“How long did you guys celebrate last night?” I ask.
“Wa
y past the time I normally close,” Grant laughs. “It was Wednesday, so I normally close around the time you left, but word spread quickly and…” He laughs again. “Extra hours for me, anyway! Even Tom hung around.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure he did.”
Grant grins at me. It’s normally best to keep Tom and me as far away from each other as possible. While Tom rubs most people the wrong way, the two of us are so completely different that we clash every time we meet.
“So, anyway, any particular reason you clocked off early today?” Grant asks, pouring me a beer and sliding it over to me. “You were complaining just yesterday about working long hours.”
“Was I?” I muttered. I scowled into the glass. “Brooks thought my head was in the fucking clouds.”
Which, admittedly, it was. I’m not surprised Brooks noticed how distracted I’d been.
“Over the house?” Grant asked.
I looked at him, startled. Damn it, I could have told Brooks that that was what I was thinking of! But I’d completely forgotten about it.
For several months, the Roughshod Rollers, a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, had been fighting against a corrupt councilman for the rights to use a house that had once belonged to one of our departed members. After his mother died, the house had become ownerless, and we had scrambled, unsuccessfully, to raise enough money to buy it ourselves. Originally, it was due to be torn down to make room for a small store in the next week or so.
Then Alex Howard, one of our members and a private detective, smart bastard that he is, had come through with enough information to expose the councilman’s shitty dealings. We’re still waiting to hear the final outcome, but the case is now in the hands of the police, and Alex is angling to get the house donated from the no-doubt embarrassed council. He’s sly enough, too, that he’ll get what he wants.
And once we have it back in our grasp, we’ll be able to use that money to finally fix the place up. It’s old and falling down, and it’s about time it gets a new coat of paint.
“It’s great that we won,” I say, avoiding the question. “Have you heard anything from Alex?”
“Nothing,” Grant says. His eyes narrow slightly. Grant is an amazing bartender; he sits for several nights a week and listens to everyone’s problems, and gives them either advice or a swift kick up the rear, depending on the situation. He’s also very good at reading body language and drawing secrets out of people. “What’s going on with you?”
I should have known better than to try to hide it from this guy, I think with a roll of my eyes. At least I’m the only one here and, if it has to be anyone, I’m not opposed to confiding in Grant.
Besides, I feel like I’m about to burst. I need to talk to someone about all this.
“Something…happened on my way home last night,” I admit. “I ran across a man threatening a woman. Turned out he was her ex and he hadn’t taken well to breaking up.”
Remembering the burning insanity in Jesse’s eyes, I can’t help but think that that’s the fucking understatement of the year.
“Okay…?” Grant says slowly.
“I got her out of there,” I say with a shrug, taking a long sip of my beer. “Her name was Allison. Witty. She’s a law student.”
Grant looks a little confused. I sigh.
“One thing led to another,” I say gruffly. “I went back to her apartment.”
Grant’s expression clears. Slowly, he puts down his glass.
“You slept with a woman that had just been assaulted by her ex-boyfriend?” he asks.
Put like that it sounds fucking horrible. I huff and glare at him. Both Grant and Brooks have assumed I’ve done something wrong here, and I feel personally insulted by it.
“She came onto me,” I snapped. “And I made sure it was what she wanted. I’d like to see how well you would have held up under something like that.”
The consternation drops from Grant’s face. The smirk that is forming on his lips, however, isn’t much better.
“So this Allison is what you were distracted by at work?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.
I glower at him. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.