Page 4 of Rooster


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I crooked a finger in Tank’s direction. He arched an eyebrow.

Goddamn, I thought. I could get into a lot of trouble with a man like that. Then again, there was a gold band on his ring finger, indicating someone had already staked their claim on him.

Tank braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. It put his arms on display, right where I wanted him. Tattoos spiraled up from his wrist, disappearing beneath his shirt. I reached out and hooked one finger under his sleeve, pushing it up to expose his bicep that was nearly as big as my head.

“You’ve got some nice ink.”

Rooster made a sound of annoyance. He pushed away from his seat and retrieved a beer for himself before he returned to his stool.

The corner of Tank’s mouth twitched with a smile.

“Thanks. My wife thinks so too.”

Oh, he was good. Sliding that mention of his wife into the conversation so smoothly, pride evident in his voice. This man was madly in love with one very lucky lady and no one was going to change that.

Rooster said, “If you wanted to feel someone up, I’m sitting right here.”

I chuckled and turned to look at him, propping my chin in my hand with amusement.

From the other side of the bar, Mack called, “I’d be happy to show you my tattoos, love. You can take a nice long look at them. Up close and personal. I don’t mind.”

I shifted around on my bar stool to face Mack. He grinned at me from where he sat in a booth, one arm draped over the back. His buddy—Red, if I remembered correctly—simply shook his head and rolled his eyes as if to say,he’s hopeless, don’t pay any attention to him.

“I don’t know,” I said, twisting my mouth to one side as if chagrined. “You seem a little too eager to me. In my experience, that usually means you’re overcompensating for something.”

Rooster choked on his beer. A few hoots of laughter echoed through the clubhouse. Diablo cackled from his position at the pool table.

“Well, damn. She read you to filth, brother.”

Mack shook his head with a grin.

“That doesn’t bother me at all. I like a lady with a sharp tongue.”

Rooster set his beer down with a hard thunk on the countertop. Without thinking, I put my hand on his forearm. He’d taken off his jacket at some point—though I didn’t remember when—and now my palm was touching the bare skin of his arm. He was warm—so warm—and I could feel the shift and flex of muscle when he moved.

I needed to pull away. One touch always acted like a spark between us, igniting a wildfire that burned and burned, never satisfied and hungry for more.

It seemed even after twelve years had passed, hundreds of miles keeping us apart, that spark was still alive and well.

My fingers drifted higher, tracing the vein that traveled through the crook of Rooster’s elbow. When his gaze met mine, my breath caught in my throat and electricity sizzled through my body.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. I jumped at the intrusion.

“Sorry, I should probably get that.”

Fumbling my phone out of my pocket, my heart sank as I read the text.

No matter where you go, I will find you and bring you home.

“Lou?”

Rooster’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced up to find him staring at me with a frown of concern. He shifted closer, his fingers cupping my elbow.

“What’s going on, Lou?” he whispered, his Southern accent slow and thick as molasses.

His voice always made me melt. Sliding right past every wall I’d ever built and wrapping around me, providing safety, understanding, love, protection.

God, I missed him. I missed him so much that it felt as if my heart had been carved out of my chest.

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