Page 15 of Bull's Boy

That was all he said, but Tony nodded, grabbing the clingy man by the back of the neck and steering him away. “Excuse us.”

“What just happened?” Malcolm asked, laughing awkwardly.

Bull shook his head, rubbing a hand on the back of his head and then waving at someone who shouted his name from across the room. “Don’t worry about it. Roman is just… Roman. I promise everyone else is gonna be nice.”

That’s what he’d said in his truck on the way to the clubhouse. Several times, actually. He’d also reassured Malcolm that it was okay he was attending the party, a brand-new worry unlocking when he’d found out it was for someone’s birthday. Now that they were there, he could see Bull had been right about no onecaring he was crashing. Based on the crowd, Malcolm sort of doubted anyone would evennotice. One of the benefits of his stature, he didn’t tend to stand out in large groups.

“Drink?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Bull gave him a careful sort of smile, and while Malcolm appreciated being allowed to tag along, he didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves. He also didn’t expect Bull to babysit him all night. As soon as he got a lay of the land, he’d tell him to go have fun with his friends. He’d mentioned his brother wasn’t going to be there, but based on the fact that a prospective member of the club knew who Bull was, Malcolm figured he was probably friends with most of the actual members.

Malcolm would be okay on his own, mingling and chatting. Maybe he’d even ask one of the women moving around the room to dance. He spotted a gorgeous redhead laughing over on a sofa, but when she leaned forward, he could see that the top of the vest she wore saidProperty of.

He’d have to be careful who he approached. He couldn’t imagine most bikers would take too kindly to an outsider hitting on their girlfriend.

They made their way to the back of the first floor of the clubhouse, the space seeming even bigger than it had from outside. He tried not to gawk, but there was so much to see. The Pride flag hanging on the wall made him smile and wish Dahlia and Becca could have come. But it was the people who mostly held his attention. There was seating around the outside of the room, but the middle had been cleared out and was being utilized as a dance floor.

Bull led him around the edge of the mass of people, but Malcolm could still see what was happening. A lot of folks were wearing leather vests, some even leather pants, but it was the way they danced with their partners that had his heart beating faster. As he watched, one guy—who had to be nearly as big as Bull but with a bit more of a beard—kissed his dance partner while pushing a leg between the shorter guy’s thighs and gripping his ass with both hands. Even from where he stood, he could see their tongues tangling, their bodies mostly just pushing against each other in a way that made his face feel warm.

They weren’t the only ones either.

There were other men together, as well as a woman with bright purple hair singing along to the song and fondling her female dance partner’s breasts at the same time. Near the edge of the open space was a couple in their forties or fifties just sort of swaying together, and Malcolm thought it was really sweet… until he noticed the man was obviously fingering her from behind, the back of her skirt flashing part of her ass that appeared to have a tattoo on it.

Pants tighter than was appropriate for a public setting—though what the hell did he know since these people were practically having sex in front of him—he didn’t realize he’d stopped moving and was straight up staring until Bull came back for him, startling him with a hand on his shoulder.

He jerked his head around, then wished he could disappear into the ground when Bull looked to where he’d just been staring. Bull’s cheeks flushed a light pink, barely noticeable compared to Malcolm’s lobster-red face probably.

Dropping his gaze to Malcolm, Bull studied him for an agonizing second and then jerked his thumb behind him, toward a different crowd near the back wall. “Come on.”

Knees a little unsteady, he got with the program, relieved when they found an open space at the long bar. There were two people on the other side making drinks. The young woman was gorgeous, her dark brown hair down past her shoulders, smile wide and genuine, and tits barely contained in the tiny crop top she wore. When she turned to grab a bottle, he realized the shirt wasn’t plain black like he’d thought. The MC’s emblem of a winged skull and fist was on the back, stretching shoulder to shoulder.

He was disappointed when the other bartender came over to serve them—not that he’d actually planned on hitting on her. His ego had taken enough of a beating for the week, but he wouldn’t have minded looking a little longer.

The other person was a young man around his age, with eyeliner drawing attention to his green eyes and his own crop top showing off some impressive abs. Irritation sparked in him as the guy ignored him and eyeballed Bull like he was a piece of grade A beef.

“Hey, big guy,” the bartender said, practically purring as he leaned his arms on the oak bar top and ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “What can I offer you?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes at the blatant come-on. Was this the kind of guy Bull was interested in? Someone who probably flirted with everybody he served and didn’t actually care what a great guy Bull was.

Glancing up to gauge Bull’s reaction, he was surprised to find that serious face directed at him. “Want a beer? Houston stocks some great local stuff.”

“That sounds great.” He mostly drank wine since Dahlia hated beer and was the one to splurge every now and then on alcohol.

Bull ordered them two of some brand he’d never heard of, and the bartender pouted at the lack of reaction to his come-hither approach, but he got them their bottles quickly and then slipped away without saying anything else. Furrowing his brows, he started to pull out some money, but Bull was already dropping a twenty into the closest tip jar.

“We didn’t pay though?” Malcolm said, then nearly moaned as he took a sip of his drink. “Shit, that’s good.”

“The MC doesn’t charge for drinks at the clubhouse,” a bright, friendly voice said behind him.

Malcolm whipped around, then did his best not to stare at the bright purple hair—the same color as the woman’s he’d seen on the dance floor—or tiny skirt on the man who’d spoken. The guy grinned, like he could tell Malcolm didn’t know what to make of him.

He heard Bull say something behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he found him turned away, talking to a scary-looking guy with mismatched eyes. Even though he’d planned on telling Bull he didn’t need to hover over him all night, he was oddly annoyed at being ignored so quickly.

“So,” the feminine guy said, drawing Malcolm’s attention back to him. “Bull, huh?”

Frowning, he took another sip of beer. “What about him?”

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