Page 73 of The Biker and the Loner
"Welcome home!"
With my hand pressed over my heart from being scared shitless, I gasp, "Jesus Christ, you scared the ever-loving crap out of me."
Kendra, Toni, and Cookie stand in the living room, grinning at me with glasses of margaritas in hand. Behind them, the kitchen island is laden with finger foods, drinks, and pastries.
Bemused, I ask, "What—What is this?"
"Your welcome home party," Toni answers.
"But I was only gone for six weeks."
"That'sfour weekslonger than we checked you in for," says Kendra. "So you're damn straight we're celebrating you."
This feels almost foreign to me. No one “celebrates” me. At least not since Papà died. I've been a loner for so long that I almost forget what it's like to have...people. People on my side. People who support me.
I might not know these women all that well, but I do know their deeds and their reputations, and so far, they've shown me that I can trust them with my truths. For the first time in a decade and a half, I am open. Open to friendship, love, and life.
Feeling free, untethered, and joyously overwhelmed, I burst into tears.
In seconds, all three women have their arms around me.
I am free.
~
Two hours later, with two glasses of margaritas sloshing around in my stomach, I tear a mini pineapple turnover in two and stuff it into my mouth.
"Desayunar!"
Kendra, who is slouched on a stool, and Cookie and Toni, who're draped on the couch, one eating cake the other smoking pot, all look over at me as if I've lost it.
I'm sitting on the floor by Kendra's feet, my back against the island, a tray of tasty pastries on my lap. It's after six in the evening, on a Friday, and we're all tipsy.
Over the last two hours, all three women took turns telling me stories. Toni, mostly about her life before Denver and Grunt. Kendra, about her expeditions with Alec, most of which I already know. And Cookie—well, she has some rather, um,interestingtales about, well, everything. From strippers and drug dealers to avenging a sexually abused boy by castrating a pedophile pastor. That woman has lived an incredibly unique life and has worked her butt off to deserve every bit of success she has.
Now they all stare back at me, wondering what I'm on about.
"It means breakfast," I explain around a mouthful of pastry.
"Okay?" Kendra drags, frowning down at me. "You want me to scramble some eggs for you or something?" Condensation drips from her beer bottle and plops onto my cheeks. She's not a margarita gal, so after sipping less than half a glass for my benefit earlier, she promptly switched to beers.
"I have an MBA and a Bachelor's in Information Technology. I can speak Italian, German, French, and, of course, Spanish. I can code and hack. I can do illustrations, and I write some kickass high-fantasy fanfiction." I stuff another piece of turnover into my mouth. "But, I don't know what I want to do with my life. What Idoknow is that I like breakfast."
"And I like a really thick, firm cock," Cookie deadpans. "What’s Spanish for that?"
"Polla."
"And I've got a degree in badass," Kendra adds. "What's Italian for that?"
"Brutto culo."
Toni rolls her eyes and waves her hand at me. "Ignore these jerks. What are you saying, Ley?"
"I want to make breakfast," I tell her. "On the way here, I noticed a ‘Space For Rent’ sign outside the tapestry place a few blocks down the street that your stores are on."
Toni nods. "That's right. The couple who owns it are retiring, shutting down."
Interest piqued, she sits up straighter, a splash of margarita escaping her cup and splashing onto the couch. Scratch was right about getting the leather couch after all. "What are you thinking?” she asks me. “You want to rent it?"
