Page 60 of Fourth Wheel
There are two bachelorette parties in the house, which used to be my specialty. But not one of the women wearing skintight black mini dresses and matching pink penis crowns is holding my attention tonight.
That honor’s reserved for her.
She showed up half an hour ago wearing baggy jeans and a sheer lace tank top with my jacket layered over it. Her hair’s wild tonight—sort of curly, but all voluptuous and big. It reminds me of how she looked when she was riding my cock and making my body slick with sweat and cum.
Fuck—I can’t wait for this shift to be over so I can take her home.
I took the liberty of snagging her a seat at the bar as soon as one became available, and I’ve strategically avoided Jake’s gaze ever since. I warned Maddie that he’d be working tonight, too—he almost always does on Saturday nights in the summer when we get this busy—but she said she didn’t mind. We have to play it cool regardless when we’re at The Oak since my brother hangs out with a lot of the guys who work here.
I’m trying to give her space—really, I am—but that damn magnetic pull she has on me keeps dragging me back into her orbit.
Maybe it’s because I know what it feels like to be buried inside her, or maybe the reason can’t be explained. But I can’t help it. As soon as I finish pouring a drink, I look her way. The second I catch a breather, I’m compelled to walk to her side of the bar. I swear my ears are tuned to hear her above the music and general cacophony of the bar. Especially when she laughs—God, she has the best laugh.
She’s made friends with the middle-aged woman sitting next to her, and she’s trying to get Tristan to pay her new friend some extra attention. The lady’s got to be in her midfifties. But maybe that’s his type. I wouldn’t put it past Maddie to pick up on that kind of vibe.
“How’s everyone doing down here?” I ask, addressing the side of the bar she’s sitting at as I let my eyes linger on her face.
She smiles sweetly at me—playing the game and biding her time. I instinctively look over to the clock—two hours and twenty minutes to last call. Approximately three hours until she’s in my arms and I’m back in her bed.
But when I look her way again, I’m met with a totally different expression.
Her eyes are wide but unfocused. She’s oddly pale, like the blood’s drained from her face. She’s rigid on the barstool, unmoving before me.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s really fucking wrong.
My blood pressure shoots up, and it takes my brain a few seconds to catch up as I try to make sense of what’s happening. I look over at the people beside her, then scan the bar for any sign of trouble. It’s not until I look back that I see it.
There’s a hand.
A meaty hand. Resting on her shoulder.
A meaty hand that’s now gliding up toward her neck, creeping under her jacket—myjacket—and fingering the lace strap of her tank top.
The fingers of that hand pull, and when the elastic snaps against her skin, my brain detonates in rage.
Multiple things happen at that moment. Maddie swats the hand away while I stalk over to get as close to her as possible. Our eyes meet, and I say her name so loudly everyone around us turns to look.
“Maddie.”
She closes her eyes for a breath, and her chest rises and falls too quickly. If her heart’s beating out of her chest, it’s keeping time with mine.
“What’s wrong?” I push, leaning forward and silently cursing the raw-edge bar keeping me from physically getting to her.
Before she can answer, a man wearing a baseball cap and a Hampton High football shirt shifts into the gap between her barstool and the one beside her. He’s crowding her: slanting his body and hovering in her space to force himself closer. I watch in disgust as he slinks the arm attached to that meaty hand around her shoulder.
She tries to shrug him off.
But he latches on tighter.
“Maddie,” I repeat, snapping her attention back to me. “Do you know him?”
“I do,” she grits out through clenched teeth as she lifts her shoulder, attempting to get out of his hold again.
He moves his hand this time but lowers it and grips at her waist under her jacket.
“Hey!” I bark, slamming my fist on the bar in front of the fucker to get his attention.
