Page 5 of Callow

“We can meet you there if you want to get a ride,” he said, likely recalling the aftermath a few months ago when I’d really overdone it physically, causing blisters and swelling that made it all but impossible to put my prosthetic back on until I healed up.

“I’m good,” I insisted, shaking off the tension that grew at the memory of that painful week.

Redemption wasn’t that far from the clubhouse. And if I was having any pain, I could just get a ride back home.

With that, everyone headed out the door.

It was the first crisp night as we teetered that fine line between late summer and fall.

“Look at this shit,” Perish grumbled, bending over to grab a dandelion head and ripping it off of the plant.

“This is where Billie would lecture you about how bees need dandelions,” Nave told him.

“Yeah? Got a whole field of ‘em down the street. They can stay out the yard here.”

Perish, the absolute tank of a man with ‘bad news’ written all over him had developed a borderline hilarious obsession with the grass at the clubhouse.

I once walked outside in the middle of the night for some air after a particularly realistic nightmare to find him walking the grounds with fucking cleats on his feet because he needed to ‘aerate’ the grass.

“Uh oh,” the woman who owned a walk-up convenience store said as we all walked past. “I hope you ate before you go and drown in whiskey,” she added as Sully stopped, resting his arms on the window sill to shoot her one of his charming smiles.

“You got any hot pretzels?” he asked.

“Always,” she said, nodding. “But I’m out of the cinnamon sugar dip,” she said, walking away to grab six pretzels and pass them to us as Sully paid her.

“We are partying at the clubhouse later if you want to join,” Sully invited.

“Oh, my tequila shot days are far behind me. I’m going to enjoy a nice antacid and boyfriend pillow and head to sleep once I’m done here.”

With that, we made our way down the road toward Redemption, the club owned by our president and his wife.

Apparently, sometime before me, the club had actually been the headquarters of the rival MC that Fallon’s wife was the president of. Until her people fucked her over and forced her out.

Keeping the building and turning it into a bar frequented by our club felt like a great way to say ‘fuck you’ to her old club.

“Toll, my man,” Sully greeted the bartender as we made our way inside.

I spotted a few of A’s guys sitting at a back table. Aside from that, though, the place was dominated by a bunch of early twenty-somethings.

This wasn’t exactly the kind of bar that catered to their age group, but I imagined they’d likely gotten kicked out of another local place, given how obnoxious they were being. And the night was young.

“So, what arewedrinking?” Sully asked, taking a seat next to two women in surprisingly conservative business attire.

Sure, there was a group of women in tight dresses and heels who were already eye-fucking us. But Sully always loved a bit of a challenge. I would put good money on those buttoned-up women being back at the clubhouse in their underwear in the pool by the end of the night.

With the colder weather coming, I suspected Sully was going to start to nag Fallon and Brooks about the club getting a hot tub now that the pool was old news.

They’d give in eventually. No one could seem to outlast Sully’s persistence.

I accepted my beer then moved to sit at the bar, not really in the chatting up anyone mood. Maybe I would be later, back at the clubhouse after a few drinks. Or maybe this would be one of the nights where I went to bed alone, something I’d begun to enjoy on occasion now that I finally had my own room instead of sharing the prospect room with the others. That pleasure was now for Perish and the twins since Sully, Nave, and I officially patched-in.

A minor argument broke out toward the side of the bar, making Toll sigh and make his way out to deal with it.

My gaze started to follow his movement to see if he needed any backup when something else caught my eye, making me stiffen.

There, toward the front of the bar, was a group of guys in their twenties. That whole frat-boy-asshole vibe clinging to them as closely as the too-strong body spray I could smell clear across the room.

They’d been there since we arrived, seemingly chatting up two girls.