Read Online Jax's Dilemma:Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 2) by Chiah Wilder - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chiah Wilder
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townhouse. Grabbing a power bar, Amy flew out the door, leaving Cherri alone to deal with the clogged sink.
“Just great!” Cherri yelled out to no one. Her other roommate, Ginger, also had a double at Dream House. Cherri, on her only day off in eight days, was left to plunge the sink and clean up the mess.
After the plunger did nothing, Cherri, exasperated, called Emma. “Em, we’ve got a backed-up kitchen sink and nothing I’m doing is helping. I don’t want the water to go into the living room and ruin the carpet. What am I supposed to do? Do I call a plumber or do you take care of it? Not sure.”
“I’ll call the Insurgents; they take care of all that with the properties they own. Sit tight, and someone will be over to fix the problem.”
“Thanks.” Cherri, pissed that her day off was ruined, climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
The Insurgents provided housing for the dancers. They owned several townhomes for the women—three to each unit—and paid for all expenses except groceries, cell phones, and personal incidentals. The houses were comfortable and convenient, close to the club and downtown area, but they lacked the coziness of a home. Each unit had a small living room, a kitchen with an island, a half-bath on the main floor, and three bedrooms upstairs with two bathrooms. Off the kitchen there was a small laundry room, and the back yard had a postage stamp-sized patch of grass and a small deck for a Smoky Joe grill and a bistro table with two chairs.
The color scheme in the townhome was neutral. The couches were various shades of brown and the walls were white with nothing on them—very blah. Most of the women didn’t care about decorating the unit; they used it to sleep in since most of them only planned on staying short-term. The majority of the dancers dreamed about meeting a rich man at the strip bar or hooking up with one of the bikers and being his old lady. Cherri dreamed about being on her own in a respectable job. She hated stripping and it made her feel dirty, but without much education, it was the one job that paid well and gave her a chance at a better life.
Cherri went into her bedroom—her home, her refuge. Unlike her other roommates’ bedrooms, which were just beige and brown, Cherri painted the walls of her room a pale yellow to reflect the light. Having a corner room gave Cherri the light and brightness she loved. A pretty quilted comforter with over-sized pillows covered a double bed. Two white nightstands held wicker-shaded lamps while an overstuffed chair, covered in a floral and striped pattern, nestled in the corner of the room. Two white chests of drawers and a hand-painted trunk held most of her belongings. Next to the bathroom, a small closet overflowed with her clothes and shoes. Cherri’s most recent purchase, a small TV, sat on the corner of a compact writing desk against the wall, facing one of the windows.
On the walls, she hung antique prints of flowers and a few reproduction prints from American artists; her two favorite ones were Nighthawks by Edward Hopper and Norman Rockwell’s 1942 Freedom From Want . Cherri often looked at the two replicas whenever her life seemed overwhelming or the despair threatened to suffocate her.
She could identify with Nighthawks because it dripped with loneliness and estrangement, two things she experienced frequently. Her Norman Rockwell reproduction was her fantasy—a smiling family gathered around the table for Thanksgiving. She knew it was corny—her roommates just shook their heads and whispered about how strange she was for having it—but it was her image of what a happy family was. An image she kept in her heart and what drove her toward her goal of changing her current life to a better one.
As she picked up her hamper of dirty clothes and made her way to the washing machine, she regretted her day off was blown and she couldn’t go to the library as she had planned. She loved going to the library because it was quiet
“Just great!” Cherri yelled out to no one. Her other roommate, Ginger, also had a double at Dream House. Cherri, on her only day off in eight days, was left to plunge the sink and clean up the mess.
After the plunger did nothing, Cherri, exasperated, called Emma. “Em, we’ve got a backed-up kitchen sink and nothing I’m doing is helping. I don’t want the water to go into the living room and ruin the carpet. What am I supposed to do? Do I call a plumber or do you take care of it? Not sure.”
“I’ll call the Insurgents; they take care of all that with the properties they own. Sit tight, and someone will be over to fix the problem.”
“Thanks.” Cherri, pissed that her day off was ruined, climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
The Insurgents provided housing for the dancers. They owned several townhomes for the women—three to each unit—and paid for all expenses except groceries, cell phones, and personal incidentals. The houses were comfortable and convenient, close to the club and downtown area, but they lacked the coziness of a home. Each unit had a small living room, a kitchen with an island, a half-bath on the main floor, and three bedrooms upstairs with two bathrooms. Off the kitchen there was a small laundry room, and the back yard had a postage stamp-sized patch of grass and a small deck for a Smoky Joe grill and a bistro table with two chairs.
The color scheme in the townhome was neutral. The couches were various shades of brown and the walls were white with nothing on them—very blah. Most of the women didn’t care about decorating the unit; they used it to sleep in since most of them only planned on staying short-term. The majority of the dancers dreamed about meeting a rich man at the strip bar or hooking up with one of the bikers and being his old lady. Cherri dreamed about being on her own in a respectable job. She hated stripping and it made her feel dirty, but without much education, it was the one job that paid well and gave her a chance at a better life.
Cherri went into her bedroom—her home, her refuge. Unlike her other roommates’ bedrooms, which were just beige and brown, Cherri painted the walls of her room a pale yellow to reflect the light. Having a corner room gave Cherri the light and brightness she loved. A pretty quilted comforter with over-sized pillows covered a double bed. Two white nightstands held wicker-shaded lamps while an overstuffed chair, covered in a floral and striped pattern, nestled in the corner of the room. Two white chests of drawers and a hand-painted trunk held most of her belongings. Next to the bathroom, a small closet overflowed with her clothes and shoes. Cherri’s most recent purchase, a small TV, sat on the corner of a compact writing desk against the wall, facing one of the windows.
On the walls, she hung antique prints of flowers and a few reproduction prints from American artists; her two favorite ones were Nighthawks by Edward Hopper and Norman Rockwell’s 1942 Freedom From Want . Cherri often looked at the two replicas whenever her life seemed overwhelming or the despair threatened to suffocate her.
She could identify with Nighthawks because it dripped with loneliness and estrangement, two things she experienced frequently. Her Norman Rockwell reproduction was her fantasy—a smiling family gathered around the table for Thanksgiving. She knew it was corny—her roommates just shook their heads and whispered about how strange she was for having it—but it was her image of what a happy family was. An image she kept in her heart and what drove her toward her goal of changing her current life to a better one.
As she picked up her hamper of dirty clothes and made her way to the washing machine, she regretted her day off was blown and she couldn’t go to the library as she had planned. She loved going to the library because it was quiet
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