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“Do you blame them?” I lean down. “I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re fucking gorgeous.”
She smiles, and I have an urge to kiss the red from her gorgeous lips.
TJ is tending bar, and when she sees Rory, she grins. “What can I get you, honey?”
“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks.” She digs into her purse for money, but I stop her.
“You don’t need to do that, it’s free.”
“Free?”
“For the Kings and their dates, yes. And if it weren’t, I’d be paying, not you.”
A wicked gleam enters her eyes. “So… this is a date?”
God, she’s cute.
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, it’s a date.”
Rob Zombie is playing as we take our drinks and move away from the bar.
All eyes are still on us.
It’s a weird sensation.
I like the way my brothers sweep their appreciative gazes up and down her perfect body, but I also want to kill them for doing it.
I wrap a possessive arm around her waist and lead her to a booth where we sit.
Paw appears beside me. “You’re needed outside,” he says. “It’s Gabe.”
I glance at my girl, but I don’t want to leave her. “Is it urgent?”
“I don’t know if I’d call a half-naked Gabe dry humping the fountain urgent. But Jack wants you to help get him down.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, wait till you have a visual.”
I stand and take a quick look around the room. At one of the tables near the bar, Earl and Wyatt are locked in an arm wrestle. Farther down, on one of the couches, Loki is receiving a lap dance from the blonde girl I’d seen him with at Family Day.
Metallica’s “Sad But True” plays as a dancer with hot pink hair works the pole on the small stage beneath a massive Kings of Mayhem sign.
And in the corner, club girls circle Bam and Merrick as they play pool with Dakota Joe and Shooter. Any minute now, Shooter’s girlfriend, Beth, will walk in, and all the club girls will scatter. Beth isn’t known for having a sunshiny personality, and none of them want to be on the receiving end of her razor-sharp tongue.
I lean toward Rory and ask quietly, “Will you be okay if I go handle this for a moment?”
She smiles. “Have you seen where I work? This is like daycare in comparison. Go look after your friend.”
Her response makes me grin.
She fits in here. This could work. The thought hits me without warning, and I don’t know how I feel about it.
I follow Paw out of the clubhouse.
“Gabe’s losing it. Poor fuck,” he says. “His head is totally screwed up over his divorce.”
Gabe has climbed the old fountain and is straddling the cement mermaid. He’s holding up a near-empty bottle of Tennessee whisky and singing Puddle of Mud’s “She Fucking Hates Me.”
