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Could this night get any worse?
She glanced at his crotch, without meaning to. She swallowed hard. That was… interesting.
When she looked up, he was watching her ogling him.
He grinned. “Is this a ploy for a private dance?”
Oh yeah. The night could absolutely get worse.
* * *
Rick wasn’t sure what prompted him to mention Sloane over the mic, except that he wanted her attention. It was kind of a dick move, but an impulsive one, and he had really meant it to be more funny than anything else. That clearly wasn’t the way she took it. He hadn’t expected her to react the way she had. She’d jumped up out of her seat and fled the bar, which made him feel like total shit.
He was listening to Brandon brag about himself over the mic and debating whether he should follow Sloane and apologize when Mr. O’Toole came over and handed a note to Lilly.
She took the mic back from Brandon. “The owner of the motorcycle with the license plate 162GHF needs to go in the parking lot. There has been a slight accident.”
He was so distracted thinking about Sloane it took him a second. Fuck. That was his bike. Damn it. He’d known he should have taken his truck tonight but the weather was just so gorgeous he hadn’t been able to resist. Summer did not last long in Northern Minnesota. He had to take advantage of it while he could.
“That’s my bike,” he told Lilly, feeling a twitch in his jaw. Cars and motorcycles were his hobby and his livelihood. They were his passion and his pride. He wasn’t going to like this.
“Oh, crap,” was Lilly’s response over the mic.
Everyone knew how he felt about his bikes.
He stormed off the stage ready to cuss out whatever drunk twenty-one-year-old had pulled out without looking and nailed his pride and joy.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a giggling co-ed.
It was Sloane, looking beautiful and annoyed.
She was standing under the sign for the bar. Spelled out over her in fluorescent lighting was Tap That. And the arrow was pointing directly to her.
Rick didn’t even want to think about the irony of that and how much he absolutely would like to take Sloane to his bed for about twenty-four hours straight. Tap That? Hell, he wanted to kiss her, lick her, and then take her hard. Repeatedly. He wanted her to grab his tap and make it pour. Fuck and fuck she was hot.
He had a rock solid cock. And he was in his underwear. He’d shed the mechanic’s jumpsuit on a dare from Axl and how here he was standing on the front walk to the bar, in fucking bare feet and tight boxer briefs. Which Sloane was staring at wide-eyed. He couldn’t tell if she was blushing or if it was the artificial lighting but she did appear flustered. Her hand fluttered up to her throat.
“Is this a ploy for a private dance?” he asked her with a grin, partly from guilt and partly from satisfaction that she seemed stunned at his physical transformation over the last decade.
“No! I didn’t see your bike. You shouldn’t have parked it so close to my car.”
That was the worst apology ever. “I always park it there. It’s my spot. Everyone knows that.”
Sloane looked exasperated, her hands dropping to her hips. “How would I know that? I just moved back three days ago.”
“Yeah, I heard that. Welcome back. Sorry for the divorce.” The minute the words were out of his mouth he mentally kicked himself. Who the fuck said that? Sorry for the divorce?
But hell, he was distracted. Sloane was even more beautiful than he had remembered. In high school she had thin eyebrows and exaggerated makeup with blonde streaks in her dark hair. She’d been fond of wearing velvet track suits that had cupped her teen ass to perfection. Now she looked more natural, less pink in her style, wearing jeans and a tank top. Her hair was dark and wavy and her face was mostly free of makeup. Her mouth was turned down in a frown at his words.
“How do you know about my divorce?”
Lilly. Teasing him. But he didn’t know if that would tick her off or not so he just shrugged. “I don’t know, why wouldn’t I? Guess I heard something. Probably from Sullivan. He is your brother, you know.”
“Yeah. My very stubborn brother.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Rick went over to his bike and inspected it, righting it. He loved this bike. The chrome was dented but otherwise nothing was damaged.
“It was an accident,” Sloane said, begrudgingly.
