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Now that Jazz was on his mind, one thought bounced around his brain. What would she think of his news? Would she be proud? Would this finally be it? The thing that tipped the scales and drew her to his bed?
Only one way to find out.
“Sorry, Darla, I gotta run. Thunder, you’ll take care of her?”
“Sure, Screw,” Thunder called from the end of the bar.
“You on a tight schedule or something?” she asked, voice all sex. She wasn’t gonna let him go until she made sure he knew what he’d be missing out on.
“No.”
Darla stepped close, pressing her ample tits to his chest. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate her assets. “So how about before you run, we hit one of those rooms and I send you off with an even bigger smile on your face.”
“Take a rain check?”
“Promise?” There was that pout again.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek, then made for the exit.
When he was halfway to his bike, Screw stopped cold. Did he just turn down a sure thing in favor of a woman who’d probably give him a handshake at most?
Never once since he started fucking at the tender young age of fourteen had he walked away from a guaranteed orgasm. Now he’d done it twice in one day. Oh, hell, who was he kidding, he’d been doing it for the past two weeks.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Had to be the stress of the holidays and the shock of all Copper and Viper had thrown at him that afternoon.
Couldn’t be the gorgeous pixie who’d become a near obsession.
Nope.
CHAPTER SIX
JAZZ TUGGED ON the sleeves of her tight gold sweater as she made her way to the bar. They ended about five inches above her wrist which was a little higher than she was comfortable with, but Toni had threatened her life if she didn’t purchase and wear the sparkly thing to tonight’s party.
When she’d left Arizona, fled really, she’d been in such a dark place, she’d anticipated spending the rest of her life hiding from the world. Her body and mind had been so messed up, she’d needed to leave her life behind and start fresh—alone. But the women of the Hell’s Handlers MC had a way of sucking you in with their warmth, fun, and sisterhood.
The party was for Screw—at least in part—because he was now the club’s enforcer. An honor for sure, and a huge show of faith from Copper and the other members of the exec board. They’d held church right before the party where they’d all obviously voted in agreement with Copper’s choice.
The clubhouse was nuts tonight. Wall to wall people packed the place, drinking, dancing and causing the usual mayhem. Jazz loved the energy of it all. The happiness of her friends and even the guests she didn’t know letting lose, forgetting their stress, and partying the night away. Even the depressing news of Viper stepping down from his position as VP hadn’t killed the mood. Could be because he threatened to slash the tires of anyone who moped or bitched, or so she’d heard from Cassie earlier that day.
Just as she’d finally wormed her way close enough she could actually see the bar, some giant man’s knuckles collided with her cheek. “Ahh, shit,” Jazz cried as she doubled over, cradling her cheek, or what was left of it. God, it felt like he’d crushed all the bones on the right side of her face.
“Fuck, lady, you need to watch where the hell you’re walking.” The words were spoken slowly, as though the speaker had to think extra hard about what he wanted to say. Their pace didn’t matter though, the message came through loud and clear, firing Jazz’s blood.
“Excuse me?” she said as she straightened and looked up…and up…and up.
Shit, this guy was huge. Dressed like a lumber jack just off the job, in fitted jeans, a red flannel, and tan work boots, he scowled down at her with brown eyes and a very bushy beard.
“Ever think you shouldn’t wave those big ape arms around in a room this crowded?” For crying out loud, how was she supposed to know the lug was gonna be flinging those things all over like they were tentacles instead of arms? Man, her cheek stung. Probably gonna leave a mark too.
“What did you say to me, bitch?” The big guy moved in front of her, blocking her path. His beer sloshed out of its long neck as he used the bottle to point at her.
She jumped back with a yelp. It was one thing to slap her across the face, and quite a another to spill beer on the two-hundred-dollar suede boots she’d treated herself to for her birthday last year. Some crimes were unforgiveable.
A few of the partiers had taken notice of the drama and backed up, making a small circle around her and moron over there. So much for anyone jumping in to help. Drunk people certainly had their priorities straight. “Look,” she said, forcing her stance to relax. It wasn’t as though she could convince this guy to do anything with her physical stature. Not when he towered over her by a good foot. She lifted her hand from her face, holding it and the other up in surrender. “Let me pass and we’ll forget all about it. I’m just trying to get myself a drink.”
