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“Ready for more?” Rusty held the bottle toward Copper.
“Nah, brother, I’m good. Gotta head over to Shell’s in a bit. She was acting weird before we left the diner. Want to make sure she’s not sick.”
A slow smile curled Rusty’s face. A predatory kind of leering grin. “You tapping that? That bitch always had one hell of a rack. She’s been creaming herself over you for years too, bro.”
Rolling his shoulders, Copper resisted the sudden and furious urge to wrap his fingers around Rusty’s throat. Though he’d always been a little hard for some to take, Rusty hadn’t spoken about women, at least the important ones in his life that way. Then again, back then he hadn’t spent five years without female company, surrounded by hardened criminals.
“Ain’t like that.”
“No? You telling me you ain’t fuckin’ her? If you’re not, maybe I’ll take her for a spin.”
Copper leveled him with a stare that typically had his men running to obey his orders.
With a laugh, Rusty lifted his hands in surrender. “My bad. I can wait. Just send her my way when you’ve worn through her. Though if her snatch is all used up by then, I’ll probably pass.”
Jesus Christ. Every ounce of strength Copper had went toward keeping his fists balled at his sides instead of smashing his brother’s face. This better just be post-prison tension relief because it would be the one and only time Copper would listen to Rusty speak of Shell that way.
“She’s not a fuckin’ Honey, Rusty. She’s family to the club and is treated as such. Don’t forget that shit.”
Laughter had Copper bristling. “Seriously, Cop? She’s family and should be treated as such,” he said in a mock-Copper voice. More whiskey flowed out of the bottle and into Rusty’s glass. “Good thing I’m back here to set you straight. Sounds like you grew a fuckin’ pussy while I was gone.”
“Didn’t grow a pussy. Just got fucking old. Chasing a different set of tits every night loses its appeal, baby brother.”
“So, what? You and Shell playing house or some shit? Gonna put a ring on it?”
Talking about whatever was going on between him and Shell wasn’t at the top of his priority list. Didn’t seem right to discuss the relationship with his brother when he didn’t have a clue himself what was happening between them. Nothing should be happening, yet there he was kissing her senseless in the middle of the diner all because some slick suit made a play for her. “Don’t know. Still new. She’s important, though,” he said, his tone making it clear it was an order, not a statement. “She and her daughter both.”
The glass froze halfway to Rusty’s lips. Having not had any alcohol for five years, his eyes were already glassy. “She’s got a kid?”
“Oh, shit, yeah, guess you wouldn’t even know about that. Got knocked up right after she left here for college. It messed up her plans, and she never finished her degree. Stayed in New York until about a year ago when she came back to be near family.”
“Huh.” Rusty resumed drinking but stared at the back of the bar, rubbing a hand over his chin. He may not have the beard Copper did, but the height, red hair, and chin-stroke let everyone know they were blood.
Talking about Shell had him itching to see her. Seemed like days instead of hours ago that he’d woken in her bed, curled around her softness warmed by sleep and the heat of his body. Now that he’d had her, the need for more coursed through his veins like a drug. They weren’t going to be a sex once-a-week kind of couple. No fucking way.
At this point, once a day wouldn’t even be enough. Might make him the worst brother in the universe, but he couldn’t wait for Rusty to head on up to his room to get settled.
Copper needed his woman.
Shit.
He was off his fucking rocker, thinking of them as a couple. They couldn’t be a couple. Technically speaking, he was old enough to be her father. But the seal was broken. He’d fucked her, multiple times, and wasn’t willing to give that up.
Who was he kidding? It was more than sex, and he knew it.
He was fucked.
“Pass me that bottle, brother.”
“HERE.” IZZY SLID a juice glass filled to the brim with bourbon across the table. “Drink up, Shell.”
Leave it to Izzy to come packing bourbon. “Seriously? It’s three in the afternoon on a Thursday, and my child is coloring fifteen feet away. What the hell are you doing with this anyway? You’re pregnant.” Shell lowered her voice. Even though Toni was the only other person still in the diner, Shell didn’t know if Izzy had revealed her news to anyone else yet.
“You don’t need to whisper. Toni knows I’m knocked up. So does Steph. Jig hasn’t told the dudes yet. And the bourbon’s not for me. Toni called and asked me to grab Beth from preschool. When I asked if you were okay, she said shit from your past was blowing up. If that doesn’t call for bourbon, nothing does.”
