Page 3 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
Without what? His glasses?
I file that away and sip my drink. "Friend of Colum's?"
"Work associate." He shifts slightly, and the leather jacket creaks. "You?"
"Retail shop neighbor. He bribed me with free food."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Smart man."
I grab a coaster and scrawlSisin my usual looping script, sliding it toward him.In case you forget who to thank for the life advice.He tucks it into his leather jacket without a word.
"Debatable. But the poppers are solid."
This time he does smile, and it's lopsided, a little sheepish. There's a dimple involved. My drink suddenly tastes much more interesting.
"Ridge," he says, offering a hand.
"Sis" I shake. His palm is warm, his grip firm but not showy. The henna tattoos extend past his wrist as geometric lines and dots that look freshly done.
"Sis," he repeats, like he's testing it. "That short for something?"
"Nope. Just Sis. My parents believed in efficiency." I can't tell if he's hard of hearing or maybe can't pronounce Sis, but I don't correct him.
"Respect." He takes a sip of his whiskey, and I watch his throat work as he swallows.Stop it."What kind of retail shop?"
"Beauty supplies. Makeup, skincare, the occasional emergency hair tie. Anything that makes someone feel a little more like themselves."
He considers this with more gravity than the topic probably deserves. "Important work."
"Thank you. Most people assume I'm just peddling glitter."
"Are you?"
"I'malsopeddling glitter. But with purpose." Oh, a new log line for my business. Glitter. With Purpose. Maybe alcohol is good for brainstorming.
That earns me a real laugh, short and surprised, like he wasn't expecting it. The dimple deepens. I'm in trouble.
The jukebox shifts to something slower, a bluesy number with a lot of slide guitar. The patio crowd has started to thin as people drift toward the main bar or out to the parking lot. Colum's holding court near the appetizer table, performing some kind of dramatic toast that involves standing on a chair.
Ridge watches him with the patience of someone who's seen this routine before.
"How long have you worked with him?" I ask.
"Long enough to know when to let him tire himself out." He adjusts sleeveless leather top. "He means well."
"High praise."
"It's accurate." Ridge turns back to me, and even though I can't see his eyes, but I sense his attention. "You planning to stay at the plaza?"
"God, no. It's just a pop-up. I'll be gone in a few weeks, off to the next location."
He tilts his head. "Why not stay?"
"Because pop-ups don't stay. That's the whole point. Low commitment, high flexibility. I go where the foot traffic is."
"Sounds lonely."
The observation catches me off guard. I cover it with another sip of my drink, which is now mostly melted ice and lime pulp.
