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It wasn’t Wayne’s first tatt, but unless he had some hiding somewhere, the only ones Moose had ever noticed were no bigger than his thumb. Going from that to a full-back tatt was a big leap, no matter who the hell you were.
“I’m stopping after I finish some of this shading,” Cricket informed them, his focus intent on his work. “Try not to keel over before then. Makes me look bad.”
Wayne shook his head, looking all exasperated. Couldn’t blame the guy. They’d all taken their fair share of turns jabbing at him tonight. Wouldn’t be a proper patch party if they didn’t.
“I, for one, hope he faints so I can call him Scarlet,” Country remarked from across the room where he was playing a friendly game of ping-pong shots with their president, Quick.
“Why do we have to wait for him to pass out to call him that?” Quick asked. “He still needs a handle. I vote we roll with it.”
“Would you all stop busting my balls? Damn,” Wayne complained. “And I will have you know that Scarlet was a fine-ass woman with some serious cajones, okay? I could do worse.”
Everyone laughed then. Moose just grinned and took stock of his family. A man couldn’t ask for a better one, blood related or not. These men were absolutely the best people to surround yourself with. They knew how to have a good time and have your back forward and sideways. As much as he sometimes wanted to beat their asses, he wouldn’t trade ‘em. And wasn’t that what family was all about?
“What are you doing over there anyway?” Country asked Moose. “You’ve been all contemplative looking since that little girl walked out of here earlier. You got the feels or somethin’?”
Moose curled his lip and shifted to reach his phone tucked in his butt pocket. “Ain’t no feels involved, unless you’re talkin’ about the physical kind.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Then I got a whole lot of ‘em if you know what I mean.”
Country glanced around at the rest of the brothers, including them in the conversation. “Moose has been sporting some serious wood lately. I can’t even walk into a room without feeling violated.”
“Gotta be the girl, then,” Taco said, then tipped his head back to drink his beer, his playful gaze still set on Moose.
Moose raised his hand and slowly lifted his middle finger. “Y’all just mind your business. What I do or don’t do with my dick is private.”
“Not when it’s waving hello to everyone,” Quick chimed in, then plucked a ball into one of the plastic cups.
“No fuckin’ way!” Country shouted. “I swear, you’re cheating! No one drinks as much as you have tonight and keeps winning.”
Quick shrugged. “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game. Now shut your yap and drink up, brother.”
Grumbling, Country got down to it.
Moose checked the time on his phone. It was well after midnight, and he remembered how he’d told Mouse he’d be by later. It was probably well past “later” in her book, but he was just getting the night started.
He considered shooting off a quick text, maybe calling her to tell her to get ready for him, but then he figured why bother? If she wanted him like he thought she did, then she should be ready for him any hour of the day or night.
“Any of you bastards feel like driving me somewhere?”
“Business or pleasure?” Taco asked.
“Definitely pleasure.”
Taco vacated his fold-out chair as Moose lumbered to his feet. Slinging on his leather jacket, Taco jerked his head to the side. “I gotta head home anyway. I’ll give ya a lift.”
“Aw, you guys are seriously ditching us? The night is still young!” Country shouted.
Moose ignored the uttered complaints and fell into step behind Taco as they headed for the side door. “You assholes can crash inside if you need to. But y’all better make sure to clean this shit up before you leave.”
“Yes, Mommy,” he heard as he stepped out into the night. He didn’t need to look back to know what jerk-off had said it. The Southern accent tipped him off just fine.
He had some itching powder from last April fool’s that should clear that attitude right up.
Taco got into the little IROC first, then reached over to pop the lock on the passenger door. As Moose hunkered down into the cool leather seat, he said, “You ever think about upgrading? You know, power locks, windows, automatic tranny…”
Taco scoffed as if Moose had just said something truly offensive. “This baby is a fully-restored antique. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can trump her.”
“The new Camaros are pretty damn sweet is all I’m sayin’.” He loved old-fashioned muscle. As a mechanic, of course he did. It was practically a rite of passage, but he still had a healthy appreciation for the modern conveniences.
“And they’re all cheap plastic. Get in an accident? Totaled. This baby? She’s the one doing the totaling.”
