I shrug.
“Kids these days,” Adele says, straightening her silverware beside the empty place where her plate will go for the fifth time. “Way more into scary stuff than I ever was.”
“At least it’s not baby Cthulhu. Those were super in last year,” I say. The waitress bustles up with her tray full of our drinks, and I take the toy and carefully set the box back in my bag.
“So you got one for your class?” Adele asks.
“Yeah. Only one, so they’ll have to share.”
“You are the nicest kindergarten teacher ever.” Tabitha salutes me with her strawberry margarita. “And that’s saying something. That bar is high.”
“To Sweet Sadie,” Charlie raises her Fat Tire in toast.
“Sadie,” Tabitha and Adele join in, raising their glasses.
I flush and sip my mango margarita with them. My friends are the best thing in my life right now. I love them like sisters, even though we couldn’t be more different.
“You didn’t want a margarita?” Tabitha asks Adele.
“No,” Adele sniffs and swirls her red wine in the glass.
“They’re really good,” Tabitha singsongs and flips her long, straight red hair over her shoulder.
“No thank you.” Adele tips the glass, closing her eyes and swirling her wine to inhale the bouquet.
“Snob,” Tabitha mocks gently.
“Leave her alone.” Charlie’s voice is a little loud, but it’s not the alcohol talking. Charlie just likes to be loud. She balances her chair on its back two legs for a second then lets it fall to all fours with a thud. “Someone should be drinking wine,” she pronounces. “It is Wine Wednesday.”
“You mean Whine Wednesday,” Tabitha corrects. “We agreed when we started this tradition we don’t actually have to drink wine, we just have to whine. So who’s going first?”
“Sadie.” Adele’s green eyes pierce me over her wine glass. She sees everything, and she’s our unofficial mother hen.
“Sadie? Everything all right?” Tabitha asks.
“Who do I have to kill?” Charlie adds and plants her elbows on the table. “Is it Scott? I will fuck him up.” She means it too.
“Everything’s fine.” I sigh and set down my margarita.
“Nope, come on, spill.” Tabitha waves her fingers in a come hither motion. “What’s Scott up to now?”
“Are you guys back together?” Charlie’s brow furrows. “I thought after... The Incident…”
“The Incident? Is that what we’re calling cheating now?” Tabitha runs her finger around the rim of her margarita, collecting the salt.
“We’re still broken up,” I say. “But he wants me back. He just texted again, asking if we could meet tonight.”
“Seriously? He cheated on you!” Both Charlie and Tabitha explode.
“Shhh.” Adele lifts a hand. “Calm down, Sadie’s talking.”
“Thanks.” I give her a small smile. “We’re not getting back together. I told him no, but he’s being really persistent.” I glance down at my phone in my bag. I turned it off after that last text to get some peace. At any given moment, I could have several missed calls and unread texts from Scott.
“Persistent how?” Tabitha asks, her eyes narrowed.
“Texts, phone calls,” I tell my friends. “Gifts. He sent flowers, chocolates.”
“Did he get the chocolates from The Chocolatier?” Charlie asks Adele.
Adele shakes her head, still looking at me. “No. He knows if he comes into my store, I’ll roast him alive.” She says it delicately, but I have no doubt in a run-in between Scott and Adele, Adele would win.
“Okay, so Scott brought you subpar chocolate,” Tabitha says, emphasizing subpar as if this is the most egregious sin. And in our group, it is egregious. “Then what?”
“He just won’t stop reaching out. The other day, he and my dad were outside the school. Scott said it was for a development meeting, but I think he planned it right when I would take my kids out for recess.”
“Gross,” Charlie says.
“That is just like Scott. So shady. Why doesn’t your dad see it?” Tabitha fretts.
“Because Sadie’s dad is the same,” Adele says firmly. “Birds of a feather.” She looks me right in the eye and raises a slim brown brow.
I keep silent because she’s right. My dad loves Scott and his development ideas way more than I ever did. He has our marriage all planned, so then, the two of them can take over all the real estate in the area. Adele is right. Scott is a carbon copy of my dad.
“You’re going to resist, right?” Tabitha bites her lip. “You won’t take him back?”
“No.” I have no intention of letting Scott in ever again. “But he won’t stop. You know he won’t just take no for an answer.”
“Gross,” Charlie says again and drains her beer. The rest of us finish our drinks too, and when the waitress comes by, we all order another with our food.
“Can we help?” Tabitha asks once the waitress is gone. “Maybe we can talk to him.”
“No, don't do that. Knowing Scott, it’ll make things worse. He’s just used to getting what he wants.”
“You can’t trust these real estate developer types,” Charlie says around a mouthful of tortilla chips. “So pushy. They make deals all day and then come home and think that’s the only way to relate to another person.”
Tabitha agrees, and she and Charlie launch into one of the Taoseños’ favorite topics: the evil real estate developer.
“I’m sorry, Sadie,” Adele says quietly to me.
“It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else. I don't want my crappy relationship stuff to ruin our night out.”
Adele squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything
Fortunately, I’m saved by the roar of motorcycles across the plaza. Four big bikes manned by giant bikers roll up to the plaza and stop in an alleyway next to the pedestrian only area.
“Oh jeez,” Tabitha groans. “More Easy Rider fans recreating their journey through the Southwest.” Ever since the iconic sixties film, bikers have made Taos part of their pilgrimage. That’s in addition to the huge annual biker rally up in Red River over Memorial Day that brings over 20,000 bikers to the area.
Something about these guys is different, though. They don’t look like Easy Rider hippie types. Nor do they have the long beards or hair that goes with some biker gangs. These guys are huge and fit. Broad shoulders and barrel chests. Thick, muscled thighs.
Oh God, am I looking at their thighs?
We fall silent as they dismount and file past the restaurant window. They are covered in leather and tattoos, like you’d expect, and all of them wear aviator shades.
“Damn,” Tabitha murmurs, slouching lower in her chair.
“Yikes. I’ll bet if you brush up against one of those guys, you’ll get testosterone poisoning,” Charlie sniffs. The four bikers pause right in front of the restaurant patio. They stand in a badass cluster, talking.
One of them isn’t wearing a leather jacket, just a black leather vest that leaves his arms bare. When he pulls off his aviator shades, his biceps bulge, practically as big as a basketball. The tattoo on his arm—a black wolf under a full moon—ripples, and the muscles in my lower belly clench, hard.