Page 16 of Bullseye
Shaking my head, I look into her eyes. “Nope. Your turn.” My leg accidentally bumps hers and voltage shoots up my body like that time I touched an electric fence. “And?”
“I’d want a man who liked to kiss… slowly.”
“Definitely a woman who liked to kiss slowly.” Bumping her knee on purpose this time, I prod her for more. “What else?”
Staring up at me, her eyes are as vulnerable as a lost deer’s. “If I could have anything, I would have a man who takes me as I am. Just now. Today. The complex mess of a person that stands before him. Not a man who tries to change me to fit his ideal. Not someone who wants only one part of me and not another. Not someone who expects the woman I was or desires the woman I might have been.” Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly. “If I could have anything, I would have a man who loves me for me. That’s it.”
Christ. It’s like every freeform idea that’s ever run through my brain, was just formulated into one concise thought. Yes, I would love to have a woman who could love me for who I am right now.
And yet, there’s nothing I can do about that. I want to be with this woman more than I’ve ever wanted to be with anyone, but that’s all the more reason I can’t drag her down with me. No, even Wildfire isn’t safe with me.
“Come on, Seneca, I’m going to give you a ride home.”
It’s odd. We’re closer than I’ve been with a woman in a long time, but I can’t shake this looming feeling that she’s going to bolt at any moment. And for some reason, although it makes no sense, dropping her off at her house will make me feel better. Like she’s anchored there, at least for some period of time. No matter how short.
Sure, I’d love to invite myself in and stay the night, but I’m sure as hell not going to crap where I eat. Pulling a one-night stand with a prospect—no matter how gorgeous and sexy—will just get messy and ugly. And one-night stands are all I can offer right now.
Nodding, she slips her hand in mine, and I help her down off of the stool. Once she’s on her feet, she takes her hand from mine, and latching her thumbs in the waistband of her sexy leather pants, lets her hands dangle.
It’s a definite statement, telling each and every man who may be left here that she is her own woman. She’s not in this club, Steel Knights, or in Hoppa’s Taphouse, because she’s with me. She’s here because she is hot shit. All on her own. Well, no shit, Seneca. No shit.
Together, side by side, we walk out the door, under the watchful eye of Seth.
***
I sure as hell wish that blue balls only came around “once in a blue moon.” But for me, they have been a twenty-four-seven occurrence for the past month ever since Seneca Villetrio pledged for the club. No, it hasn’t helped that I’ve tried to be around her whenever possible, but I have this need and it’s damned near impossible to stay away.
But I have to. Stay away.
Her relationship with Harry is helping. She’s been spending a good deal of time with him, talking about women, and I think she’s even starting to win him over. The more time she spends with him, the more I can keep track of her while keeping my distance. Honestly, she handles his gruffness like a champ and really doesn’t seem to give a crap that he doesn’t like, or trust, women.
Funny. For me, it’s just the opposite. I’ve always found men are the ones who are willing to lie, cheat, steal, and kill to get what they want. I should know. I’m one of them.
“Avery?” She narrows her eyes. “You okay?” She leans across our table at the bar and taps the back of my hand gently with her fingertip.
I like that her nails are short, and I even like the chipping black polish.
“Yeah.” Shifting in my seat, I mentally kick myself for not being cooler. “Why?”
“You seem a million miles away.”
About two thousand miles away, but who’s counting? “Nah.” Just freaking melancholy.
“Well, I’m off work tonight, but I’m still coming by around six in the morning to work on Texas’ bike.”
I purposely push the thought of her alone in her apartment all night out of my brain. It’s easier when I think she’s working. But to imagine her in her pajamas—what would they be? Boxer shorts and a purple tank top?—alone, in the dark, pleasuring herself before sleep overtakes her… it’s more than I can stand. Draining my bottle, I shake it, looking for any last drops.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, uh...” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “The bike, it’s the one he’s restoring for Glinda, his wife?”
“Yeah. He says it’s no rush, but he’s been so nice to me, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” She spins her bottle between her delicate hands and then glances up at me. “I’m not much of a sleeper, anyway.”
This admission pulls me out of my own thoughts. “Why not?”
Shrugging, she tries to laugh it off, but I see the sadness in her eyes. “Sometimes, it’s hard to fall asleep. And then sometimes, when sleep comes, the nightmares come with it. Do you have any idea what I mean?”
Closing my eyes, it replays in my mind.
