Read Online Marked Clan #2 - Red by Maurice Lawless - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maurice Lawless
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past ye, PJ.”
My brain tried to pound its way past my forehead. No, that makes no fucking sense at all. There’s no way she reminds me of my mother.
Chapter Thirteen
Justin sent me directions to our next date in a text message, but I didn’t think he was serious. A skating rink? What were we, twelve? Did he expect me to hold hands with him and do the hokey-pokey under the disco ball? I found the address anyway. I pulled into the parking lot at six, and the crowd that had gathered outside was not what I expected.
Twenty-something men and women milled around the front door, some in multicolored tights and fishnet stockings. Girls on skates went through the crowd passing out flyers and chatting people up. The girls wore full protective gear – elbow pads, knee pads, and wrist guards. Some carried brightly-decorated helmets as well. What kind of skating was this going to be?
"Not what you expected, is it?" Justin said behind me.
"No," I said without turning around. "I can’t say that I saw this coming. What is it?"
He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He felt nice and warm. "Roller derby. It’s the season opener for this league."
"Roller derby? Like that stuff people used to watch in the fifties?"
Justin laughed. "Not quite. Think less Beaver Cleaver and more Thunderdome. "
"So it’s not real?"
"Oh, it’s real," he laughed. "And I wouldn’t say otherwise once we get inside. Some folks are kind of touchy. These girls are athletes, and it’s a full-contact sport."
This I had to see. Justin bought us wristbands and we went inside. At least something was what I expected – the roller rink looked like it hadn’t changed its carpet or wall decorations since about 1985. Neon confetti patterns on a dingy blue background covered the floor and day-glo stars adorned the walls.
Not all of it was teenage nostalgia. I heard metal music being piped through the speakers in the ceiling, and everyone seemed to have a beer but us. The crowd gathered along the waist-high walls that surrounded the skate floor and watched as groups of those same brightly-dressed skaters made warm-up laps.
The floor was taped off to create a kind of oval race track, with benches off to one side. I saw that the girls outside had tame outfits compared to the ones already on the track. Any surface that could be tacked with stickers or painted like a custom car was decked out in the girls’ numbers. The names on their jerseys were just as over-the-top.
" Poke-a-Hot-Ass , really?" I laughed. The girl in question wore frilled socks and had feathers sticking out of the back of her helmet. I had to admit, she wore her name well in spandex hot pants. "I can see why you enjoy this."
Justin brought us a couple of beers and pushed his way through so we were leaning against the wall front-and-center. "The bout hasn’t started yet," he said with a grin. "It gets wilder."
I looked around the crowd. Most of the people here were men, but there was a solid gathering of women as well. In the back corner a small stage was set up with instruments for what I guess was a half-time show. How had I never heard of this?
Justin leaned in and pointed out one of the girls making laps. "See that star on her helmet? She’s the jammer. There’s one for each team, and they’re the ones who can score."
"How do they do that?" I asked.
"They lap the members of the other team," he said. "It’s not as easy as it sounds."
I watched the girls circling the track, some of whom looked like they could crack walnuts with their thighs. Easy wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I humored him.
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Because it’s everyone else’s job to keep them from doing it – by whatever means necessary. Blocks, hits, you name it. There are rules, of course, but you might be surprised what’s legal in this game."
A set of men in referee jerseys and whistles skated out, followed by a guy that looked like a cross between Elvis and
My brain tried to pound its way past my forehead. No, that makes no fucking sense at all. There’s no way she reminds me of my mother.
Chapter Thirteen
Justin sent me directions to our next date in a text message, but I didn’t think he was serious. A skating rink? What were we, twelve? Did he expect me to hold hands with him and do the hokey-pokey under the disco ball? I found the address anyway. I pulled into the parking lot at six, and the crowd that had gathered outside was not what I expected.
Twenty-something men and women milled around the front door, some in multicolored tights and fishnet stockings. Girls on skates went through the crowd passing out flyers and chatting people up. The girls wore full protective gear – elbow pads, knee pads, and wrist guards. Some carried brightly-decorated helmets as well. What kind of skating was this going to be?
"Not what you expected, is it?" Justin said behind me.
"No," I said without turning around. "I can’t say that I saw this coming. What is it?"
He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He felt nice and warm. "Roller derby. It’s the season opener for this league."
"Roller derby? Like that stuff people used to watch in the fifties?"
Justin laughed. "Not quite. Think less Beaver Cleaver and more Thunderdome. "
"So it’s not real?"
"Oh, it’s real," he laughed. "And I wouldn’t say otherwise once we get inside. Some folks are kind of touchy. These girls are athletes, and it’s a full-contact sport."
This I had to see. Justin bought us wristbands and we went inside. At least something was what I expected – the roller rink looked like it hadn’t changed its carpet or wall decorations since about 1985. Neon confetti patterns on a dingy blue background covered the floor and day-glo stars adorned the walls.
Not all of it was teenage nostalgia. I heard metal music being piped through the speakers in the ceiling, and everyone seemed to have a beer but us. The crowd gathered along the waist-high walls that surrounded the skate floor and watched as groups of those same brightly-dressed skaters made warm-up laps.
The floor was taped off to create a kind of oval race track, with benches off to one side. I saw that the girls outside had tame outfits compared to the ones already on the track. Any surface that could be tacked with stickers or painted like a custom car was decked out in the girls’ numbers. The names on their jerseys were just as over-the-top.
" Poke-a-Hot-Ass , really?" I laughed. The girl in question wore frilled socks and had feathers sticking out of the back of her helmet. I had to admit, she wore her name well in spandex hot pants. "I can see why you enjoy this."
Justin brought us a couple of beers and pushed his way through so we were leaning against the wall front-and-center. "The bout hasn’t started yet," he said with a grin. "It gets wilder."
I looked around the crowd. Most of the people here were men, but there was a solid gathering of women as well. In the back corner a small stage was set up with instruments for what I guess was a half-time show. How had I never heard of this?
Justin leaned in and pointed out one of the girls making laps. "See that star on her helmet? She’s the jammer. There’s one for each team, and they’re the ones who can score."
"How do they do that?" I asked.
"They lap the members of the other team," he said. "It’s not as easy as it sounds."
I watched the girls circling the track, some of whom looked like they could crack walnuts with their thighs. Easy wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I humored him.
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"Because it’s everyone else’s job to keep them from doing it – by whatever means necessary. Blocks, hits, you name it. There are rules, of course, but you might be surprised what’s legal in this game."
A set of men in referee jerseys and whistles skated out, followed by a guy that looked like a cross between Elvis and
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