And I wanted him to. At least if I listened to my body and not my brain. What are these guys doing to me? I should be worried about my job, and getting back to my real life, not getting laid.
But I'm still tingly after that orgasm.
I need to get out where there're other people. Sitting in Animal’s room alone is just sending my brain into endless spirals that all end in one thing, and I’ve already cleaned up everything I dare touch. My fingers drum a nervous beat on his little table.
Leaving the room behind like I'm fleeing a crime scene, I head out to the common area looking for any of the guys. Heck, at this point I’d even take Chef snapping at me so long as I don't have to sit alone with my thoughts.
As always, there's hard rock playing over the speakers. I don't know if it ever stops. I was worried that it'd be empty, but there are a bunch of guys there. I don’t really know any of them, but I recognize a lot by sight at this point and get a few nods when they see me come in. Others I’ve never seen before, and I'm apparently not interesting for long, because they all return to their conversations, or watching the game on the big screen in the back. It's nice to feel almost anonymous for a little bit, rather than surrounded by sexy bikers set on getting me out of my clothes and down on my back.
Or whatever other positions they might have in mind.
"More fucking water?" grunts Chef. He's leaning against the bar, looking up from a beat up paperback. "Or are you ready for grown up drinks now?"
"There’s nothing wrong with water, but I think I need something stronger today." I climb up on one of the barstools and rest my elbows on the bar.
A moment later he's back with a glass of pale brown liquid over ice.
I can't help but laugh a little. "Is that whiskey? Are those my only options? Water or whiskey?"
He scowls. “Not fucking girly enough for you?”
I shrug.
Chef reaches under the bar and pulls out a tiny paper umbrella and pops it open before dropping it into my drink. “There. Now it’s fucking festive.”
I laugh out loud. “I’m surprised you even have those.”
“This is a fully stocked bar.” He pauses. “And the kids like them.”
“KIDS?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t servethemwhiskey.”
Jewel comes out from the kitchen. She grins. “You met Emily, remember? That baby she’s carrying? That’s their third, and Alessa is due about the same time with her second. Don’t let this grump fool you. He makes a mean mocktail.”
Chef glares. “Too much talking, not enough drinking.”
I shake my head before taking a cautious sip. The whiskey burns over my tongue and right down my throat. Chef grunts a chuckle at my grimace. "Smooth," I say with a cough.
A biker I remember from the first night here, looking a little less dangerous with the afternoon sun coming through the windows high up on the wall, slides onto the stool next to me. Preacher, I think Animal called him.
"The usual," he says to Chef, then looks down at me, his black eyes narrowing curiously. "Where's your handlers? They get tired of you already? Somehow I doubt that, but if you’ve fucked ‘em dry and want a real man, let me know.” He swivels towards me, smirks cockily and leans in. "Or maybe you’ve gotten a taste for more than one. Baby, me and my crew know exactly how to stroke your pearly gate.”
I can’t deny that he's good-looking, but it’s Animal, Quickshot and Badass that are filling my daydreams, not him. “Do the church puns usually work for you?”
He laughs and doesn't sound discouraged at all. "Absolutely. Last night, it got me laid three times."
I roll my eyes. "Then you should be good for a while."
He holds out his hand. "I'm Preacher."
"Natalie." His handshake's firm, unlike most guys who shake like I'm a delicate little flower. "And I'm sure they're around. I just needed something to drink."
"That's pretty strong, even with the decoration. Trouble?" He takes a sip from the glass Chef sets in front of him with an annoyed grunt. "Need an ear?"
"What, you do confessions too?"
His grin widens. "Fucking love ‘em. Especially the hot ones."
