Page 22 of Dealing Dirty
“Part of the gang? No, I’m not.” Hazel says nothing more on the matter, and I decide it’s best to leave that one alone, too.
She downs the rest of her beer and slides the mug across the counter toward Micah. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Juliana,” I offer just as the front door swings open.
The tarp swishes as two men waltz through, ignoring Tank and scanning their dark eyes over every inch of the room. The sound of rain fades as the door gradually closes.
“Who are they?” I whisper to no one in particular.
Hazel’s body stiffens from the corner of my eye, but I can’t seem to tear my gaze from the newcomers. Tank unfurls to his full height, joints cracking and lip snarling as he places his ginormous frame directly in front of them.
The taller muscular man in front throws his hands up. “Easy, big fella. We’re not here to cause any trouble.” His voice is smooth and paired with a charming smile. “There’s a black Volvo out there with a slashed tire. We thought it would be awful rude of us not to let somebody know.”
Winking at Tank, he steps around his broad body and runs his hands over the sides of his head. I’m reminded of a greaser with his black hair, leather jacket, and white T-shirt. That outfit would have matched perfectly with my getup from Margie’s.
His cool gaze follows Jack as he and Derrick stride over.
Jack slaps Tank’s shoulder before addressing them. “No worries, fellas. We’ll get it taken care of. Thanks.”
After a few tense beats, Tank relents, stepping aside to allow Derrick and Jack to investigate. The guy flanking the man’s side wears dark clothing, and I note his worn-out boots.
They could be another motorcycle club, but they don’t wear the vests I’ve seen the clubs wear around here—cuts, I believe I’ve heard them call the sleeveless leather. There also aren’t any patches on their clothes to mark them as such.
Like a wraith, someone from Hazel’s crew magically appears next to us. My palms begin to sweat all over again.
“Hey, Coop.” Hazel barely acknowledges the man as she introduces us. “Juliana, this is Cooper, the VP of the Wolves.”
Good God. I’m shook by how handsome he is. I eye Hazel curiously. Maybe she’s not into men—but then the jury’s still out on whether or not she’s crazy. This man is straight up swoonworthy.
I muster what I hope is a smile. “Nice to meet you, Cooper.”
The new guys make a leisurely stroll around the place, stopping at the dart boards. Once I’m confident they’re far enough away, I turn to Hazel. “Do you know them?”
She shakes her head, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “No, and I don’t think I want to.”
Cooper throws money on the bar for our pitcher and slides me a tip as well.
“Thank you?” I question the gesture, but his interest is wholly consumed by the beauty next to me. There’s something in the way he looks at her; it’s not exactly romantic, but there’s definitely some sort of bond between the two.
He’s probably five or so years older than Hazel—definitely closer to my age—and his hair is a rusty brown. The color suits his pale blue eyes and gives him a softer appearance, but the fingerless leather gloves and dirty bandana around his neck remind me not to let my guard down.
“Thanks for being my drinking buddy.” Hazel winks before hopping off the stool and following Cooper back over to the pool tables.
The bubbles in my still-full beer tickle my nose when I take a sip. Jack doesn’t fuss too much about us drinking on the job as long as someone buys it for us, so I don’t feel guilty enjoying a little refreshment.
Drenched from the rain, Jack and Derrick appear next to the bar—having come through the back hall. I swallow thickly when Derrick runs a hand over his slicked-back hair. His thin shirt does little to hide the muscles rippling beneath it.
My pulse quickens as I set my glass down and shove it away. I will not ogle him like he’s a grade A choice cut of meat.
Okay, maybe just one more look—
A dark figure brushes past me, bumping my elbow. An apology dries in my throat when the man who warned the guys about the car out front gifts me a sultry smile. His gaze fixes on me like a fox looking at a prize hen. “Excuse me, do you work here?”
I motion to my half apron and kick up my chin. “What was your first clue?”
A flash of humor crosses his face. “Are you always so sweet to your customers?”
There’s a sheepish curl to his full lips as he steps into my personal space. My heartbeat ratchets its way to an unstable rhythm. “Just the lucky ones.”
