Which was a route I wasn't going to go down. A young cousin of the bike my dad had owned once upon a time. With the exception of the color, the frame was the exact same as Sonny's. Too educated for minimum wage and not educated enough for a good paying job unless you were lucky.Ĭrap luck was why I found myself hustling across the street to Pins and Needles, eyeing the satin black Harley Dyna parked directly in front of the shop. I guess that was the problem with an associate of arts degree in community college. You had no idea what desperation was until there was less than a hundred bucks left in your bank account and no job prospects. There wasn't a reason why I should even think about being anything less than grateful that Sonny had found me this job when I'd gone more than six months unemployed. I mean, shouldn't it be right by a strip club and some massage place that promised a happy ending? With its terra cotta roofing and white stonewashed walls, it seemed so at odds with the reputation a biker-owned tattoo shop should have, especially since it was located smack in the middle of a real estate agency and deli.
Luckily I'd found a spot in the lot adjacent to the trendy shopping center the business was found in. With trembling fingers, I took the keys out of the ignition and slipped out of my car.
It'd stripped me of what made me up pride, perseverance, and apparently, the ability to make good choices.īecause someone who made good choices wouldn't be taking a job from a man like Dex Locke. The knowledge that my bank account was bleeding a slow death had wrung me dry. Staying with Sonny.īeing broke had made me desperate. What in the hell were you thinking, Iris? My stomach churned at the same time nervous tears threatened to well up in my eyes. The white number on my dashboard clicked to 3:55. It wasn't going to be classy or snot-less, and I'd probably sound like a wheezing baboon. And exactly like my puking, it was going to be nasty. Nasty, projectile vomiting straight out of a horror movie.Īnd if that wasn ’t bad enough, immediately after throwing up all over the dashboard of my t welve -year-old Ford Focus, I was going to burst into tears. Foreboding.Īnd it wasn't going to be a pretty puke like when you're a baby and even farting can be considered cute.
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