Page 164 of Burning Ember
I look toward the hallway, but it’s empty. When my gaze circles the room, it locks with Dozer’s who’s standing behind the pool table. His eyes are hard, but more cold than furious. Star is pressed up against him, and Dozer has his massive hands on her hips. Before I can look away, he bends down and kisses her.
“What we drinkin’?” Griz plops down on the other side of Bodie.
“Cherry Bombs,” Bodie admits.
The old ginger’s eyebrows shoot up, and then he rolls his hand in the air. “Whatever. Just keep ’em comin’.” Leaning forward and peering at me, he says, “Mav’s gonna be a little bit, Doll. Nothin’ you need to worry about. He’s just hangin’ back to talk to Edge.”
I nod and join in the banter that seems to always occur whenever Bodie’s around. For a few moments, we are caught up in the conversation and forget about the party starting up around us.
Until Star lets out one of those horrid cries. Like the ones I heard behind Mav’s door yesterday when she was with Edge.
Morbid curiosity wins out and I peer into the mirror. Dozer still has hold of Star’s hips, but now he’s pushed her face forward over the pool table as he works his hand under her skirt. The skirt that’s currently up and around her waist. It’s all too easy to figure out what he’s doing by the strain of his forearm muscles and the way her body jerks forward.
The sight makes me damn near lose all the alcohol I’ve spent the last half hour slamming.
One of his hands unbuttons his jeans and moves down. I know what’s coming next, so I focus my eyes elsewhere. I absolutely do not need to see this. I tell myself not to look again, or raise my eyes to the mirror.
I can hear it though. And worse, the men nearby egg him on.
Yes, I know on some level that it’s wrong that it affects me. Why should I care? I’m with Mav. But as I study my feelings, I realize I’m not jealous. I’m revolted. He’s better than this.
The guilt hurts my heart when I think that maybe he’s doing this because I’ve hurt him, rejected him just like Bethany did. And it saddens me to see a great guy like him lower himself to touch a tramp like Star. Especially when the woman he should be with, the woman he should fight for, is less than ten miles away. Hell, she’s probably having a glass of wine and fantasizing about him right now.
“How about you, Pumpkin? You want another?”
I look up at Lita. “Sure.”
She slides the small shot glass toward me. As I take the shot, I feel a presence at my back. The people around me stop laughing and chatting. With the glass still to my lips I turn.
“Just wanted to show you, that in case you thought I wasn’t a big enough dick for you”—Dozer rubs his hand over his crotch—“that I got plenty of this to go around. Because that’s your thing, right?”
Speechless, I stare into his hard, gray eyes and lower the glass. Someone, I think Lily takes it from my lifeless hand.
I nearly spit out the words,just because you’re not man enough to fight for your happiness doesn’t mean you get to screw with mine.But I get the feeling that would only make this situation worse. He’s angry and running my mouth is probably not the best thing to do.
“Lita, pass me a bottle of Jim,” Dozer speaks over my head. He reaches forward, and I move to avoid him touching me. Throwing me a deadly glare, he laughs darkly, “What you think I still want Mav’s sloppy seconds? Sorry, babe, that ship has s—”
It happens so fast, that it only registers after the fact. My hand burns. I hold it, shocked as it throbs. Dozer’s irises spark with shock, and all conversation in the room suddenly lulls. Whether due to the new bikers flooding into the doorway, or from the slap that caused a handprint to bloom on Dozer’s cheek, I’m not sure.
“I might have been what you wanted for a time, but I wasn’t what you needed. I was a distraction. Star’s a distraction.” My voice is barely audible. He blinks down at me. “I’m sorry you can’t see that.” Going up on my tippy toes, I kiss his red cheek. “Stop wasting your time on the wrong women and go change her mind. You’re better than this.”
A strong hand grabs mine and pulls me away. Sparks fire from the touch and my gaze shifts to Mav.
His eyes dart from me to Dozer. “What’d he say to you? Did he touch you?”
“Nothing. No,” I answer. Mav looks to Dozer for the truth.
Dozer clears his throat, and I hear him say behind me, “She was just letting me know where I stand and giving me what I deserve.”
A good song affects us whether we want it to or not. A great song becomes a part of our story.
EMBER
Bodie’s on the dance floor with a black-haired minx behind him, and two Barbie-blondes rubbing against each of his thighs. He’s singing loudly and off key to the music. Every so often, he stops to make-out with one of the women grinding on him, only to break away a moment later and resume his performance.
“Why doesn’t someone tell him he’s tone deaf?” I ask.
“We have”—Mav chuckles and takes a sip from his beer—“about a hundred times.”
