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Nah, it wasn’t a fucking tingle, it was a tornado wreaking havoc in his damn gut.
This chick both fascinated him and worried the fuck out of him. He didn’t like that feeling.
He ground his palm back and forth on the back of his neck as he considered her.
She wasn’t begging, she hadn’t whined about his hesitation, she simply shut her mouth and waited.
He liked that because if she would’ve kept pushing him, he probably would have escorted her out of Pete’s himself. “Tell you what, you wanna play tomorrow night, we’ll keep a tab open for you and your band members for the rest of the night once you play a decent set. You suck, deal’s off.”
“We won’t suck.”
“Heard that before,” he muttered.
“Swear we won’t.”
“But you’ll work for damn food.”
“You do what you got to do,” she said with a shrug, not embarrassed at all to be in that situation.
While he normally liked that kind of go-get-‘em attitude, those words coming from her made the tiny hairs on his neck stand. “Just a warnin’, no drugs, no prostitutin’. Ain’t gonna tolerate that shit. That big, ugly motherfucker you walked past when you entered? He’ll toss you and your shit onto the sidewalk with one word from me and he ain’t gonna be gentle about it, either. You got that?”
She nodded. “Understood.”
“Warn your girlfriends, too.”
She frowned up at him. “Girlfriends?”
“Yeah, the rest of your band.”
A thin smile appeared on her face. First smile he saw on her. Though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll let them know.”
“We’ll throw somethin’ up on the website to announce you bein’ here, but ain’t sure if that’ll do any good since it’s last minute. You can put out a tip jar, ain’t sure if anyone will be that generous around here. Lots of cheap motherfuckers. What’s the name of your band?”
“The Synners.”
“The what?”
“The Synners. With a Y.” She stepped past him and threw over her shoulder, “We appreciate the opportunity. See you tomorrow night.”
“You go on at eight,” he called out. “Set up at seven.”
She kept walking and tossed a hand above her head in acknowledgement of her hearing him.
He hoped to fuck he didn’t regret this.
But so far in life, whenever he figured he’d regret something—like fucking blondie earlier—it turned out he always did.
Every damn time.
One day he’d fucking learn.
Chapter Two
Dodge shook his head and cursed under his breath when he noticed two pigs walking in his direction.
Two pigs that happened to be married.
He sighed.
Since they were both in uniform, he knew they weren’t there to drink. Fuck no. They were there on some sort of official business.
That was never good.
The band hadn’t started playing yet, in fact—he glanced at his cell phone—they should’ve been there a half-hour ago.
Maybe they’d end up being a no-show. Though, with what he saw of her attitude, it would surprise him if she backed out and maybe even disappoint him, too.
That couldn’t be right. He had no good reason to want to see her again.
None.
But the truth was, her band not showing would be no fucking loss for the bar since it was only a Wednesday night. Now, if it had been a Friday…
“What?” he barked as Marc Bryson stepped up to the bar, followed by his wife Leah.
“Well, hello to you, too, Dodge,” Leah said with a smile, not giving a fuck that seeing them made Dodge a cranky motherfucker.
“You comin’ in here ain’t good for business.”
Marc Bryson rested his hands on his duty belt in typical pig style and glanced around. “Why? Almost everyone in here knows us.”
“Why you here?” he asked, not caring one fucking bit that the Brysons were known by just about everyone who lived in or around Manning Grove.
“We have a little problem…” Bryson started.
“Usually do when one of you show up. Must be a big problem if you needed your wife to back you up. Too much for you to handle by yourself, Officer? She got bigger balls?”
“Hers are pretty damn big,” Bryson agreed. “But mine hang a little heavier.”
Leah Bryson turned away and pretended to scan the few customers already in the bar. Dodge didn’t miss her shoulders shake the slightest bit.
Out of all the Bryson pigs, Leah was the coolest. Probably because she married into the family instead of being born into it. She happened to be damn smoking hot, too.
If Dodge was into that type.
The type that slipped on a pig skin every day for work. The kind that took joy in making someone’s life a living hell for simply a mistake. Or two.
He had no idea how Rook fell for Jet Bryson.
Okay, he did. Like Leah, Jet was pretty scorching hot for a pig. She had only become hotter once she shed that fucking pig skin for good.
He bet Rook and her had some crazy-assed sex. Jet probably liked it rough and—
