Hey, man, direct that anger to the person who actually deserves it,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the redhead. “I kind of gather that things didn’t go so well.”

  “You gather correctly,” I said. “What, were you eavesdropping, or something?”

  “Not on you and the redhead. On the redhead and those two ladies is that Melanie and Danielle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to hear what they were saying about you?”

  “No.” I held my head up, trying to project dignity, then crashed down, burning. “Okay, yeah. What were they saying?”

  “Melanie and Danielle were talking to the redhead about how nobody’s ever slept with you twice, and the redhead asked them if they knew why, and they said they figured it was because you could only get it up once.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not funny.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “Hey, I’m a good friend. I came over here to tell you what the other kids were saying about you.”

  “What is this redhead’s deal?”

  “Still no name?”

  “Nope.”

  “Want me to ask around?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ace, I thought you wanted to know her name.”

  “I don’t. I don’t care who she is. I don’t want to know anything about her. Don’t need to.”

  “All right, Ace.”

  “I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m done with that woman, whoever she is.”

  “I hear you.” Jack waited as I filled the tray up with hamburgers. “Want me to try and find out her name for you?”

  “Yes. No. Fuck me. Just…no. Leave me to my misery. Put me out of it, if you’re feeling like a good friend.”

  Jack sighed and patted me on the back. “Ace, by the laws of statistics, it was only a matter of time before you started having lady problems.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been like supernaturally successful in the sack. Maybe you’ve just run out of magic.”

  “If you’re suggesting that I’ve lost my mojo…”

  “Aw, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “Come on. You’ve been at the grill too long.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re dripping sweat. This is why you should cut that hair, shave that beard.”

  “The sun will go down soon, and then it’ll get freezing cold.”

  “Yeah, and then you’ll get hypothermia, because you’ve sweated through your clothes. Come on. Come over here and sit with us and get drunk. I’ll get Sloan to finish up on the grill.”

  What I could really use was a cigarette, but I could embrace another vice to ignore that one.

  By the time I got to the picnic tables, Chuck was holding an ice cold beer out to me, Brody was telling a funny story, and the redhead was nowhere in sight.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  Thank God for good friends. I was able to lose myself in their conversation, beer numbing the fact that I’d apparently made an enemy out of a perfect stranger, and I had no idea why or how.

  Chapter 4

  The third time the mystery redhead showed up at the bar, something had changed. Something was clearly different.

  “Ace!” she boomed, shoving the door open with her hip. It careened off the wall and nearly hit her on the rebound, but if that bothered her, she gave no indication.

  “Well, hey there,” I said, frowning as I tried to figure this out. She had, up until now, never addressed me by name without an edge of sarcasm tainting it. She almost seemed…friendly.

  “Ready for that beer,” she informed me, nearly missing planting herself on the barstool. “But a shot, first.”

  “Really?” I blinked at her, realization dawning of what I had on my hands here. She was stinking drunk. “You really think you need a shot?”

  “Everyone needs tequila,” she said, her face relaxed and open and, if possible, even more beautiful without that awful, pinching tension that had been haunting her before.

  “Ma’am, I really don’t think”

  She cut me off by sticking out her tongue at me. “I’m not a ‘ma’am,’ for Christ’s sake.”

  I blinked at her. “Please tell me you’re not a ‘sir.’” I grimaced a little and tried to rephrase. “I mean, if you are, that’s wonderful, you’re very beautiful, either way, I was just”

  “No, stupid. I mean I’m too young and gorgeous to be a ‘ma’am.’ I’m at least a ‘miss.’”

  I smirked at her. “Well, miss, I only called you ‘ma’am’ in the first place because I am at a disadvantage when it comes to you.”

  “All guys are,” she told me gently. “It’s not personal.”

  I burst out laughing, noting the slight edge of hysteria to it. “What I was trying to say was that you know my name and I don’t know yours. I wasn’t trying to add a decade or two on to your age…” I peered at her, suspicious. “You are old enough to be drinking here, aren’t you?”

  She snorted. “Isn’t that something you should’ve determined the very first time I walked in here?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “May I see some ID, miss?”

  “You may not,” she said, indignant. “I have been drinking in here three times now. You’ve lost your chance.” She took a swig from her beer to hammer this point home. “And I still want my shot.”

  “You don’t want a shot.”

  “Don’t tell me what I don’t want.” She was being downright belligerent, even if she was smiling while doing it. “I will…I will give you a terrible review on Yelp. No one will ever come here again.”

  “This is the only bar in town, in case you haven’t noticed,” I informed her. “People don’t have a choice. If they want to get drunk somewhere other than their couch, they have to come here.
Now. If you really want that shot, you’ll show me your ID.”

  I really didn’t care how old she was, as long as she wasn’t jailbait, or about to get our bar cited for serving someone underage. I’d just realized that I’d have a chance at finding out her name if I saw her driver’s license. And this woman really, really needed a name.

  She gave an extra-long extended sigh and fished around in her purse before fumbling for a few seconds with what I assumed was her wallet before holding up the piece of plastic. “There. Happy?”

  “Nope.” I took it from her easily even as she lodged a loud protest and examined it. “Why, pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss oh, no, I think Ms. is appropriate, now, you twenty-eight-year-old Kathryn Kelley.”

  “So rude,” she said, trying to grab her ID back and missing. “You’re never supposed to ask a lady her age.”

  “I didn’t ask. I found out.”

  “You announced it. Loudly.”

  “I did,” I agreed, unrepentant. “And you’re… Wow, are you on vacation, or is this just out of date? You’re from Albuquerque.”

  “Give that back.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear her. “So serious in your photo,” I said. “That’s too bad. You have such a nice smile, too.”

  “You’ve never seen me smile,” she sniffed.

  “Did, too. You smiled right at me the second you staggered in that door.” And I’d seen her smiling when my past conquests badmouthed me to her, but I figured I wouldn’t bring that up right now.

  “Ladies don’t stagger.”

  “Fine. You waltzed.”

  “Sashayed.”

  “Whatever you like. Whatever you want to call it.”

  I returned her driver’s license to her and she chucked it back in the purse, apparently deciding the wallet was too much of a hassle to mess with.

  “Tequila shot,” she said. “You’ve seen my ID. You know I’m of age. And you agreed to give me that shot.”

  “Last chance for you to get out of it, right here,” I told her, reaching for the bottle anyway, because I knew she wasn’t about to take my advice. “You do not want this tequila shot. And this tequila shot does not want you.”

  “I am more than old enough to know what I want and what I don’t want.” She preened. “And what does or doesn’t want me.”

  “Then color me surprised,” I said, setting out a pair of shot glasses. “Most grown people don’t know what they should want, or what’s good for them.”

  “You’re giving me two shots?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.

  “Not right now I’m not. I’m of the opinion that no one should have to take a tequila shot alone. So I’ll bite the bullet and take one with you.”

  “Whatever you want,” she said sweetly, taking her shot glass.

  “To what should we take this?” I asked her, lifting my own in the air.

  She answered me by taking the shot and shrugging as she winced and bit down on the lime wedge I’d placed on the rim of the shot glass.

  “To your continued good time in Rio Seco: hear, hear,” I said, downing my own shot and chasing it with a squeeze of lime into my open mouth. I’d learned a long time ago to tamp down my winces, even if tequila didn’t taste a bit better now for me than it did the first time I’d taken a shot. And wasn’t that the truth about anything painful or unpleasant? Nothing ever changed when it came to unpleasantness. We just changed our opinions of it. Got better at absorbing the bad.

  “You can keep those coming all night,” she said, bringing her thumb and pointer finger to her mouth and kissing them. “Glorious.”

  “All I did was pour, Kathryn,” I said. “You’ll have to thank the fine people at the tequila distillery for their hard work on the contents of this bottle.”

  “Katie.”

  “Pardon?”

  She’d wrinkled her nose. “Katie, not Kathryn.”

  “What’s wrong with Kathryn? I think Kathryn’s a beautiful name.”

  “Got something against Katie?”

  “Definitely not. Katie is just as beautiful. Katie Kelley. Ace Black. Pleased to meet you.”

  “I know your name,” she reminded me, but shook the hand I’d held out anyway. Her grip was strong stronger than most women’s hands I’d ever shaken, and her palm was warm for it being as cold a night as it was outside.

  “So, what’s got you in a tequila mood tonight, Katie?” I asked, washing our shot glasses in the sink and drying them. “Trying to keep warm tonight?”

  “It’s not that cold out.”

  “It’s supposed to get even colder,” I told her, checking the weather app on my phone to make sure. “Easier to stay warm in Albuquerque than it is out here in the desert.”

  “I don’t feel it.”

  I shook my head at her. “You didn’t even wear a jacket, did you?”

  “Don’t judge me. I’m not a baby about the cold. It’s not even cold.”

  “The desert’s pretty deceptive. It can get really cold at night.”

  “Tequila can be my jacket.”

  “Looks like you got your liquid jacket elsewhere before coming here,” I observed casually. “You run out of alcohol in your motel room?”

  “Got tired of drinking there. Wanted some drinking buddies.” Which didn’t answer my question. I tried again.

  “So are you in Rio Seco for business or for pleasure?” She’d let on that she was on vacation the last time I’d seen her, but I thought she might be a little more forthcoming given her current state.

  “Neither.” She drummed her fingertips against the bar top. “This is a boring place.”

  “It’s not,” I argued. “Rio Seco’s great.”

  “You’re only defending it because you live here.”

  “It grows on you,” I said. “Stick around a while and you might figure out that you like it.”

  “Not much to this place.”

  “Beautiful desert. Beautiful mountains.”

  “A whole lot of nothing,” Katie sang almost viciously.

  “I could prove you wrong, if you gave me the chance,” I said. “I could take you places that would blow your mind.”

  “Are you coming on to me?” Katie lowered her voice dramatically and leaned forward, spreading her hands on the bar.

  “Just extolling the virtues of my current place of residence,” I assured her. “Unless you want it to be a come-on.” Hopeful. Cautious.

  “Only time will tell,” she said, her slight smile ambiguous. “So, how about another shot?”

  “Are you sure you’re up for that?”

  “I’m up for anything.” A cryptic raise of an eyebrow to go with a cryptic half-smile.

  “Now you’re coming on to me,” I complained jokingly. “That means you’re definitely drunk.”

  “I am not drunk,” she sniffed. “You’ll know when I’m drunk.”

  “Are you sure?” I gave her a dubious look, and made sure she saw me giving it to her. “You barely gave me the time of day before, and now you’re being extra friendly.”

  “Will extra friendly get me another shot of tequila?” She lowered her lashes at me. “I can get a lot friendlier, if it helps.”

  “You should always be friendly,” I said, a little disconcerted by the way she was making me feel right now. This was really, really inappropriate. I was not having dirty thoughts about the woman whose name I’d only just learned. I wasn’t.

  “That’s stupid advice,” Katie declared. “Everyone always tells women they should be friendly, but no one ever tells men to be friendly.”

  “My mom taught me to be friendly. It’s my job, as a bartender, to be friendly.”

  “It’s not my job to be friendly to anyone. I don’t have to smile at people if I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t,” I agree. “I just think it’s a lot easier to be friendly than to be unfriendly.”

  “It’s fun to be unfriendly,” she suggested.

  “Really? Is that what you’ve been do
ing? Having fun with me these last couple of times?”

  “See, that’s the thing. You and every other man on this planet”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “think that it’s every woman’s job to smile at you and bend over backward so you think that you can flirt and we find it welcome.”

  “I assure you that I have zero expectations when it comes to you.”

  “Well, I expect you to pour us another shot,” she announced. “Please, of course.”

  “Please is implied,” I said, shrugging into the pour. “And on behalf of all men everywhere, I apologize.”

  “You can’t speak for an entire gender.”

  “I can try.” I hoisted my shot glass in the air. “Men are stupid and ridiculous and they do not deserve friendly smiles from anyone, especially women!”

  “Cheers!” Brody hollered from the booth, holding up his bottle of beer.

  “I suppose I can drink to that,” Katie allowed, downing her shot. I followed suit, exhaled through the tequila burn, and wondered vaguely, though it was probably against the rules, how Katie was planning on getting back to wherever she was staying tonight.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked me, studying her shot glass before tipping it back once more into her mouth, having determined that there were still a few drops floating around in the bottom. She shuddered and I cut some more limes.

  “I’ve been in Rio Seco just over a year,” I said.

  “See, that’s why you like it here,” she said. “Honeymoon phase still hasn’t worn off. You haven’t had a chance to be bored of it, yet.”

  “You might be right,” I said. “Maybe I’ll let you know in five years.” I thought about what Jack said at the fundraiser in the park, that I was languishing. Dying of boredom. Stuck. I hadn’t believed him, then, because Rio Seco was my refuge. The place that had saved me, was saving me, mostly from myself.

  “Five years? You’re seriously thinking of staying here?”

  I shrugged. “I like it. I’ve made good friends here. I don’t have any reason to leave.”

  “This place is a dump.” Her shoulders heaved in a hiccup, and she frowned. “Seriously. There’s nothing here but this bar.”