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“By way of apology,” Rafe said. He ignored Max’s grunt expressing his disapproval. He wasn’t big on diplomacy—or subtle revenge.
A confused and sullen look told Rafe that whatever Brad had been hoping for, this wasn’t it. He grunted something as Trudy came over with a sponge and mop and chatted with them while she cleaned things up, and Simone got the fresh drinks.
When order was restored and the drinkers once again drinking, Rafe caught sight of Sam. Simone was right. He was pissed. What he was pissed about was another matter. It was hard to read his face.
Now, sitting alone again with his drink, Brad’s face was easy to read. He’d intended to create a scene, but he hadn’t thought it through. He’d probably had some half-formed thought he could make it seem that Rafe and Max had started something. Or maybe he wanted to goad one of them into hitting him so he could be the victim. Hitting him didn’t seem like a totally bad idea, but it didn’t hold much promise of being satisfying either. Max would probably disagree, but he wasn’t making tracks to introduce his fist to the guy’s face, so he must have discarded the idea too.
If he did fight Brad, he was sure he’d hurt the man. He was out of shape—soft. More than that, they couldn’t win a fight with the man. If either of them beat up Brad, they’d be the biker bully, and if they lost, well, Brad would gain stature. So, he’d opted for excessive politeness. Max must have decided to defer to his lead. Despite his build and air that suggested he was full of pent-up violence, he was rather chill about such things and tended to take Rafe’s lead. It was one thing that made him a good apprentice.
Besides, Brad was just an annoying distraction. Rafe didn’t give a shit about the man. Simone was his focus. Rafe had taken a shine to her and wanted to find out more, though he was still unsure if there would be conflict with Max. She didn’t seem to care about Brad at all, which was good, but it clearly bothered Brad. He was jealous. Unrequited love was a pain.
Brad sullenly finished his drink, glaring at Rafe, and then he called for his check. When he paid it, he grabbed up his laptop and headed out the door.
“Brad doesn’t look so good with shit on his face,” said one of the men at the table.
Max grunted again, and Rafe let the comment pass. He had to weigh his options. His presence was an irritant to Brad, but it wasn’t the real issue the man had. No, he was after Simone, resenting the fact she didn’t go for him. Whether or not Rafe kept coming in the bar, he had no doubt Brad would work himself up to making real trouble.
Tripping Simone was a strange and impulsive act—he was acting out like a little kid, and that was disturbing. Rafe had no trouble with the foolishness of bikers. It was seldom complicated. If a guy thought you were messing with his woman, he’d offer to remove your head, meaning it. But they didn’t get all sneaky, and they weren’t possessive about women that didn’t even want them—not normally.
“Keep your eye on that guy,” Rafe told Simone when things had calmed down. “Something is bugging him—it’s bubbling to the surface.”
“Yeah,” said Max.
“He’s jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Of what?” asked Max.
“He fancies himself hot shit and thinks I should fall all over myself to be nice to him. Thing is, he hasn’t a clue how to be either macho or nice.”
“He has to be macho for you to notice him?” asked Max, looking surprised.
She shook her head. “Nah. It’s just all fake with him. He tries to seem macho but isn’t.”
Rafe began to understand. “He didn’t like you talking to us.”
“He thinks I should stand at his table all night, laughing at his jokes.”
“He might be real trouble.” Max scratched the stubble on his chin as though in deep thought.
“Brad? I can handle him.”
“I hope so,” said Rafe.
Simone seemed surprised. “Why do you care?”
“I guess it’s partly because I seem to have set him off.”
“Certainly, he didn’t take to you.” She laughed. “I guess he’s immune to your charms, Hacker.”
Max laughed along with her, and Rafe shot him a sour look. “And partly that I don’t like seeing people causing trouble, especially when it involves someone I think I might like.”
She smiled. “Are you saying you might like me?”
“I just might.” He winked. “Enough to ask you to call me Rafe. And this is Max.” He shot a look requesting permission from his friend to issue the invitation, though it was belatedly.
She blinked, looking flustered for a second. “Your real names, huh? Didn’t you have to swear off using them?”
