Page 40 of Thug

“I already asked it.”

“If I wanted to fuck you?” I chuckled a dry laugh. “That was it?”

“It was.”

I finished the beer and handed her the empty bottle. “I’ve been thinking about that tight little pussy of yours since the other day.” I leaned against the edge of the bar. “I don’t know exactly what you’re asking or how you expect me to answer, but I’m planning on fucking you again, yes.”

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Thank God,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

It was apparent I wasn’t answering the question in the way she wanted me to. I gestured toward the beer cooler. “Can I get another?”

She turned toward the beer cooler. A long sigh of frustration escaped her.

“What are you trying to ask me?” I asked.

After a long pause at the cooler, she looked at me. “I don’t know. I was going to try and trick you into something. It’s not working.”

I didn’t want tricked, duped, or coerced. “You want to know what I like about you the most?”

Seeming pleased that I’d asked, she smiled. “Sure.”

“You don’t pull any punches.”

She gave me a funny look. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“You’ve never heard that phrase?”

“I have, but I want to know what you’re meaning.”

“I never wonder what you’re thinking because you always say whatever it is you have to say, regardless of what outcome you think might come from it.” I took a drink of my beer to give a moment to let my point sink in. “What’s keeping you from it tonight?” I asked.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms in a huff. “I want to fuck. For the sake of clarification, I want to fuck you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.” She looked me over. “For now, anyway.”

I glanced at the clock. “What time does this place close?”

“I can serve beer until 2:00, and it has to be consumed by 2:30. Why?”

It was 12:01. It would probably be the longest two and a half hours of my life. “At 2:31, we’re going to be fucking,” I said. “Not a minute later.”

“So, we’ve got a date?”

I’d never been on a date in my life. We were having sex in a bar. She could call it whatever she wanted to. Scratching an itch would be more accurate.

I shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

She walked around the edge of the bar. “I’m going to call it a date,” she said in passing. “You can tell your friends you “took this pussy” if it makes you feel like a badass.”

She spent the next few minutes gathering empty beer bottles from the men’s tables and exchanging them for full ones. On every occasion, she took time to say something, smile, or laugh at what one of the guys said to her.

She was damn good at what she did, and it was obvious she enjoyed it. While I watched her parade around in her cut-offs, Panzer sauntered to the bar.

“Guessing it went well?” he asked.

I continued to follow Gray with my eyes. “It did.”