Page 2 of Piston

I stare him down, arms crossed. His apology hangs between us, feeble and unwanted. I don't need his regrets. Don't need his words.

"Save it," I spit out.

Piston looks like he's been slapped, regret etched into the hard lines of his jaw. He knows he screwed up, but his sorry isn't changing a damn thing.

"Look, Jenny—" he starts, but I'm not here for it.

"Talk to the hand, 'cause the face ain't listening," I say, cutting him off mid-apology with a flick of my wrist.

Dagger's at the edge of the bar, watching the scene unfold. I catch his eye, and there's an unspoken agreement in that split second. I push through the crowd, grab Dagger by the hand, and jerk my head toward the makeshift dance floor.

"Let's dance," I tell him, and he doesn't need to be told twice.

"Lead the way, Darlin'," Dagger grunts, voice a low rumble that somehow smooths the jagged edge inside me.

We leave Piston standing there, his mouth open like he's got more to say, but I'm done listening. The music swallows us as we move away, the thumping bass a welcome distraction from the bullshit.

We hit the floor, bodies pressed close in the sea of leather and denim. No words now, just movement and heat. And for a moment, just a brief goddamn moment, I forget about Piston and his poisonous tongue.

ONE

JENNY

“So anyway,I tell him there's no way I'm going out with him after what he did to Jessica,” Brandy says as I finish trimming her short dark hair. “I mean, can you believe the nerve of that guy?”

“What a douche.” I snip a few stray hairs around her ear. “You dodged a bullet there, honey. Plus, there are plenty of men out there who’d die to get with you.”

She laughs. “Yeah right. Did you hear about Maggie’s new guy? I heard he rides a Harley.” Brandy raises an eyebrow at me in the mirror.

I grin, fluffing her hair. “Is that so? Good for her. Those bikers are fucking hot.”

I glance at the clock. Shoot, almost time for my bartending shift at Jake’s. I still need to clean up and change.

“All right, Brandy, you’re all set! Looking fabulous as always.” I whip off the cape dramatically. “Same time next month?”

“You know it, girl. Thanks!” Brandy hops out of the chair and walks up to the front to pay.

I quickly sweep up the hair clippings, my mind already jumping ahead to tonight’s shift, pouring drinks at Jake’s.

I grab my bag and head to the bathroom. Tossing my apron in the hamper, I check my makeup in the mirror and throw on my tight tank top with “Jake’s Sports Bar” written on the front. I give a half hearted shrug in the mirror. This’ll have to do.

“Bye, ladies,” I call as I leave and walk out to my car. Those drinks aren’t gonna pour themselves, and I have a feeling it’s gonna be one hell of a night. My two lives—hair stylist by day, bartender by night—keep me on my toes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As I drive to the bar, I crank up the radio, singing along to a gritty rock tune, fingers tapping the steering wheel to the beat. The drive flies by, anticipation buzzing through my veins as I pull into the parking lot. Gravel crunches under my tires as I park in my usual spot.

Grabbing my bag, I make my way to the back entrance. As I swing open the heavy door, the familiar scent of stale beer envelops me. I breathe it in, a grin spreading across my face. I’m in my element.

“Jenny!” Mike, the head bartender, calls out as I walk in. “Ready for another wild night?”

“Born ready,” I laugh, tossing my bag in the back room and tying a black apron around my waist.

I join Mike behind the bar, giving him a fist bump. We work seamlessly together, like we have for the past few years.

The regulars start trickling in and I pour a row of shots, knowing their usual orders by heart.

“Jenny, darlin’, how about a kiss with that whiskey?” Big John calls out, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“In your dreams, big guy,” I fire back, sliding his shot across the bar with a wink.

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