As the noise of the party increases then diminishes when the door is opened and closed, I find myself envying Mary’s more peaceful evening. I must be getting old, as flopping on a couch to watch a movie seems quite inviting just now.
But I haven’t been invited.
“Got a good weekend planned?” I ask.
“Not really. Weekends are when I catch up with all my chores. But I’m going for a drink with my co-workers tomorrow night. They’re dragging me out on the town.”
Looking for a man. Perhaps she’ll find one. I suppress the urge to growl a warning about being careful who she picks up. Good-looking women are fair pickings.
“What about you, Grumbler? How will you be passing the time?”
“The club is going for a ride out along the coast, we’ll stop off and have a barbeque,” I find myself telling her.
“That sounds fun.” The way she says it sounds like she means it. It makes me wonder about asking her if she’d like to come.
What am I thinking? These thoughts have no right being in my head, but it doesn’t stop me asking, “You ever been on a bike, Mary?”
“No.”
“There’s nothing like feeling the pavement beneath your wheels, the wind in your hair, the sun on your face, feeling you’re one with the elements,” I muse. “Instead of watching the scenery go by, you’re part of it.”
“Are you trying to sell it to me, Grumbler?” She chuckles.
Am I? Of course not. “Never had a woman on the back of my bike.” I say it half in warning. I’m not going to start now. If Mary was riding behind me, I might get ideas that I shouldn’t, not with the huge age difference between us, and it would be all one-sided. She’d not see anything in a grumpy old man.
“I just wanted to check in. Let you know Owen hasn’t yet made contact.”
“I’m glad you did.” An idea hits me. “You checked Alicia’s where she said she’d be?”
Mary snorts. “I should be annoyed you’re questioning my daughter’s truthfulness or criticising my parenting skills. Thing is, though, I’ve been checking her phone. It’s been at Marisa’s all evening.”
“And young girls are surgically affixed to their phones.”
She laughs. “You’ve got it. Well, I’ll let you get back to your party.”
The sound level has increased, and she must be able to hear it in the background. Loud music and watching my brothers’ dicks plough various holes? Or spend a quiet evening in with a woman and a movie. If I was given the choice, I know what I’d choose now. But it hasn’t been offered, and if it were, it would be wrong to accept.
“Yeah. I left Pennywise playing my shit hand of cards. Need to see whether he’s recovered any of my losses.” I doubt it. He’s not a magician.
“Don’t lose too much. And we’ll speak soon. As soon as Owen makes contact, I’ll let you know.”
“Dusty’s ready and waiting.”
With that, I end the call, never being one for lengthy goodbyes. Re-entering the clubroom, I see that Dusty is far from ready, not with his pants down around his ankles, and his dick disappearing into the crotch of one of the girls who’d just entered. Two things are obvious—one, she hasn’t wasted time, and two, that the pool table is out of action for now.
The card game has ended, and not well if the look on Pennywise’s face is anything to go by.
“Couldn’t do shit with those cards you left me with.”
Sighing, I take out my wallet. “How much am I down?”
Pennywise’s expression changes. “Put your wallet away, old man. Might have lost that hand but recouped your losses in the next.”
I grin. “And they didn’t want to keep playing with you at the table?”
It seems they didn’t. I don’t blame them. Pennywise is the closest we’ve got to a card shark—on a good day that is. He’s not unbeatable, but tonight he’s done me a favour.
I slap him on the back and when he turns around and eyes the room, I do as well. The tables have been pushed back, and bodies, mainly female, are writhing on the makeshift dance floor. Twerking, sticking their asses out, all in the hopes of snagging one of the, to them, desirable men. Cindy is twirling around the stripper pole, going through her routine. It’s not just the music that’s gotten louder. To make themselves heard, men are raising their voices adding to the cacophony of sound.
For years this has been my life and I’ve been more than happy with it. Only a few months back, Smoker and I would be in the midst of it. Is it just because my friend has gone that I’m seeing things differently now? How can I feel alone when I’m in a crowd?
It’s strange, but I feel out of place—an onlooker looking in from the outside.
Disturbed by my thoughts, I retreat to my room.
The good thing is, having become used to the noise levels in the clubhouse, they don’t keep me awake. I have, for me, an early night, waking early and refreshed.
There is something to be said for avoiding party night—I start my weekend without a hangover, my thoughts on the ride this coming afternoon. I’m hungry as hell though, so I take a quick shower, dress fast, then proceed downstairs. At this time on a Saturday, the club girls will probably be sleeping off the effects of last night, so I’ll have to cook something for myself. Doesn’t bother me. I’m not helpless.
I’ve got bacon sizzling when Wrangler walks in. The prospect licks his lips and sniffs dramatically. We don’t starve prospects, though I’m sure not cooking for him as well. He can make his own when I’ve
