It was no secret that the Disciples of the Road, the local motorcycle club, owned the Hog’s Den, so you didn’t mess around in here. Rumor had it that they dealt in illegal activity, whatever the hell that meant, but I never saw anything beyond biker dudes playing pool, drinking shots, and filing in and out of some back meeting room.
Who knows, maybe I had a death wish or something. But I found the bar interesting and refreshingly different. It was a rougher crowd for sure and they didn’t put up with any bullshit, which is why Dex found himself out on his ass that night, after getting too grabby with the biker chick.
The Hog’s Den had a big-screen TV, a couple of pool tables and dartboards, and their hot wings were a favorite in this town. They also had roomy spaces out back and I never struggled to find a spot for my Triumph street rider.
The bar shared a parking lot with the Board Room, which was the local skate and snowboard shop next door. The same shop where Jude worked.
I didn’t take the Hog’s Den for Jude’s kind of scene, so when he walked through the door, strode to the bar, and tipped his chin at the bartender, I could only stare.
His fingers braced the edge of the smooth wood and as his eyes scanned down the bar they landed on mine. I schooled my reaction and then sipped from my beer to keep my mouth from betraying me again.
I studied the line of his jaw in my side view before averting my gaze completely. I’d be out on my ass faster than Jude’s aerial tricks if these guys thought I was checking out another dude.
The thing about this place was, as soon as you became a regular, nobody questioned you. But I had to prove my chops first. I’d done some of the club members’ ink but that still didn’t buy me a free pass.
I had some skeptical eyes on me that first month until I proved that I just wanted to hang, watch a game on the big screen, or play a round of darts.
But as soon as Jude stepped into this space tonight it seemed as if all the air had gotten sucked out of the room. I kept my breaths in check and stared at the TV over the bartender’s head as if mesmerized by the most interesting basketball game, despite the twenty-point lead.
“Order’s up,” the bartender named Vaughn said, motioning to Jude. When he turned his back to reach for the large brown bag, I felt Jude’s intense gaze, pressing in like a wall of heat, before he turned away.
Vaughn leaned over the bar to whisper something to Jude and he nodded slowly. As he grabbed his takeout, I tipped my glass in his direction, and then he was out the door.
“You know Jude?” Vaughn asked, his beefy forearms bracing the bar.
His tone was laced with a sharp edge and I bristled in response. Shit.
“Sure, from the shop—he’s getting some ink from me.”
Vaughn stared hard at me and my head flitted through a catalogue of reasons why he could be asking. He and I had come to an understanding over the past few months. It’d happened one night after I noticed how he’d been checking out one of the new recruits from the Disciples of the Road, nicknamed Smoke. I knew that look, couldn’t miss it. When a gay or bi man longed after somebody straight.
His gaze had met mine and he was about to spout off at me or maybe kick me out of his bar, when I gave him a slight headshake. That along with a look that said his secret was safe with me, and we’d sealed our agreement. It wasn’t like we’d become best friends since then, but we got each other now. He didn’t want the Disciples to know about him and I didn’t want them to know about me, either.
Did he also have a thing for Jude or was Jude somehow involved with the Disciples?
I held his gaze and forced myself to remain neutral. I wasn’t going to give myself away.
Apparently satisfied, he nodded and grabbed a clean glass to pour some brew.
But the message was clear: Don’t bring your shit to my bar.
Chapter Three
I continued walking the dogs after lifting each morning. Some days I stopped at the park, but mostly I went a different route because I didn’t want to give Jude the wrong impression.
Yesterday we had walked past the Little League ball field on Briar Avenue and I couldn’t help but be riveted by some skaters gliding down the metal railing in the stands. It ended up being Jude and another dude I regularly saw at the bowl practicing their daredevil antics. Like many skateboarders I’d come across over the years, they took unnecessary chances, probably for the fun of it, which made me wonder if Jude’s risk taking was the thing that had gotten him in trouble.
But that would mean that I’d bought into the rumors. Or read more into what I had seen at the motorcycle bar.
The sun was beating down and the dogs were tired, so I had steered them under a large tree and took some pulls from my water bottle. Ace rolled onto his back panting openly, while Chopper lay near him, chill for the first time in a while.
What was that saying? A good dog is a tired dog? Hell yeah, when Chopper was worn out he didn’t struggle or challenge me—at least not as much. Problem was, it took a lot to peter him out.
The dogs needed water too so I wrapped the leashes around the leg of a nearby bench and strode to the fountain about a hundred yards away.
I filled the container and headed back to the dogs, where I took time replenishing each one from the bottle. It wasn’t an easy feat because half of it spilled on their fur but they were so hot they didn’t seem to mind at all.
As I got the dogs ready to roll again, I noticed for the first time that Jude and the guy he was riding with had already vacated the bleachers. Good. I’d hate to think we couldn’t both take up space in this town and not be casual about it.