Page 65 of When the Smoke Clears

I shrug. “Not much to share, honestly.”

Pete gives me a skeptical look. “You need a drink?”

“Sure.”

He heads toward to the front door by way of the bar. We stop at the glossy bar top and the lone man there salutes me with his beer.

I offer a friendly, “Hey.”

“McCoy,” is all he says. His curt speech reminds me of Colt, only this guy has the bad-boy look in spades.

“Nice to meet you.”

Ginger leans against the bar with a less-than-hospitable look. I don’t know what her damn problem is. It’s already been made abundantly clear why I’m here. What could she possibly have a problem with? “What can I getcha, Mouse?”

My temper flares.

“Don’t be stupid, Ginger,” Pete says from behind me. McCoy’s attention doesn’t leave us.

“Do I look meek to you?” I cock my head.

“That’s not what she means,” Pete grumbles.

I lean both hands onto the bar and press my face closer to hers. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you mean,Ginger.”

She stands upright and crosses her arms. “I don’t care if you’re some little runaway. This isn’t your home.”

I laugh. “I’m not a runaway. I don’t know what your problem is, but if you’re worried that I’m going to stop you from fucking my dad, then reel it in. I don’t care who you, or he, bangs.”

Ginger’s face turns a deep shade of red and her smug look falters.

“And for the record, I’m no fucking mouse. James’ support or not, you’ll meet claws if you come at me.”

Pete wraps an arm around my waist from behind, pulling me toward the front door. “Come on, Maci.”

I hold Ginger’s eyes until they search for my father. James watches intently, though he doesn’t say anything.

McCoy lets out a low whistle as we walk by. “Well, you can certainly see the Irish fire in that one.” He takes another long pull from his beer.

Outside, Pete releases me at the same time I shove away from him. “You good?” He studies my face, waiting.

I just stare at him. He continues to wait with a pointed look.

Releasing a huge breath, I scan the lot. “Ok, so maybe I overreacted a little bit.”

His eyebrows raise slightly. “I mean, I like a good cat fight, but I don’t want to see you tussle with Ginger.” He puts a hand up. “It’s not that I don’t think you can handle your own. In fact, I know you can. But I need you to put in a good word for me with Leah, and I need James to let me stick around, so keeping you out of drama is going to be a priority.”

“I don’t need you to keep me out of drama.” I cross my arms. I don’t address the Leah bit, even though I remember his puppy dog eyes when we left that night. “Just tell me what that comment was.”

“A house mouse.” He shifts back and forth on his feet, rubbing the top of his backward cap with a hand. “She was just being a bitch.”

I say nothing, and he eventually continues. “It’s a term sometimes used for young runaways. They want a bad boy and find their way to MC clubhouses. Some stick around for work, some stick around for dick.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, my blood reheating angrily.

“She’s not fucking James,” he continues. I don’t look at him. “She probablywould,given the chance, but she’s not his type. Come to think of it, I don’t actually know if he has a type.”

I hold a hand up by my face to stop him talking and figuratively push away the unwanted details. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need or want to know about his sex life. We’ve barely met each other, and I’m just trying to see if we can have a real relationship.”

---