Page 3 of Crow
“That you’re a biker?” She rolled her eyes. “Your gang trooped in here reeking of exhaust fumes and motor oil. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, handsome.”
There was something appealing about her blunt approach, the way she didn’t hold back. I liked the fire. I also couldn’t help but notice that it was the second time she had called me handsome. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it and decided it was easier to answer her previous question.
“No,” I said. She looked confused, so I went on to clarify that the whole biker thing had never been a part of the plan, then surprised myself by telling the truth. “Actually, I was an accountant for a bit.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “No,” she said disbelievingly, gesturing to me with my long hair and scruffy beard, in my oil-stained jeans and threadbare top. “You?”
“Me.” I nodded, fake seriously.
“And now you’re a biker, huh?”
“I suppose so, darlin’.”
“And I’m a dancer.” She laughed, and there was a bitter edge to it. “I bet both our parents are just so proud of us.”
I was saved from having to answer by an alarm ringing from her phone. She looked away to shut it off, and I was freed from the hypnosis of her gaze. I cleared my throat slightly, straightening up, and she got off the couch.
“Time’s up, handsome,” she said, patting me on the chest as she passed by and out the door. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll see you around.”
“See you,” I echoed dumbly, chest feeling strangely light as I watched her leave. It had been a long time since I had talked so openly with someone, probably not since Hollywood was killed by the Freeways a couple of years back, when Wrench was still trying to get in Samantha’s pants. It was nice. I was close to calling the stripper back to continue talking when she bent over a table and let someone tuck some dollar bills into her cleavage, and I came back to my senses.
We had only talked because my friends had paid a fucking ridiculous amount of money for her to pretend to be interested in me. I was a job to her, nothing more, and I shouldn’t try to kid myself that she would even consider talking to me without the money involved.
Fuck, I didn’t want to talk to the bitch anyway. There’s no point getting attached to people.
It’s never worth the goddamn pain.
I stomped out of the private room to where the rest of the club were wolf whistling, scowl firmly in place. Most of the boys quieted when I sat down, knowing better than to push their luck, but Maverick leaned in close.
“How was it?” he asked, the words slurring together and alcohol-soaked breath washing over my face. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the smell. Maverick was never very good at holding his liquor. “Was she good? I bet she was good. She looked fucking good.”
“Fuck off, I’m not in the mood.” I shoved him away but he just swayed forward again, a leer on his face.
“Crow, you are the only bastard I can think of who can get a lap dance from a hot piece of ass like that and be in an even worse fucking mood than before. What I wouldn’t give to get a piece of that, mm!”
I grit my teeth, irritation growing as he continued shooting his mouth. The girl’s bitter laugh as she spoke about being a stripper rang in my ears, and he was here talking like she was a hunk of meat and not a person. “I said I’m not in the fucking mood, Maverick.”
“Yeah, Mav, why don’t you go hang out by the stage with Archer, see if you can’t convince that girl he’s talking to to give you a free dance.” Ripper appeared out of nowhere, directing Maverick away and sliding me a fresh beer with a wink.
“Whatever,” I muttered, taking a swig. “Don’t expect me to say thanks.”
“Never do, brother.” Ripper grinned. “Never do.”
Chapter Two
Jade
I patted the biker’s chest as I left, feeling the shift and flex of muscles beneath the soft fabric of his worn T-shirt as he breathed. My palm tingled where it touched him, even as I bent over the table of a drunken regular, giving him a flirty wink as he tucked money into my cleavage. As I straightened up again, I shot a glance over my shoulder to where I left the biker, only to see him scowling as he walked back to his group. I frowned, confused as to what could be the matter with him. He’d seemed closed off, sure, but I thought it was because he was shy. I thought maybe we’d gotten on, toward the end. Guess it was all in my head. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d made up a connection with a man.
I rubbed my hand against the denim of my shorts, hoping to wipe the tingling feeling away, but it persisted. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, just… strange. Warm, like how heated his skin had been, even through his shirt. I wondered if I could wash it away. I was due a piss break anyway and should freshen up before my next dance on the big stage.
“Yo, Jade!” Cameron, the DJ, called from across the room. “You’ve got five minutes.” He held up his hand for good measure, all five digits spread wide so there could be no misunderstanding. I nodded to him and pointed at the bathroom, getting a thumbs up in return as he switched focus back to the music, settling his ridiculously overlarge headphones back in place and nodding his head in time to the booming beat.
***
I couldn’t get the biker out of my head, even as I finished up in the bathroom and started fixing my hair and makeup. His hair had been gorgeous, a mane of dirty blond that looked so soft I’d had to distract myself by texting Jess about how hot he was just so that I wouldn’t reach over and grab a fistful. I hadn’t been able to keep myself from running my hands over his chest, getting a feel of those lovely muscles straining at the fabric of his shirt. It was a shame he was so covered up. I licked my lips, mentally undressing him to reveal abs to die for and a cock to drool over.
When he said he didn’t want a dance, I had been disappointed not to get a chance to see what he was actually packing, but the conversation… it was almost worth not being able to cop a feel or two. We might not have said much, not really, but he had looked at me, and not in the way I was used to people looking at me, especially not here. He looked at me like he was interested in what I had to say, rather than what I was or wasn’t wearing. I couldn’t really remember the last time that had happened. Even when his gaze did wander, it didn’t make me feel cheap the way it did with other people I danced for. I had sat up straighter, arched my back a bit to give him the best view of my boobs. Iwantedhim to keep looking at me.
