Page 7 of Wrench
became ugly. My lips fell from a charming, encouraging smile to a scowl. Her voice
became whiny and obnoxious with the stereotypes she listed. I kept the fucking streets
safe for her and that was how she viewed us all? I wanted nothing more than to shut her
up.
So, I did just that.
¡°I live upstairs. You coming?¡±
I didn¡¯t even wait to see her expression or hear her response, just turned on my heel,
making it known I didn¡¯t want any more conversation.
Living on top of the Tavern always came in handy. Hell, if it weren¡¯t for being broke
and alone, with only a remaining three hundred dollars, my Goldwing, a can of dog food,
and my best friend, a twelve-year-old German Shepherd by the name of Buddy, I would
have never met Tank or the rest of the guys. When I first wandered into Mascid after
leaving my final longer-term relationship with this crazy bitch, Candice, I thought I¡¯d be
homeless. With no job prospects and only a few night¡¯s worth of motel money, I was
prepared to live under a bridge for at least a month. But Tank offered to let me live above
the Tavern for free, so long as I helped maintain the club. I was a shithead back then, but
Tank helped me change for the better.
¡°Oh my gosh, you live on top of the bar? That¡¯s so cool!¡± she shrieked as I led her
through the back kitchen and stood below the square entrance with a three-foot-long
string dangling from it. Frequencies from her nasal voice bounced off the walls of the
empty industrial kitchen, making me cringe, and I couldn¡¯t listen to another word come
from her mouth.
In a moment that she probably perceived as passion, but really was only my pent-up
frustration and need to get off taking over, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to me.
Her breasts pressed against my chest, blocking me from pressing her full body against
me. It wasn¡¯t a bad view, but the sight of her eyes growing intoxicated with desire was
making me harder and I needed to feel her.
I pushed her against the steel doors of the refrigerator and put both her hands above
her head, securing her wrists with one hand and rested the other underneath her shirt,
brushing my thumb over her ribcage. Through her long, probably fake eyelashes, she
