Page 8 of Ridin' Free
He pulled out a barstool, and Miles jerked his chin in greeting as he straightened and addressed his VP.
“Beer?” he asked.
“You know it.”
Shadow grabbed him a bottle and uncapped it. No sooner had he set it on the bar than Twister felt a hand graze its way across his back. He didn’t even have to look to be sure it was Lyla who sidled up beside him.
It was no secret Twister was her preference. Any time he walked through the door, she flocked to him like a moth to a flame. She wasn’t the only woman at the clubhouse he’d fucked—but she was the only one confident enough to touch him like she had some sort of claim over him. She thought it meant something, the Stallions’ VP spreading her legs on the regular.
It didn’t.
Admittedly, he never curbed her boldness. She was a decent, reliable lay. For over three years, she’d seen his bed more than anyone else since she arrived—but she wasn’t his woman any more than he was her man.
It sure as fuck was not lost on him how his wasn’t the only Stallion dick she swallowed.
She was a kutte chaser, just not the brightest one in the bunch. Not to say there was anything wrong with her mind, other than the fact that she hadn’t cottoned on to the fact that Twister was never going to make her his ol’ lady.
She was playing the long game, but he wasn’t playing at all.
“Hey, Twist. How was the wedding? Boring as fuck?”
It couldn’t have been more obvious that she was salty over not having received an invite. There was no universe in which Alexia or Wrangler wanted the likes of Lyla on their guest list; and while Twister had been allowed a plus one, he was smarter than to give Lyla any ideas.
He swallowed a long pull of his beer then turned and quirked an eyebrow at her. “You think the Stallions doanythingthat’s borin’ as fuck?”
She raised her nose, like the brat she was, and shrugged, as if to express she really didn’t care after all. In spite of her attitude, there was no denying she was a looker. Her straight, silky, brunette hair was grown out past her shoulders, and her eyes were a pretty, bright blue. At twenty-six years old, she still had the body of a model—tight and toned just about everywhere. Except, in that moment, she wasn’t the slightest bit alluring.
Twister shifted his gaze behind the bar and took another pull of his beer, remembering the pair of panties still shoved inside the front pocket of his jeans.
Lyla changed tactics.
She pressed her breasts against the side of his arm and slid a hand onto his jean-clad thigh. “Wanna mess around? It’s been a few days.”
He lowered his beer and shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Oh, come on, babe,” she pouted, moving to cup her hand around his crotch. “I miss you and your giant dick.”
For a fraction of a second, his mind took him back. He could feel himself starting to get hard, but it wasn’t because of Lyla’s touch. It was the memory of Phoenix easing her way over his shaft.
Fuck, but she’d been tight.
He remembered the way her head dropped back, causing the ends of her long, wild mane to brush across his thighs. He recalled how much he wanted to touch her, to explore her sexy, little body with his hands, and the adamant way she insisted otherwise.
Hell, he wanted another night.
Lyla squeezed at his junk, and Twister immediately reached down and gripped her wrist before yanking away her hand. Hishold tight, he looked her in the eye and said, “Lyla, couldnotmake myself more clear. Me and my dick are quite satisfied.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, and he could see her mind working behind those blue irises. When she pulled at her wrist, he let her go, but she wasn’t ready to relent.
“What isthatsupposed to mean?”
Twister’s patience was spent. He let her know this as he replied, “Get gone, girl. Sure as shit not arguin’ with you about it.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, Twister quirked an eyebrow at her, and she thought better of it. With her lips pressed in a straight line, she huffed out a breath and stomped off across the room. Twister went back to his beer, not the least bit bothered.
I wason thecusp of consciousness, the sound of chirping birds drifting into my bedroom through the open window above my bed, my mind trapped in the same dream I’d had the last three nights.
Except, it wasn’t just a dream.
