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The afternoon light gets soft.
I only see the tiger's paw.
The line of black surrounding it.
Four fingers. Four claws.
There.
Done.
I turn the gun off.
Randy's sigh shakes his entire body.
"Did it hurt?" I ask.
"Nah."
Bullshit. He thrashed and blubbered with the best of them. It's a solid rule—the tougher the guy, the harder he cries.
He goes to push himself up.
"Stay," I say. "Gotta clean you up."
"Can't the cute chick at the counter do it?"
"Which one?"
"They're both hot."
True. Leighton is a certified babe. Back when she tended bar at Rock Bottom, I spent a lot of nights flirting with her. But once I got her a job here, and we actually became friends, my head threw up this road block.
I couldn't see her as a potential fuck.
Then she confessed her undying love for Ryan, and I drew a hard line in the sand. No way I step on my brother's turf. I have some standards.
Now, Chloe…
Fuck, the pint-sized firecracker still revs my engine. I'm not sure what it is—the perky tits, the black panties, the don't fuck with me smile…
Shit. I'm getting distracted.
I drag my gaze from the counter. Look back to Randy. "You need to work on your game."
"Do I?"
"Girl's don't want to hear that anyone will do. You gotta make them feel special."
"Guess you'd know."
That I do.
Randy pushes himself onto his elbows. He looks up at me expectantly, like I'm holding the keys to the castle. "So. The guy begged you to fuck his girlfriend."
I grab the aftercare lotion. Squeeze it onto my gloved fingers. "She was smoking hot. I'd had a few. It seemed like a good idea."
"Yeah?"
