Rory

by James, Nicole

  “Thanks, man.”

  Rory headed out the door and fired up his bike, rolling slowly through the rain to the breezeway at the end of the row of motel rooms. The motel was two stories, ten rooms on each floor. He rolled the bike under the breezeway, parking next to a line of four other bikes. As he climbed off and unstrapped his duffle bag, he eyed them—a Ducati, an Indian, and two Harley Sportsters.

  He walked to his room and dropped his duffle on the queen size bed, then dug a dry denim shirt out.

  Ten minutes later he strolled into the Brew House, noting the sign at the door that proclaimed Karaoke started at nine. It was loud and crowded. He found a spot at the bar and sat down. The bartender came over, and he ordered a Belgium Pale Ale.

  “You’re up, Rayne,” one of the chicks next to him said, and he turned, eyeing the bunch. They were all young twenties and cute as hell, all dressed similar in slim black jeans, lace-up black boots, and assorted moto-gear shirts. One in particular caught his eye. Her waist-length hair was colored a soft lavender-gray, and it looked stunning with her pale skin and big brown eyes. She didn’t have much makeup on, just dark mascara on her long lashes. But it was her smile that drew Rory’s attention; she had the prettiest smile he’d seen in a long time.

  “No way, guys,” she protested, shaking her head.

  “Oh, hell yes. We all said we’d take a turn. You promised,” a girl with a hot-pink bob insisted.

  “Okay, fine. But I need a shot first,” the one with the pretty hair replied.

  One of her friends, a tall thin brunette, turned from the bar with four small glasses filled halfway with some red concoction. “Here you go, girls. Drink up.”

  They each took one.

  “What are these?” a girl with long blonde braids asked.

  “It’s called a Red-headed Slut. I got them in honor of Sasha.”

  “You bitch,” replied the girl with the pink bob and they all laughed. “Besides, it’s fuchsia, not red, you dork.”

  “Pot-A-toes, pot-ah-toes.”

  “A toast,” the blonde said, lifting her glass. They all followed suit. “To the road, biker babes!”

  “To the road!” They all clinked glasses and downed the liquor.

  “Whoo-ee!” Sasha’s eyes got big, and she shook her head. “That’s some nasty shit.”

  Rory couldn’t help but chuckle.

  The tall brunette took the empty glass from the girl with the long lavender locks. “Go on, now, Rayne. No more excuses.” She shoved the girl’s shoulders, pushing her in the direction of the stage.

  Rory watched her walk off, following the sway of her hair just above her cute ass until his attention was drawn away.

  “Hey, you.”

  Rory turned, meeting the gaze of the girl with the pink bobbed hair. “You talkin’ to me?”

  “Yeah. What’s your name?”

  “Rory.”

  “You single, Rory?”

  “Yep, and I ain’t lookin’ to change that, either.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Yeah? Perfect for what, honey?”

  “My girlfriend. She needs a little R&R.” Her eyes swept over him. “And I think you could be just the man to give it to her.”

  Rory chuckled. He had to admit, he’d been hit on by the best, but never quite so straightforward. “That so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes swept over the bunch. “And which one would that be?”

  She nodded toward the stage. “My girl, Rayne.”

  As he turned that way, he noticed the stage was set up for a band that probably played most nights. The team running Karaoke were using one of the microphone stands, set up center stage. Rayne stepped to the microphone. Her hands closed around it, and tilting it up, she said, “This one’s for my brother.” The music started up, and her eyes closed as she began the soulful lyrics of Elton John’s Daniel.

  It was a hauntingly beautiful song the way she sang it, and Rory was mesmerized.

  “Oh, damn,” he heard the girl whisper next to him.

  He turned to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Just the song she picked. We were supposed to be having fun.”

  “What’s wrong with the song?” He turned to watch her. “She’s got a nice voice.”

  “Her brother’s name was Daniel.”

  “Was?”

  “He died earlier this year. She took it pretty hard.”

  “I see.”

  The girl extended her hand. “Sorry. My name’s Sasha.”

  He shook her hand. “Sasha.”

  “This is Jenna,” she motioned to the tall brunette, then the blonde. “And that’s Carmen.”

  He nodded. “Ladies.”

  “You live around here?” Jenna asked.

  He shook his head. “Vail? Nah. I grew up in Grand Junction. Where are you ladies from?”

  “Denver.”

  “And what brings you to this bar off I70 on a Thursday? Kind of far to go for Karaoke Night.”

  Sasha laughed. “Nope. We’re on a road trip. Headed to California.”

  “California. Whereabouts?”

  “Near Joshua Tree. We’re going to a women’s moto event. It’s going to be awesome.”

  “Really? You ladies wouldn’t happen to ride a Ducati, an Indian, and two Sportsters, would you?”

  Sasha smiled big. “How did you know?”

  “Saw ‘em parked at the motel. That’s where I parked my bike.”

  “Oh, really? And what do you ride, Rory?” The blonde shouldered up to him at the bar, squeezing out her friends.

  He grinned. “A Softail Street Bob.”

  “Nice.” She smiled at him flirtatiously.

  “Back off, Carmen. I was chatting him up for Rayne. She needs a man more than you do,” Sasha said.

  Blondie turned to her. “Says who?”

  “Says me and the big boyfriend you’ve got waiting at home.”

  “Oh, him. Right.” She turned to Rory, giving him a sly smile. “Guess she’s right.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “Understand.”

  “Still, she can be a pest. She’s not my mother”—she rolled her eyes at Sasha—“you know.”

  Rory grinned, eyes drifting toward the stage. Rayne sang the song with such emotion that it was hard to take his gaze off her. She sang with her eyes closed until the very end—at the last note, she opened a pair of sparkling brown eyes to reveal her unshed tears.

  Rory began to clap, and the whole bar joined him.

  “Thank you,” she murmured into the microphone and walked off stage. She made her way through the crowd, and when she reached her friends, the girls enfolded her in a hug, whispering things to her that Rory couldn’t hear in the crowded bar.

  Soon she was tugged forward and pushed on the open barstool next to him.

  “Sit here. This seat’s not taken, is it, Rory?” Sasha asked.

  His eyes met Rayne’s, and he lost himself in their brown depths. “No, ma’am.”

  “Rayne, this is Rory. He’s from Grand Junction, and he’s single. Rory, this is my girl, Rayne.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Rory extended his hand, still entranced by her beauty and smile.

  She took his hand. “Rory.”

  “You, ah, sing beautifully,” he said, thinking to himself he sounded like a bumbling fool.

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to lie. I’m not that good.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “She is,” Sasha cut in. “Do you sing, Rory?”

  “A little,” he lied, not about to scare her off right out of the gate by telling her he was in Convicted Chrome.

  “You two should sing a duet together.”

  He frowned. “A duet?”

  “I have the perfect one. You can have my turn.” Before either of them could stop her, she headed to the stage to talk to the guy running the show.

  Rory called the bartender over. “What’ll you have?” he asked Rayne. “I’m buying.
”

  “Um…I guess a rum and coke.”

  After their drinks were poured, Rory lifted his glass. “To road trips.”

  Rayne gave him a suspicious smile. “How did you know we were on a road trip?”

  He lifted his chin toward the stage. “Sasha told me.”

  She nodded. “So, I take it you’ve met the girls.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sasha returned. “You two are up in about fifteen minutes.” Then she began herding the other two girls away. “We’re going to the ladies room. Be back soon.” She winked at Rory and nodded toward Rayne as they walked off.

  “What was that wink about?” Rayne asked when they’d disappeared into the crowd.

  He gave her a half smile. “I think she’s giving us time alone, and I think that was sign language for ‘don’t waste it, boy.’”

  Her delicately arched brow shot up. “Oh, really. Am I being set up?”

  “I think we both are.”

  “I see.” She dipped her head down, smiling, and Rory noticed her cute dimples.

  “I’m not complaining. You’re very attractive,” he said.

  She turned her big brown eyes at him as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe his words.

  He reached up and gave a little yank to one of her locks of hair. “And I think this color is gorgeous. What’s it called?”

  “Lavender.”

  “O-kay, now I feel like an idiot. I figured it had some cool name like Mystic Fields or something.”

  She giggled, and the sound was beautiful to his ears. She tugged on his long hair. “You have some really beautiful hair, too, Rory. It’s a pretty color.”

  “Thanks. I call it brown.”

  “And what do you do? I’m guessing with long hair like this you don’t work in a bank.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Nope, not hardly. I work in a tattoo shop.”

  “Really? You’re an artist?”

  “Umm hmm.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “I like to think I am.”

  “I suppose that’s a rude question, huh?”

  “Not at all.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You have beautiful eyes.

  She closed them. “What color are they?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “They’re brown.”

  She opened them. “You pay attention. You wouldn’t believe how many guys get it wrong.”

  “That’s because for them it was just a pickup line.”

  “But not for you?”

  “I really think they’re beautiful.” He smiled big. “And yes, I’d like to pick you up, too.”

  “Ah, a man who tells the truth.”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Intriguing. They’re a vanishing species, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told.

  A voice came over the sound system. “Up next are Rory and Rayne.”

  “I guess that’s us,” he said.

  “Guess so. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. My friends can be kind of pushy.”

  “Ya think?”

  She giggled. “I know.”

  “I’m game if you are.”

  “Okay.” She slid off her barstool, and Rory guided her to the stage with a hand at the small of her back.

  He leaned down and said in her ear over the crowd noise. “I wonder what song she picked.”

  “With Sasha, there’s no telling.”

  They made their way on stage.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to share the one mic,” the guy told them.

  They watched the screen. Up popped Shallow, the duet made famous by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper in A Star Is Born.

  Rayne’s eyes shot to Rory, and she whispered. “Oh my God. I don’t have the pipes for this song.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You don’t want to belt it out, then don’t.”

  The song started, the words scrolled down the blue screen, and Rory began singing the quiet, andante verse. Rayne’s eyes widened, and the crowd began to cheer.

  He finished his part and had to nudge her to sing hers. She began softly and then with more power. She was no Lady Gaga, but she gave it her best effort. He helped her, holding her eyes.

  When they finished, the crowd roared and clapped.

  She slapped her hand over her mouth and giggled up at him. He wrapped his arm around her and they moved off stage. “You did great, Rayne!”

  “Oh my God! That was so much fun!”

  As they moved through the crowd, a guy pushed forward. “Aren’t you Rory from Convicted Chrome?”

  He panicked because for some reason he didn’t want Rayne to know he was in a band. He didn’t want her interest in him to be false because of who he was.

  “No, man. Sorry.”

  As he herded Rayne through the crowd, she asked, “What’s Convicted Chrome?”

  “An auto-body shop in Grand Junction,” he lied.

  “Oh.”

  When they got back to the bar, the girls were cheering for them. “That was awesome! You guys rocked it!”

  “Thanks.” Rory noticed people in the place were starting to stretch to get a second look at him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone else approached. He contemplated how he could get out of there and still not end the night with Rayne. He knew separating her from her pack was not going to be easy. Thankfully, Sasha came to his rescue.

  “It’s getting late, chickees, and we’ve got to hit the road early tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he agreed. “You’re at the Birchwood, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk back with you.”

  They ended up dashing through the rain to the motel, laughing like fools as they splashed through puddles. Soon they were standing under the second floor walkway in front of the girl’s room on the ground floor.

  “This is us,” Rayne said. “Which room is yours?”

  “I’m in 209.” He pointed up and over one door. “Next to the stairs.”

  She nodded, glancing over at the stairwell. “Oh.”

  “You want to come up and talk for a while?”

  “Umm…”

  “Go,” said Sasha. “I’ve got his license number.” She jerked her chin at his bike parked just inside the breezeway next to their room.

  He looked to Rayne. “I’ll be a gentleman.”

  “She don’t need a gentleman,” teased Carmen from the open room doorway.

  “Carmen!” Rayne snapped, her cheeks turning pink.

  “Come on.” Rory grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the staircase.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Carmen called after them in a singsong voice.

  “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” Rayne called back.

  “Exactly!”

  Chapter Four

  Rory keyed the door and let them in. He shook the rain off his head and looked over at Rayne. She dropped the denim shirt he’d given her to cover all that beautiful hair when they’d dashed out of the bar.

  Both their T-shirts were damp. He bent to his duffle bag and pulled out a dry one, tossing it to her. “Here, you should go change out of that wet shirt before you catch cold.” He lifted his chin to the bathroom. “I don’t want you getting sick and ruining your road trip.”

  “Thanks.” She held it up. “Brothers Ink Tattoo… Is that where you work?”

  “Yeah.”

  She moved off to the bathroom. When she was gone, he put a dry shirt on. A few minutes later she returned and they sat on the bed together.

  “So, you’re from Grand Junction?” she asked.

  “Born and raised.”

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I work in the tattoo shop my brother started up.”

  “That’s cool. Starting a business isn’t easy.”

  “Well, he sort of had to; he needed it to support my brothers and me.”

  “Support you?”
>
  He nodded. “Yeah. Our parents died when Jameson was just eighteen and about to head off to college.”

  “I’m so sorry. What happened to them?”

  “Car accident. They were killed on impact. I still remember the night the officers came to the door. Anyway, there was some insurance money, but it wasn’t going to last long. So, Jameson gave up school and apprenticed with this guy in town, learned all he could about the business and tattooing. Eventually he was able to open the shop and that’s how he supported us.”

  “There was no family to help?”

  “Nah. An aunt on the east coast, but she was too old to raise four troublesome boys.”

  She smiled. “Were you trouble?”

  “I was pretty young when it happened, but my older brothers were a handful. Rebellious, angry about my parents dying, pissed at the world.”

  “And you?”

  “I missed my mom more than anything, and I hated that my brothers were always fighting, trying to work out who would do what chores. For a time it was a free-for-all at home with no parents running the show, but when the state threatened to split us all up into different foster homes, that’s when Jameson got serious about taking charge of the family. No way in hell was he going to let that happen. He fought and eventually won full custody of us all.”

  “And now you all work at Brothers Ink?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’d like to see it sometime.”

  He nodded, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’d like that. You should come out to Grand Junction. We’re not that far from Denver.” He rubbed a strand of her hair between his thumb and finger. “I can’t get over how pretty this hair color looks.”

  She blushed.

  He smiled. “Your turn. Spill.”

  “Spill?”

  “Yeah. I told you my sad story, now you tell me about you.”

  “Umm, well, I grew up in Denver. Me, my dad, and my brother.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She left when we were little.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I never really knew her.”

  “So, what does your dad do?”

  “He has a restaurant. A small place, but he enjoys it.”

  “Do you work there?” Rory tried to imagine her as a waitress or cook.

  She shook her head and curled her lip. “No.”