Chapter 15 #2
She turns those big eyes on me, eyebrow arched. “Going easy, huh? That what you were doing last week when we beat you by fifteen points?”
I lean in, lips brushing her ear so only she can hear. “Last week I was distracted by the way your ass looked in those jeans every time you got up to grab a drink. Tonight? I’m focused. And I still want to win so I can drag you to Black Iron after and put my ink on you.”
Her breath catches, cheeks flushing just enough that I feel the heat radiating off her skin.
But she doesn’t back down, she never does.
Instead she turns her face, lips grazing my jaw.
“Then you better bring your A-game, Lucky. Because if my team wins again… I’ve got another spot picked out for you. Somewhere even more visible.”
I growl low in my throat, hand tightening on her shoulder. “Deal.”
The emcee calls the next round, and the table splits, her crew huddled on one side, mine on the other, trash talk flying across the divide like bullets.
But under the table, her fingers stay laced with mine, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. Rivals for trivia.
Everything else? We’re already on the same side.
My brothers keep shooting me looks, amused, surprised, maybe a little jealous, but they’ll get used to it. They always do.
And me? I’ve got my woman pressed against my side, her team gunning to beat mine, my claim on her loud and clear for the whole damn bar to hear. The night’s just getting started, and win or lose, I’m walking out of here with her on the back of my bike.
The emcee’s voice crackles over the speakers, cutting through the rising din of the bar like a knife.
“Final scores are locked in, folks. Third place… Whiskey Business.”
A few half-hearted claps and groans ripple from the back.
“Second place… Quiztopher Nolan.”
Lena throws her hands up dramatically, yelling, “We were robbed!” while Eli and Noah pull her into a group hug, laughing it off.
“And claiming first place tonight...with a brutal comeback in the lightning round… The Reaper-cussions!”
Our side of the table detonates.
Riot slams both fists on the high-top so hard the empty bottles rattle.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he bellows, jumping up to slap Tank on the back hard enough to make the big man grunt.
Diesel lets out a war whoop, pumping both arms like he just scored the winning touchdown.
The prospects are on their feet, hollering, one of them already ringing the little brass victory bell the bar keeps stashed behind the counter.
Ghost’s grinning like a maniac, pointing across the divide at Savannah’s team like he’s personally responsible for every correct answer.
I feel the slow, satisfied grin spread across my face. My arm’s still slung around Savannah’s shoulders, but she’s gone statue-still against me...every inch of her locked up tight, eyes glued to the projected scoreboard like it personally betrayed her.
“No,” she breathes. Then louder, sharper, “No fucking way.”
She shoves up from her stool so fast it scrapes back against the floor. Hands on her hips, chest heaving, she stares daggers at the screen, then whips around to glare at me, then Riot, then the whole damn table.
“You cheated,” she declares, jabbing a finger straight at my chest. “There is no universe where The Reaper-cussions beat Quiztopher Nolan by three points in the final round. None.”
I lean back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, letting her see exactly how much I’m savoring this. “We earned it, firecracker. You said trivia was your domain. Never said we couldn’t do homework.”
“Homework?” She’s practically vibrating with righteous fury now, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes blazing under the bar lights. “You mean Riot had his phone out under the table the whole lightning round. I saw him scrolling Wikipedia like a goddamn scholar!”
Riot throws his head back and cackles. “Guilty, Savvy. But hey...winner’s rules. No crying on trivia night.”
She spins on him like a tornado. “You’re dead to me, Riot. Dead. To. Me. No more free beers. No more invites to my house. You’re banned from my birthday forever.”
He clutches his chest in mock agony. “You wound me, darlin’. Truly.”
Savannah whirls back to me, stepping right into my space until her breasts brush my chest and her finger’s poking my sternum again.
“This is unacceptable. We were up by seven going into the last round. Seven! And you,” poke “you swooped in like some smug, tattooed trivia assassin and stole it from Quiztopher Nolan.”
“Smug?” I raise a brow, catching her wrist gently and tugging her closer until her body’s flush against mine. “Baby, I’m just happy. My team won. Means I get to put my ink on you tonight.”
Her breath hitches, the competitive fire in her eyes flickering into something darker, hungrier. But she’s nowhere near done, she’s too stubborn, too fierce for that.
She leans up on her toes, voice dropping to a venomous whisper only I can hear.
“Enjoy your little victory lap, Lucky. Because next Thursday? Quiztopher Nolan is coming for blood. I’m bringing color-coded flashcards.
I’m bringing a goddamn PowerPoint. And when we win, that tattoo you’re so excited about?
It’s going to be something *humiliating*.
Like a glittery unicorn. On your forehead. ”
I laugh, low, rough, the sound rumbling between us, and slide my hand to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide over the curve of her ass through her jeans. “Bring it, firecracker. I’ll wear whatever you slap on me. Long as it’s you marking your territory.”
She huffs, but the fight’s starting to bleed out of her shoulders. Her hands slide up my chest, fisting the leather of my cut, and she presses her forehead to mine for a heartbeat, just breathing hard, letting the loss sink in like a punch she didn’t see coming.
“You’re lucky I like you,” she mutters, voice still edged with frustration.
“I know.”
She pulls back, eyes still narrowed to slits, but there’s a reluctant grin tugging at the corner of her mouth now. “Fine. The Reaper-cussions can have this one. But don’t get cocky. Next week I’m ending you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Riot’s voice booms across the table again, gleeful and obnoxious. “Yo, Savvy! You gonna pay up or keep sulking? Lucky has a date with a tattoo gun and your fine ass!”
She flips him off without breaking eye contact with me. “Shut up, Riot. I’m in mourning.”
Then she turns back to me, competitive fire still smoldering but softened by that heat I know too well. “Shop. Now. Let’s get this over with before I challenge you to a sudden-death rematch right here on the bar top.”
I grin, already steering her toward the door with my hand low on her back. “Lead the way, loser.”
She elbows me in the ribs, hard, but she’s laughing through it now, the sound bright and wild and all mine, even in defeat.
We push out into the cool night air, her still muttering about “unfair advantages” and “next week’s vengeance,” me already picturing her stretched out on my table at the shop, skin bare under the bright lights, my needle steady as I mark her as mine forever.
She lost tonight. But the way she’s gripping my hand like she’s ready to drag me there herself, the way she keeps shooting me those fierce, competitive glances over her shoulder? She’s not done fighting. And fuck if that doesn’t make winning feel even sweeter.