Page 122 of After All This Time

"You're such a distraction."

"I just came here to watch you dance." The grin in his voice is impossible to miss, and his beautiful laugh fills the room.

I turn in his arms, ready to fire back, and he catches my mouth in a slow kiss. "Shower with me. I promise I'll make you comeagain."

Screw it. If he doesn't care, then neither do I.

"Make it three times, and you've got a deal."

Chapter 47

Amelia

"You know you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen behind a bar," Ray slurs, his words thick with cheap beer and whiskey. He's been planted on that barstool all night with his crew, trading war stories and putting away more drinks than I care to count.

"Thanks, Ray." I smile back, pouring just the right amount of sweetness into my tone to keep him cheerful without encouraging him too much. "You're the most charming guy who owns a Harley that I think I've ever served."

He lights up like I've just made his whole night, swaying against the bar like that last shot finally caught up with him.

"I call bullshit," Tate cuts in, his voice carrying just enough bite to make Ray frown.

"Ah, fuck off," Ray mumbles, throwing an unsteady arm around Tate's shoulders and nearly taking them both out in the process. "You're just pissed she didn'tstroke youregoinstead." His words start to run together, but his smile is pure mischief.

I love it here. It's so different from the plastic paradise I've been suffocating in these past few years. Here, everything's real and alive—the complete opposite of those "social gatherings" where fun meant sitting around with silicone-stuffed vultures who got off on tearing people apart with perfectly manicured claws.

It's ironic, really. My mom used to hate those kinds of women. She'd roll her eyes at their pretentious airs and fake kindness and swore she'd never become one of them. But money and power are straight poison for the soul, and somewhere between her first Botox appointment and joining the board of Rich Bitches Anonymous, it corrupted hers, gift wrapped it for Satan himself, and left her with nothing but ice in her veins and a stick so far up her ass she could probably taste wood.

But here? This is real life. The air hits differently. The people don't pretend to be anything but what they are—their laughs aren't practiced, and their conversations actually mean something. Sometimes they talk absolute shit, but at least it's honest shit. It's exactly the kind of place Kayla Sinclair would call trash—beneath her precious country club status and her weekly appointments with whatever poor bastard has to maintain her face. And maybe that's why it feels more like home than any million-dollar prison ever could.

"Who's the most charming person you've seen on a Harley if it isn't Ray?" I ask Tate, laughing as I bend down to grab another beer from the fridge.

"Let me answer that when I've seen you on mine."

I straighten up, rolling my eyes, and pop the cap off the bottle. "Never gonna happen."

"You ever ridden?" he asks, that smirk spreading wider as he lounges against the counter, radiating the kind of confidence that comes from getting his way too often.

"Nope. I need my legs for my career," I reply, sliding the beer across to him.

"You should get on the back of mine sometime," he pushes.

Before Tobias, I might've considered it. I still would've said no because no way am I risking my dream for five minutes wrapped around a hot guy. But since Tobias, there's no chance in hell I'm putting my hands on anyone else. We haven't defined whatever this thing is between us, but it's carved in stone all the same. There's no room for anyone else—not if we want to keep what we have from burning to the ground.

"No, thank you, but Harper might be interested if you ask her the next time she's here." The words leave my lips casually, but the reaction hits like a bomb.

Logan, who'sbeen quietly focused on paperwork beside me, suddenly stills. He turns slowly, his gaze locking on Tate. "Don't even think about it," he growls, his voice promising nothing but a world of pain if his cousin even considers it.

Tate grins, lifting his beer in mock surrender. "I'm not into girls who are already mentally married to someone else."

Tate drains his beer, throws me a wink, and swaggers off while Logan lets out a breath. "I like her," he mutters, almost too quiet to catch.

"Then tell her, dumbass," I snap. "Because, surprise, she's just as gone for you."

"Screw it,"he mutters, yanking his phone from his pocket and furiously typing.

"What did you say?"I ask, fighting back a grin.

"I told her to get down to the bar."

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