Except the fact that she owned a gay bar. That was probably pretty strong evidence.
But ... what if she was bi? What if she liked both chicksanddicks? That put her back in play, right? Or maybe it was better to think of it the other way: maybe it puthimin play.
He’d thought he’d picked up a couple moments of connection—just eye contact, really, but sometimes eye contact meant a lot. He’d ignored those moments,doubtedthem, at the time because he was standing in a lesbian bar talking to the bartender—who also, it turned out, owned the joint. But what if he hadn’t been wrong?
Then again, he’d also come off as a semi-illiterate moron, so maybe her orientation didn’t matter. Maybe she was totally out of his league not because he had a dick but because he didn’t have much of anything else.
Why did he care if she was out of his league? A girl he’d met an hour ago? The only thing he was interested in was a fuck, so her league didn’t matter.
A horn blew behind him, and Jay realized the light had turned.
Of greater interest, however, was the asshole who’d fucking honked at him while his patch was in full view. As a kicker, the lane beside them was fucking empty. Asshole could have gone around.
Jay cut the engine, kicked his stand down, and dismounted. When he turned, he saw some suburban dad type behind the wheel of an Accord. Silver, white, or light blue; it was hard to tell in the night, around the headlight glare, but it was one of those boring-ass colors. A suburban mom type sat in the passenger seat.
He stalked toward their stupid cage and got a nice little rush to see Suburban Dad’s expression shift from impatience to worry to fear. Jay kept walking. Suburban Dad put his hands up in surrender, and Jay stopped. He stood in place and stared until Dad got the fidgets and Mom put a hand over her mouth, scared shitless. He felt a little bit bad about that part, actually.
Satisfied that they’d been taught to mind their manners around a Bull, Jay turned and headed back to his bike.
The light had changed again, gone red, but there was nobody else at the intersection. Without bothering to consider what he intended, he made a U-turn and headed back the way he’d come.
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~oOo~
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On the way back toGertrude’s, Jay decided not to think too much about what he was up to. Whenever he had too many thoughts, he got snarled in them all and couldn’t make sense anyway. Better to follow his gut, and his gut had led him back.
When he came up on the bar, the sign was off and the windows dark. Fuck. Missed his chance, if he’d had a chance at all. That sucked.
With no other place to go, he rode past the intersection, meaning to turn at the next one and resume his trip home. But he saw the entrance to the alley behind the bar and, trusting his gut, turned into the alley. Maybe there was an employee lot or some—yep. A little blacktop span, big enough to hold about four cars and the dumpster.
A BMW R 1250 RS was parked tight against the building. One car was parked on the lot itself: a late model Volvo Cross Country. White. That was also a very boring car, but the odds were decent the girl drove it. She didn’t seem like the crotch-rocket type. The other bartender did, though.
Also, the ‘COEXIST’ and yellow equal-sign stickers seemed consistent with what little he knew of her.
Fully aware how totally creep-tastic this behavior was, Jay pulled onto the lot and parked. He’d try not to scare her, but he had to know. He’d just come out and ask if she was gay, and, if not, if she was into him, and she’d probably disappoint him, but at least he’d know. Then he could go on home and be disappointed. Fitting end to the day.
At least it would be late enough his old man would be asleep by the time he made it home.
He sat on his bike, fucking around on his phone, for about ten minutes before the steel door swung out on squeaky hinges. And there she was.
She didn’t notice him right away. With a big leather bag, some kind of cross between a purse and a gym bag, hanging on one shoulder and a box propped on the other hip, she turned right away and closed the door, then used two different keys to turn deadbolts. It took some coordination to manage her burdens and get the door locked.
He’d been raised to help where help was needed, especially to help women, kids, old folks, and anybody else weaker than him, so he could practically feel his father standing behind him, wondering why he was just sitting here while the girl propped the box between her hip and the brick wall beside the door. But if he got too close, he knew she’d be scared. So he stayed put and tried to ignore his father’s phantom judgment.
Door locked, she got a better hold on the box and headed to her car. As the automatic hatch began to rise, she finally saw him—and froze. Eyes wide, mouth open. Then her mouth snapped shut, and Jay could see her trying to think how she’d get to safety. She glanced quickly at her car, and he could almost reallyseeher think of diving into the hatch.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said and swung off his saddle. Staying close to his bike, he added, “I’m not a stalker.”
“Okay ...” she said after a second. “Just ... for future reference, lurking in the shadows at two o’clock in the morning behind a woman’s work is a good way to get mistaken for a stalker. Also, for more immediate reference, Dre lives right upstairs and really likes guns.” With a backward nod of her head, she indicated the sole lighted window on the back of the building, a double set on the second floor.
All Jay could see was ceiling, a spinning apartment-grade ceiling fan, a bit of dark red wall, with a shadow from maybe a big plant.
“Dre?”
“The other bartender. Really tall, looks like they eat nuts and bolts for breakfast?”