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She frowned. “Why?”
“‘Cause he’s a prospect and prospects are no better than dog shit stuck to the bottom of my boot.”
Well, then…
“So tell me… this Blood Fury. That’s a motorcycle club, right?”
Chapter Six
“So tell me… Blood Fury. That’s a motorcycle club, right?”
Truthfully, he was surprised she hadn’t asked earlier. He’d been wearing his cut when she returned from her class reunion because he’d only returned from a long solo run about an hour prior.
And, yeah, the reason he was sitting out front was because he was waiting for her. Since he never sat out front, Josie kept coming out to check to see why he was hanging out there and he had to finally tell her to mind her own damn business.
She had snorted with amusement and called him a hungry dog who must have gotten a whiff of fresh meat.
She wasn’t exactly wrong.
But luckily, she eventually went back inside and got lost in some serial killer documentary on Netflix.
Shay returned to the motel looking hot as fuck in those heels, but those shoes had been the perfect excuse to touch her. He’d never massaged a woman’s feet before, but there was a first time for everything. And, for fuck’s sake, the ecstasy on her face while he did it was worth every damn second. That massage also gave him a reason for her to spend more time with him.
He’d been tempted to push this touch beyond her knees but didn’t want to scare her off.
She intrigued him. From the second he spotted her earlier that morning standing by the counter, it was like taking a punch to the gut. And not the kind he wanted to give that drunk who had grabbed Shay near the bar.
“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s an MC. Know anythin’ about them?”
She shook her head. “No, not much. Just what I remember from living in Manning Grove when I was younger and seeing those same type of vests around town.”
“Cut,” he corrected her, grabbing his cue stick and moving over to the pool table.
“What?”
He stared at the scattered balls, considering his best shot, and once he spotted it, said over his shoulder, “What you’re callin’ a vest’s actually called a cut. Our cut, the vest, displays our colors, our club’s patches. Our club patches represent our brotherhood.”
Apparently tonight wasn’t only going to be a lesson on playing pool for her, but also on MCs. He hoped it didn’t scare her off or make her want to end the night early.
He lined up his shot and took it, easily sinking the two ball into the corner pocket. He was a good player and usually cleaned up when money was on the line. But he wasn’t playing for scratch tonight. He was only playing as an excuse to spend more time with Shay, just like the foot massage. Also like the massage, teaching her pool kept her close.
This game could be ended in minutes. He could clear the rest of the solids, drop the eight ball and declare a victory. Along with his prize.
Instead, he purposely missed his next shot. He glanced over to where she stood by their high-top table and noticed her dark brown eyes were glued to him.
Tater lumbered into the billiards area and Ozzy instructed the prospect to give the drink to Shay with only a jerk of his chin. The young biker set it down in front of her and headed back out without a word.
Tater was turning out to be a good prospect because he did what he was told and never argued about it. None of his brothers gave a shit about a prospect’s opinions or complaints. If they didn’t like the way things were or how they were treated, then they could leave.
Simple.
Just like the sweet butts.
He inhaled a deep breath and when he blew it out, he made sure his thoughts of Liz also went along with it.
Ozzy rounded the corner of the pool table and watched Shay take a tentative sip of her new drink. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you. That was sweet but totally unnecessary.”
Anything to see her smile.
The more time he spent with her, the less she was hiding it. But he wasn’t going to mention it, otherwise she might get self-conscious again.
Just like when thoughts of Lizzy invaded his brain, when Shay hid her smile or laugh, it annoyed the fuck out of him.
Nobody should have to hide when they’re happy, no matter what the reason.
“Your turn.” He set his stick to the side and, after downing some of her abandoned much stronger drink, he stepped back over to the table and to where she now stood.
“Take a good look at where all your balls are. See if you can find any with a direct path to a pocket. Ain’t gotta be fancy, just accurate. Ain’t playin’ to impress, playin’ to win. Always go for the easy shot first ’til you get better.”
