Текст книги "Beautiful Storm"
Автор книги: Megan Isaacs
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
I ENTER MY office with the gorgeous Lizzie. My heart thuds hard in my chest.
What in the hell was that, apart from inappropriate behaviour and a court case waiting to happen?
I’m pretty sure my brain has fucked off. I’ve never, and I mean never, reacted to any woman like that. I’m all for women’s rights and all that namby-pamby shit. Why couldn’t I stop myself? I’ve never felt a draw like it. It’s almost primal.
There’s no mistaking her body’s reaction to me, a sexy pink tinge creeping up her cheeks, her pupils dilated. I’m desperate to slide my hand around her waist and glide down between her legs. My fingers itch in anticipation and I rub them down my thighs to try to eradicate the sensation. I need to get a grip. On the way past my desk, I grab a cricket bat and ball from the spare seat, and place them in the corner of the room.
“Take a seat.” I gesture towards the chair I’ve just cleared.
“You play cricket?” She looks surprised.
“Yeah, out in the car park. It’s more of a toss around on weekends because the other businesses aren’t in. It loosens the muscles when you’ve been under a hood all day.”
“Is that not a little crazy?” She glances around at all the glass, her eyes wide.
“I’ll admit we’ve smashed the windows a few times.” I give her a mischievous grin. “On the plus side, I now have an awesome relationship with the local glazier who keeps the right size panels in stock, just in case.”
This makes her laugh a little. The sweet sound courses through my body and shoots straight to my cock, which twitches in its confines, begging to be set free.
As she sits down, I study her. She’s delicate or maybe wounded. There’s sadness surrounding her, and her grey eyes are dull, no spark in them whatsoever. Someone has sucked the life right out of her, and fuck me if I don’t want to kill the bastard who did it. I can guess she’s been fucked over by a boyfriend or husband. Perhaps something along the lines of catching him shagging her best friend. That’s the usual MO for arseholes like me.
At least I never promise anything; it only causes hassle in the long run. I’m upfront with my expectations. One night, and no one gets hurt. But for some reason an overwhelming need to protect her stirs in me. I shake my head, the movement barely perceptible.
I’m not that guy.
It’s probably some bloke like me she needs protecting from.
My cock strains hard against my button-fly, no doubt leaving a nice imprint. It’s excruciating, and taking all I have not to hiss through the pain. I try to shift inconspicuously, so I don’t draw attention to my situation.
Lizzie gazes at me with a concerned expression on her face, her head tilted to one side. “Are you okay? You look like you’re uncomfortable.”
It’s obvious my inconspicuous shifting wasn’t very inconspicuous. Shit. I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and the heat of embarrassment rises on my face. What the fuck? I don’t think I’ve blushed since I was sixteen and got caught wanking. There are some things a mum should never see.
I clear my throat. “Er, yeah. I’m fine. This seat’s just a little uncomfortable, that’s all. I keep meaning to order a new chair. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
A flicker of disbelief passes through her eyes. “Oh, okay. Well, do you want to move the interview to another room, or perhaps get another chair?” Her tone remains neutral, but her eyes are alight with amusement, those golden flecks finally flaring like sunrays. It’s a sight to behold.
“No, no, I’ll be fine. So, Ms. Ryder, what do you want to know?”
My business tone shuts the light off in her eyes, and I could kick myself. I only used it to hide the awkwardness I’m not used to feeling. Her professional persona slides into place as well, sort of like a curtain call. A little piece of me feels almost like it’s died with the loss. I try to shake the feeling as Lizzie begins to speak.
“I hope you don’t mind if I record the interview, it just makes things easier.” Her tone has hardened and her eyes are flat again, giving no indication as to what’s going on inside her head.
“No, I don’t mind in the slightest. I sort of expected it. Personally, I wouldn’t know where to start with one of those things,” and I wave a hand towards her Dictaphone, “but fill your boots.”
“When I did my research on you, I noticed you seemed to be a bit of a technophobe. You have no online presence at all.” Her eyes flick to mine, and then back down to the task of setting up the device.
I resist the urge to shift in my seat again, uncomfortable for different reasons. I don’t like people looking into my personal shit. You never know what they might find, and some things I prefer to keep private. Like my previous occupation. Lizzie glances at me with curiosity. I take in her expression, pleased when I read in her face it’s the technology thing she can’t fathom, not me.
With silent relief, I answer her unspoken question. “Yeah, I’m no good with computers, just not my thing. Every time I touch one, something goes wrong. So I just leave well enough alone.”
Lizzie continues with her interview. I go through details of my business from start-up to now, my love for cars, why I specialise in American muscle, my favourite car, and how I learnt my trade. For the most part, I manage to avoid answering anything with substance, just enough so she thinks she has an answer.
She’s good at her job though, thorough and enthusiastic, and a little fire comes back to her eyes. It’s obvious she loves what she does, and it’s a pleasure to spectate. As she moves through the interview, I find my thoughts shifting to how I’m going to see her again. I feel like I’m back in high school, but there’s just the two of us, so I can’t get someone to pull the ‘my mate fancies your mate’ tactic.
I’m lost in thought when her silken voice pulls me back to the here and now. “Noah?”
My gaze flicks to her patiently waiting face. “Sorry, what was the question?”
A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips and pulls at something in my chest.
“I was asking about your motorbike. What is it? I don’t know much about them, and yours, well, let’s just say it’s gorgeous.”
I give her my full megawatt smile. She’s asked about my bike, and I fucking love my bike. “She’s a Ducati Streetfighter, goes zero to sixty in 2.9 seconds, and a top speed of a hundred and fifty-four miles per hour. She’s not a heavyweight, but she still needs muscle to handle her.”
I sound like a tosser referring to my bike as a ‘she,’ but anything that goes between my legs is of the female species, therefore, the bike’s a girl. And Lizzie seems very fucking interested in my bike. I guess this could be the excuse to keep her here a little longer; at least then I can figure out a way to see her again.
“You ever been on a bike, Lizzie?”
She drops her head a little. “No. I haven’t.”
Her captivating eyes flick to mine and hold my gaze. An odd but fleeting feeling passes over me. I tear my eyes away and a mischievous grin spreads across my face. “We’ll correct that right now.”
Lizzie stares at me like a rabbit caught in the headlights, completely startled, but mesmerised all at once.
“Now?” Her gaze darts from me to the door, as her eyes widen.
I unfold myself from my chair and stalk around to her, “Yes, Lizzie. Now.” My voice deepens when the vision of her riding pillion, with her legs wrapped tightly around me, plays in my imagination. I stare down at her with intent, and at the same time, hold out my hand. She hesitates, indecision flashes over her face, but then she reaches for me and I help her to her feet.
As soon as my skin touches hers, the feeling of complete peace washes over me. I drop her hand like it’s burned me. The only place I’ve ever come close to feeling like that is on my bike. I feel like I’ve been thrown a googly. Her quizzical eyes examine me and I’m thankful when she doesn’t say anything.
I indicate towards my office door. “Come on then.”
She clutches her jacket and bag against her, and walks alongside me. As we leave my office, I notice Spud, my brother-in-law and friend, has arrived and already has his head buried in a blue Ford Mustang.
“Spud?”
He glances up at me, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, bud. How’s it going?”
As he puts down his tools and notices Lizzie at my side, his smile widens. When I glare at him with a warning, his eyes register in surprise, but he says nothing, and I let out a low breath.
“Great, mate. Cheers. This is Lizzie; she’s doing the interview I told you about for Nitrous magazine.”
He nods in recognition and turns to Lizzie. “Good to meet you, Lizzie. I hope we’re meeting your expectations, and the boss is looking after you?” Spud wipes his hands down his shirt and extends one for her to shake.
“Actually, the boss here”—she aims a thumb in my direction—“is taking me out on his bike. I’ve never ridden one, and apparently that needs rectifying.”
Spud’s eyes expand into saucers. I never take women out on my bike. Ever.
“Cool. Well, enjoy.” Spud speaks to Lizzie but keeps his inquisitive gaze fixed on me.
As I guide Lizzie over to the reception area Spud turns away, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. I grab a spare helmet and pass it over to Lizzie.
“Here, hold this a minute. I’ve just got to go get my helmet and jacket from the back office.” I turn on my heel and stride off in search of my things.
The back office is the only room not viewable from the workshop. As I enter, I turn and quietly close the door. Leaning back against it, I let my head drop back with a satisfying thud. What is it about this woman that’s affecting me so hard? What makes her so different from the others? I can’t figure it out. Many women have tried, and failed, to attract my attention for more than a couple of hours. Shit, sometimes just minutes. But this woman isn’t even trying and she has it, undivided. And for some crazy reason I want more time with her.
I take in a deep breath and let it out. I can’t take long, but I need a little timeout to gain some perspective and restraint, which seems to vanish into thin air around the woman waiting for me. Running my hand through my hair, I give one last deep sigh, then grab my gear, a spare jacket, and head back out into the workshop.
I take the chance to observe Lizzie without her knowledge, and the sight has me stopping in my tracks. She’s fucking stunning and totally oblivious, which just enhances her beauty. She stands with her fingers curled tight around the helmet I gave her, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Nervousness rolls off of her. Caramel hair falls around her shoulders, itching for me to grab it. I flex my fingers in response.
I take a look over at Spud. He’s watching the scene before him play out from the corner of his eye. His blue eyes meet mine, the shit-eating grin still on his face as he winks at me and turns away. Smirking at Spud’s reaction, I stride back over to Lizzie.
“Apprehensive?” I tilt my head and study her, waiting for her answer.
“Terrified would probably be a better word to use.”
I can’t help but laugh at her dry response. “Here.” I pass her the spare jacket. “Your coat isn’t suitable for riding on the back of a bike. I know it’s mild out, but the wind will still whip through it. Just leave your things here. We won’t be long.” I point back in Spud’s direction as I wink at her. “He’ll be here all day.”
Nodding her thanks, she places the helmet and her belongings down on a side bench. She buries herself inside my jacket, and it strikes me how good she looks engulfed by it. Rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, I try to pull myself together. She’s just a woman, it’s not like I haven’t come across the species before.
“I think it’s a little big.” She gives a nervous laugh.
“Nah, it’s perfect. Come on.” I grab her helmet and head out into the car park.
I glance back to ensure Lizzie has followed and not chickened out and find her right behind me. On reaching my bike, I lift my leg and straddle her. The relaxation is almost instantaneous, and I smile at the feeling. Turning to Lizzie, I realise she’s frozen, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.
At first I think it’s in fear, but her eyes sparkle and colour creeps up her neck. I give her a lopsided smile. Her breath catches and a heated look flitters across her face. I know that look. I’ve seen it a hundred times. Desire. She’s fucking turned on. The need I’m trying to restrain burns deep in my stomach and my cock throbs in response.
I pat the seat behind me. “Up you come then.”
She tentatively steps up to me. Without thinking, I reach out to move her hair behind her shoulders, and my fingers tingle at the contact with her skin. Her nervous eyes flick to mine as I raise the helmet and place it onto her head. I wish she’d say something. Our eyes lock instead. I could get lost in those eyes for days, they’re the perfect storm, and they’re holding my gaze. She’s like the human version of crystal meth, and I’m fucking addicted. I can’t look away and she’s the one to break eye contact. I hold my arm out for support as she slides onto the bike behind me.
I return my gaze to the asphalt before me, my focus front and centre. Lizzie being pressed up against my back feels like… home. It’s such a weird sensation to have. My body thinks hers is where it belongs. Like it’s found its mating piece of the jigsaw. I draw in a long breath as I pull my own helmet over my head, releasing it in a rush. I reach back, grab Lizzie’s arms one at a time and wrap them around my waist. My whole body becomes hyperaware; my nerve endings burn with her proximity, yet a sense of complete calm washes over me at the same time. The whole reaction unsettles me.
For a brief moment I want to be that guy. The protector. The saviour. I want to be the first thing she sees every morning. I want to hold her when she cries, and I want to be the reason for every smile that passes over her beautiful face. She’s a total stranger, and yet…
I want her to be mine.
I stamp hard on the thoughts running riot in my mind.
I’m not that guy.
I press the ignition and tweak the throttle, which gives a satisfying grunt. And I make sure to check she has her feet securely on the pegs before gunning out of the car park.
The minute we’re on the road, I’m in my element. Her arms wrap tighter when we hit the first corner, then relax a little. I could get used to this. Her heat surrounding me, her touch, they both centre me. I gun the throttle harder as we hit the Mad Mile, a long stretch of open road, and she nuzzles deeper against my back. She feels familiar—comfortable. I need to get away from her because I like it way too fucking much. We ride a few more winding lanes and head back to the workshop.
The ride doesn’t last half as long as it should. I know those roads like the back of my hand. I could have kept going. But unable to deal with the unusual thoughts flooding my mind about hearts and flowers, we come to a standstill outside Ignition. My feet hit the ground and I run through the ritual of turning off the bike. Her arms are still bound tightly around my waist and I don’t want her to let go.
I have no idea what’s going on with me.
She shifts behind me and her grip loosens, my urge is to hold on tighter, but I let her dismount. As soon as we lose contact, my heart rate increases, and panic over not seeing her again builds in my stomach. I hang my head for a fraction before pulling off my helmet and turning in her direction.
As she lifts off the spare lid, her hair falls over her shoulders, and I chuckle at the markings on her forehead and chin caused by the helmet.
Her lips slightly quirk and she’s unable to meet my gaze. She’s still nervous.
“How did you like that?” I reach for a stray hair strand caught in her lips and brush it away; my fingers graze her skin a beat longer than needed. I enjoy touching her. Her lips part and her eyes settle on mine, then her mouth creeps into a shy smile.
“I loved it. Thank you for giving me the experience.”
Fuck, I’d give her any experience she wanted.
“You’re welcome.”
Silence stretches between us. I don’t know what to say to keep her here, but she doesn’t seem ready to leave.
“Why don’t you wear leathers?” Her gaze wanders over my thighs and my jeans feel really fucking tight in the crotch again.
“You’d like to see me in leathers, would you?” My voice deepens, and I plaster a cocky smirk on my face, back in my comfort zone of being an arsehole.
“Yes.” The answer is simple and comes without hesitation as she stares at me, and this time doesn’t look away. The golden flecks flare in her eyes and hold me captive.
“Well, I’m sure I can arrange that for you.” The smirk on my face dies when the heat in her eyes increases tenfold. At a loss for words, I do nothing but wait, swallowing hard when she simply stares away from me. She’s unsettling me and I really need to shake out of it.
“Okay, I really need to get going,” she mutters. She pivots and makes her way back to the workshop, shrugging my jacket off as she goes. What the hell just happened?
I dismount in a hurry and race up behind her. She instantly spins around and loses her balance. Before she can fall, she’s in my arms, limp against my chest. Her body trembles against mine and when she pulls away, her eyes are wide, her skin pale. My arms fall away and I step back. Fear is not something I ever want to see on her face, especially not fear caused by me.
“Sorry, I-I,” she stutters softly, but she won’t look at me.
“No. I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I shove my hands in my pockets so I don’t do anything stupid again, like grab her and kiss the shit out of her perfect lips.
“You didn’t.”
“Lizzie?” She finally lifts her head and the fear is gone. Good. “Go out for a drink with me?”
She shakes her head before any words manage to come out. “I can’t.”
I’m such a stupid bastard. Firstly, who asks a woman out for a drink when they’ve just scared her shitless? And secondly, what the fuck am I thinking? I don’t do dates. Not even casual drinking ones.
“I’m sorry.” She pushes my jacket into my chest, grabs her own jacket and bag, and then turns to leave.
I let her. It won’t end well if I stop her, although I’m not sure who it would be worse for. My eyes never stray from her arse as she walks away, unlocks her beamer, and climbs in. Even then, I don’t stop. I keep her in my sight as she pulls away. At the last possible second, she looks at me. My heart stops. Dull eyes have replaced the light I saw earlier, and a wave of anger flows through me. Then she’s gone.
IT’S BEEN A couple of weeks since I rode my bike. Every time I try to mount her I have visions of mounting something entirely different. It’s on my mind as I exit the taxi and enter the club. This itch is something I need to deal with. And as my friend, Bear, wanted to meet me here, I figure it’s a good place to scratch it.
The pungent smells of beer, perfume, and sweat hit me when I push through the doors. The place is already rammed. It’s a newish venue on the other side of town. We don’t usually venture this far out, but Bear’s working on this side of town. Scanning the area, I find him leaning up against the bar, a pint set to his right already waiting for me. His chin is propped up on a balled fist, and the other hand spins the pint glass he’s staring at. He looks distracted and tired.
I place my arm around his shoulder and lean in. “You look sleep deprived, mate.” I slap him on the back and pick up the pint, nodding in thanks.
“I needed a drink,” he states.
It’s unlike Bear to drink for the sake of it. That’s more my area of expertise. “What’s up?”
He stands up straighter, and his gaze wanders to the dance floor, then back to me. “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You ever have the feeling that… nah, forget it.” He takes a long swig of his pint.
With my back now against the bar, I take in the view before me. I can say one thing for this place, there’re some shit-hot chicks here. Remaining quiet, I wait for Bear to finish what he was going to say. If I leave him long enough, it’ll come out. My attention is drawn by glimpses of exposed skin swaying on the dance floor.
“Stupid question to ask the man that’s like a dog with two dicks, but have you ever had the feeling any of the women you’ve fucked could’ve been the one?”
For a fraction of a second longer, my gaze stays glued to the captivating view, while his words sink in. I swing my attention back to him. “You serious? Fucking hell, mate. She must have been good to get you this confused.” I smirk at him. “What did she have up there? Cosmic cock dust?”
He gives me a half-hearted smile. “That’s what I get for asking you a serious question.”
“Sorry, man. You threw me. It wasn’t what I expected.”
“Well, are you going to answer the question?” He takes another sip of his beer.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s a ‘no’ to your first question.” I rotate the glass in my hands. “But you remember I had that interview for the magazine?”
He laughs. “Yeah, Spud told me you took the lady out on your bike. What’s that all about?”
“Fucked if I know. But she made me feel all sorts of shit, wrapped up tight against my back. My cock’s been nowhere near her. So, yeah, I can see where you’re coming from. Why?” I neglect to tell him I can’t even ride the fucking bike now.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I hooked up with someone a couple of weeks back, and can’t get her out of my head.”
I know the feeling well. Lizzie’s invaded mine for the last few weeks. I can’t figure out why she’s had this effect on me except I want to see the light burn in her eyes again, the way it did when she was with me. Not the dull eyes she left with. “You tried shagging someone else?”
He gives me the ‘what do you take me for?’ look, both eyebrows raised, but remains silent.
“Yeah, okay. You’ve tried.”
He turns around and joins me with his back against the bar. His gaze sweeps the area. I sense him tense next to me, before he turns back around and beckons the barmaid, ordering two bottles of Peroni.
“Is she here?” It’s the only explanation I can come up with for his unsettled behaviour. Even on the worst jobs, he’s the most relaxed bloke I’ve ever come across. And women are the only things that can fuck with a man’s mind.
He nods without looking at me and takes a drink.
“Oh, shit.”
“You’ve got that right. Some bloke’s all over her and I’m this close”—he holds up his hand, forefinger and thumb virtually touching—“to ripping his fucking head off.”
Fit chicks are plentiful here; there’s no way I’ll figure out who she is without asking, but if he wanted me to know he’d volunteer the information, which he hasn’t. “Do you want me to get in his way?” It’s the only offer I can think of to help.
“What? And have her want to shag you? Cheers, mate, but I don’t think so.”
In a childish act, I nudge his elbow just as he’s about to take a drink. It misses his mouth and splashes down his chin instead. He wipes the liquid away with his forearm before he swings his elbow back straight into my gut, winding me. At least it raises a laugh out of him when I cough.
“I need to piss. Back in a few,” I state, and head off towards the toilets.
Trying to get there resembles walking up the down escalator, but I manage it, relieve myself, and walk back out. I survey the area, do a double take, and stop dead at the sight of a woman shaking her arse on the dance floor. She’s wearing a figure-hugging black dress, low in the back, a light sheen of perspiration covering the exposed skin I had fixated on earlier. Her hair’s up, exposing her neck, and when she gyrates around, my breath catches in my throat.
She throws her head back and laughs at something a dark-haired woman says to her, before the friend gets pulled away. Even in the mass of bodies heaving on the dance floor, she still stands out.
Lizzie.
Alone.
And the smile she wears makes me want to claim her, here and now, on the dance floor.
For a few moments, I take in every movement her body makes while she’s lost in the music. The flex of her calves, the sway of her hips, the way a lock of hair trails down her neck. My cock swells as thoughts of those same hips moving aggressively against mine flood my mind. I’m drawn nearer, wanting to touch. My fingers tingle with the need.
The music alters, bringing her out of the trance she was in. I move even closer, drawn to the curves of her tits straining against her dress. She lifts her head and wipes away the hairs stuck to her face. Her gaze wanders the area looking for something, someone, before her eyes meet mine.
Well, I’m fucking it. She’s having me—every fucking inch. I’m only a few feet away, but the sudden desire in her eyes glows brighter than the strobe lights. It’s all the invitation I need.
Without speaking, she takes my outstretched hand, and I pull her into me. Her scent fills my senses, a heady combination of what can only be described as sunflowers mixed with the fresh smell of rain. Her hitched breath grazing across my neck has my half-mast cock hard within seconds. I keep a firm hold on her hand, place the other on her lower back, and press her against me. Every inch moulds into my body. A perfect fit. Her tits press against my chest, and I swear I can feel how hard her nipples are through my shirt.
Small fingers wrap around my bicep, while mine graze across her damp, silky skin, as we sway to the music. Her head drops onto my shoulder. Each breath she takes grazes my neck, sending shudders through my taut body. Hard as stone, my cock presses up against her hip, as she rocks against it. The sensation of her body moving close to mine pushes me almost to the point of no return. My pulse increases, thundering through my ears louder than the music, and the urge to mark her as mine takes hold.
The song changes and she pulls away. My whole body protests at her loss. She examines my face as I wrap my fingers under her chin—asking for permission without words. Asking her to let me claim those fucking lips as mine. Her chest rises and falls; she’s as breathless as I feel. But the desire in her eyes splutters to a stop, and a startled expression crosses her face. My hand falls away from her.
She mouths, “I’m sorry,” before she turns on her heels and runs away through the crowd. I’m left standing in the middle of the dance floor, with a raging hard-on, wondering what the fuck just happened.
A random girl bumps into me and rubs herself up against my body, but all I care about now is where the woman went who lit something inside me yet again. I remove the stray hands, exit the dance floor, and fight my way back to the bar.
Bear raises his eyebrows at me when I approach him. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You. Dancing?”
“It was me dancing, fuckwit.”
“Who was the chick?”
I rub a hand over my head and give him a lopsided grin. “Lizzie. The reporter I told you about from Nitrous magazine.”
His face hardens a little before it relaxes. He lets out a low whistle. “Well, now I know what all the fuss is about. What happened? Did she blow you off?”
It’s not a natural response from Bear, but I shrug it off. Maybe he can see that other bloke pawing his lady friend. “Not in so many words.” I rub my stubble. “But yeah, she did.” Shaking my head, I laugh, although I can’t figure the whole thing out.
Maybe that’s the attraction? Unlike the usual bar bunny, she’s not easy prey. “So, where’s your lady?”
His humour shuts down. “She left.”
“Hmm. On her own?”
“No.” His jaw clenches.
I don’t need to ask him anything else, and turn to the barman to catch his attention. “Two shots of JD, mate. And make them doubles.” And I point to the barmaid, adding, “We have a tab running with her.”
Bear grasps my shoulder. “Do you want to sit down?” He points to a quieter area where a table’s free.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. I’m the first to walk on hallowed ground. “So, what is it about her that gets you all worked up, then?”
He sighs. “I really don’t know. Ask yourself the same question about that Lizzie bird.”
“Nothing to ask. She gets my cock hard. Nothing new there.” I play off how I feel because I have no fucking clue how to deal with actually feeling anything other than a hard-on. My emotions are never combined with a stiff dick. It’s new territory.
“That,” he gestures to the dance floor, “was new.”
“I dance.” I lean back and use the table as a footstool.
He smirks. “Not like that you don’t.”
I down my drink and slam the empty glass on the table. “Fuck off, Bear.”
He nods and just like that we end the heart-to-heart, neither of us willing to break out with mushy feelings crap.
A shadow casts over the table; the figure looms above us then sits down next to me.
“What’s up, pussy?”
“Zan, you can fuck off, too.”
“Hey, you can’t talk to my cousin like that.”
“Bear, shut the fuck up. Zan can take it.” I turn to Bear’s cousin. “Can’t you, cocksucker?”
He winks at me. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I joke, giving him a sly grin. “I love arse, but the cock sucking thing, nah. Goes right over my head.”
Zan bursts out into deep laughter. “Yeah, it does, mate. That’s the point.”
I laugh at our easy piss-taking. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give him a little shit. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Working for this bastard,” he answers and gestures towards Bear.
I nod. “Easy or hard?” I know better than to ask any in-depth questions about on-going work.
Zan grins back at me, but his eyes don’t match the forced smile on his mouth. “Best job I’ve ever had. It’s a piece of piss.” His face twists a little as if he’s in pain, but before it settles, it’s gone, and is replaced with his usual couldn’t-give-a-fuck face.
Something about his reaction makes me want to push for something else. “Have you been working for him long?”
“Long enough. Served my last tour and got out after. Been working for him ever since.”
I acknowledge his non-answer with another nod and go to take a drink, but there’s nothing there except an empty glass. “You two want a drink?”
