12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Maci
W hen I show up with caffeine in tow, Leah all but throws herself into the Jeep. I give her a once-over under the dome light. Sunday night or not, she’s dressed to party from her black western boots to her wild and free hair, exactly how I always picture her. She swipes the coffee I hold out to her and takes a deep drink, smiling.
It’s a cool evening so I’m a little surprised she chose cut-off shorts and a tank top. A black lace kimono completes the outfit. It looks more like one of Nana’s doily runners with all its holes, but somehow she pulls it off.
I haven’t been to the bar Leah directs me to in about three years. Back when we had all just turned twenty-one, any bar was a good bar. Though, Leah and Izzy have never taken me to the other one in town.
The establishment is split into two rooms. The entrance dumps patrons into a large rectangular space, featuring a dance floor surrounded by a wooden railing on the left. A long bar takes up the better part of the right wall. Pool tables fill a cutout space on the right side of the room that’s not occupied by the bar. The area between the two attractions is filled with high-top tables and stools.
The back wall provides access to the bathrooms, the kitchen, and a smaller room. A few pool tables in the back room are visible through the open door .
Tonight, there’s no bouncer and Leah picks a table near the entrance to the second room, giving us a fabulous vantage point of the main room. Members of the local motorcycle club claim tables near the dance floor—which has exactly zero occupants. Despite growing up around bikes and seeing a few of the members around town, I haven’t interacted with any of them. I don’t even know if they’re a gang or simply local guys who ride together. Only a few other patrons inhabit the bar tonight.
While we drink, I tell her all about the day and the revelations Stephanie threw at me. She meets my story with enthusiastic anger, promising to provide my alibi if I decide to sic my wrath on Alan. Some of my angry energy is expended through the tale and I turn the talking over to Leah, content to listen and enjoy a slight buzz.
I kick my boot lazily against the leg of the bar stool I’m sitting on as Leah tells a story about saving Smokey from a raccoon. When I bring my straw to my lips, I discover the glass is empty. My lips purse in annoyance.
“Want another?” Leah stands, slipping her arm through mine and transitioning into a story about work as we head to the bar. She manages the western store in town and I know she wants more, like something with jewelry, but she hasn’t convinced herself to take the plunge yet.
A single bartender handles an order from one of the MC members whose cut has a ‘Prospect’ rocker on the back. Despite the low headcount, the music is loud enough that we can’t hear his order or much of anything else. He glances absently our way as he grabs the few bottles set before him.
His face is familiar. Maybe it’s his eyes.
I smile when he makes eye contact, a result of my Southern upbringing. It always frustrates me when people don’t return the gesture, a compulsion I can’t ignore. He doesn’t .
He turns momentarily back to the bartender before heading to his friends. The bartender strolls over. She appears sweet. And young. I estimate her to be barely old enough to serve beer, but not drink it. Which makes some of the looks she gets from older customers repulsive.
A battered name tag attached to the pocket of her plaid shirt, which is tied up between her minimal breasts, says her name is Tawny. I refrain from asking if it’s a stage name.
“What can I getcha?” She leans on the bar casually. We place a repeat order and when she slides the drinks across the bar to us, I produce my debit card from my back pocket.
She pauses before walking away, saying, “The guy over there paid for your drinks,” and jerking her chin behind us.
Leah and I follow the direction of Tawny’s gesture to where the MC members are seated. The biker in question, who moments ago stood before us, looks our way as if summoned. We lift our glasses in thanks. His eyes bore into me and he winks in response. I blame it on the three drinks under my belt when I bravely ask Leah, “Ready to make some new friends?”
Her mischievous grin is answer enough and she motions with one hand for me to lead. “It’s usually me pulling this kind of stunt.”
Our drink buyer hasn’t stopped watching us as we approach. His companion looks over, taking us in and grinning at Leah, who purses her lips playfully. When we reach the table, she jerks her chin for him to move over. Without hesitating, he empties his seat for her, taking the one next to him and greeting her with a, “Hey there,” as she plops down.
My eyes sweep back to the purchaser of our drinks. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he says by way of greeting.
I don’t believe him .
Even seated, I can tell he’s tall with dark hair and eyes, complimented by a casual smile. Tattoos cover both arms and disappear under his white t-shirt and black MC cut. At one point or another, every straight woman I’ve known has had a “bad boy phase”. He’s close, but no cigar.
“I’m Colt. That’s Pete.” His eyes don’t shift to Leah and her new boy toy. I hold his gaze. The intensity isn’t unnerving, but I suspect he’s testing me.
“Maci. And Leah.” I keep it short and sweet in return.
He gestures to the stool to his left, across from Pete. Sliding onto it requires me to nearly press my body against Colt as I climb up, due to the MC member sitting on the opposite side, and effectively boxes me in.
Leah and Pete slip easily into conversation and I envy the ease with which Leah is able to fit a scene. She’s like a chameleon.
A single couple begins to make their way around the dance floor.
“You’re not from here.” Colt takes a swig of his beer, idly watching the dancers.
“Maybe not.” With a coy sideways glance, I sip my drink.
“You move recently?”
“Visiting. I live in Austin.” Leah convinced me to come out for some fun tonight, but I don’t want to get into heartbreak and family drama.
One of his hands comes up to brush back and forth over his mouth. He sets his empty beer bottle on the table and rests his hand, drawing my attention. Completed in black and gray, a scorpion tattoo fills a large portion of his left hand. The tail is situated in the middle with the head facing the space between his thumb and pointer fingers. Large pinchers stretch out to the first knuckle of each.
I’m close enough to reach out and trace the pinchers of the creature. Which I do, because I’m four drinks deep. His eyes land on his hand and then move up to my face. I purse my lips playfully without looking, willing myself to relax some. Colt leans forward with his elbows on the table, shifting his body in my direction. His warmth permeates my favorite black Henley with lace sleeves. He takes another long drink from his beer, his dark brown eyes flowing over me. “You need a drink.”
My eyes fall to my glass. That one didn’t last long. “You like stating the obvious.” His eyes flash and he grins.
Like she was summoned, Tawny approaches the table. Colt’s eyes roam over me again while Pete and Leah make a few requests. The corner of his mouth curves at me in a half-smirk and he orders us another round.
Leah leans forward, looking directly at me. “How do you think we get table-side service?”
“Well, for starters, I’m confident her attire isn’t for the benefit of you and me. Probably thinks she’ll have better luck here.” I hike a thumb toward Colt and raise my eyebrows toward Pete.
“Not a chance,” Pete gripes. Maybe I’m not the only one put off by the pedo-feel of some of the other patrons and their treatment of Tawny. It’s not her fault; she’s cute, but I can’t help but feel a little icky about it.
An older member walks up to the table and sits on the stool next to Pete. “What’s up, James?” Pete asks.
“Petey.” James’ voice is warm and low, with a hint of something foreign I can’t place due to his limited response. Leah leans back on her stool to look around Pete and take in the newcomer. Her eyes widen at me playfully and she mouths something like “hot”.
James nods at Colt who hasn’t addressed him, before his eyes slide over me and he tries to hide a double-take. His keen, green eyes are set in a distinguished face. Salt and pepper hair is styled impeccably, along with a well-groomed full mustache and short-trimmed beard. Not what one would usually think of for a motorcycle club member .
His broad shoulders give him a formidable build, though he exudes power, but not aggression. Beneath the taut black button-up and cut, it’s easy to see how well-built he is, even if he’s old enough to be my father. I scan his cut for a clue, trying to determine if we’ve met before, instead spotting the President patch on his left breast. Not entirely a surprise.
I will my face to remain impassive and make eye contact with Leah, wondering if she noticed. She’s already resumed talking with Pete, though, and the newcomer swivels on his stool to start a conversation with someone at the next table.
Tawny arrives with our drinks and I take a long pull from my straw with Colt’s eyes trained on me. “Like what you see?” he asks, his voice lower and closer than it had been.
Shrugging, I continue to sip my drink. He seems to be testing me. I’m aware he’s referring to James and not himself, and I refuse to indulge him with a real answer, even if my attention is more about determining what James knows that I don’t.
“Here!” Leah shouts over the music. She pushes two shot glasses our way, matching the ones near Pete and herself, then runs a hand through her untamed hair, throwing it over her head in Pete’s direction.
“What is it?” My eyes survey the red drink suspiciously and I contemplate not partaking.
“Red hots!” She confirms my worst fear. Tequila. Leah’s eyes sparkle at me and she bounces with excitement next to Pete. He smirks at her and reaches for the glass. “It’s only one!”
I press my eyes closed momentarily then swipe the shot glass off the table, looking at Leah expectantly before I can change my mind. Leah grabs hers eagerly, and in my peripheral, Colt lifts the one in front of him .
Leah opens her mouth to toast, but Pete beats her to it. “To Hell! May the stay there be as fun as the way there!”
That eases some of my tension and Leah and I grin wildly at each other before throwing back our shots, the spicy cinnamon effect lingering in my mouth.
“Whoo!” Leah cheers. “This tequila tastes like I’m not going to work tomorrow!”
“Oh, fabulous,” I tease, still grinning.
Out of habit, I scan the room and accidentally discover James with his eyes on Colt. He tips his chin down, acknowledging he’s been caught, though he doesn’t seem embarrassed, and then walks away from the table, joining a few MC members who are standing nearby.
Colt lays a hand on my thigh and squeezes firmly, drawing my eyes down to the literal pinchers wrapped around my leg, before they track taut muscles up his arm. Anticipation builds and I expect to find him watching me when our eyes meet. Instead, he’s tracking James from the table with a less than pleased expression. Again, the tension between us is dimmed, while my curiosity is piqued at the exchange.
This whole scenario is not what I would anticipate club politics to look like. Not that I know all that much about motorcycle clubs.
No sooner do I set my glass back on the table when Colt grabs my seat and pulls the barstool several inches closer to him, causing it to scrape in protest on the concrete floor. My heart jumps and Leah and I lock gazes. She gives Colt a once over, but not seeing anything concerning, picks up her conversation with Pete. The right side of my body warms, my stool nearly tucked between Colt’s legs. He leans toward me, his mouth right at my ear, all but whispering, “Don’t worry about him,” causing a chill to run down my spine .
A hip hop song comes on and Pete pulls Leah off her stool toward the dance floor, flipping the bill of his black ball cap to the back with his free hand. She shoots me a wink over her shoulder. They’re grinding on each other in no time.
“You dance?” Colt’s breath tickles my ear.
Before turning to face him, I shift back on the barstool, trying to create more space between us. “I do.” Not for a second do I think he’s going to ask me and he doesn’t.
A silent moment passes and then Colt grunts as if responding to someone. My brows furrow. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” His response is quick and holds a hint of agitation, which he quickly morphs as he continues. “You’re quiet. You shy or do I make you nervous?”
I laugh. “I’m not usually quiet, or shy, for that matter, and you don’t make me nervous. It’s been a long few days and the drinks are catching up with me, I think.” I immediately regret admitting the latter part.
“Mm.” Colt finishes his beer. “That explains why you’re tense.” The fingers of his free hand tickle along the outside of my thigh.
I set my jaw and stare into his eyes. “Maybe I’m just bored.”
He laughs. It’s a gritty sound with a measure of darkness to it. “You need some entertainment or something then?” He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and rakes his eyes over me.
“Something.” I’m going for bold banter, but it feels awkward coming out of my mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice.
Pete and Leah rejoin us. Colt turns to me with a wicked grin. “Come with me.”
I hardly have a chance to query, “Where to?” as he reaches for my hand and pulls me off the bar stool .
“You’ll see.” His tone is teasing. He gives Pete a glance. “We’ll be back.”
Leah winks as Colt leads me away. He doesn’t head for the dance floor, instead making his way through the back room and toward an exterior door.
“Where are we going?” I’m laughing as I take two steps for every one of his. My legs are heavy and my feet are less coordinated. He doesn’t respond as he pushes open the metal door and leads us into the dark of night.
Outside the air is cool and I rub my arms, mostly exposed by the lacy detail of my long sleeves. Colt turns sharply, kicking a piece of concrete at the door as it closes sideways. The corner of the door skids the rock along with it until they butt up against the frame, leaving a small gap rather than latching closed.
He cages me against the brick wall with an arm on either side of my head, his body mere inches from mine. His hot breath skates over my lips. “You wanted entertainment, so I’m about to show you how I can play your body.”
Colt’s composed demeanor from inside is a thing of the past. He uses his hips to pin me against the wall which scrapes my back through my thin shirt. His hands travel from my hips up my sides with a firm grip and he leans in, kissing me hungrily.
He tastes of beer and cigarette smoke and the scent of motor oil overwhelms me. The combination is threatening to make my drinks reappear.
When he releases my lips, I lean my head back against the brick wall and suck in a deep breath, willing my stomach to settle. The sky glitters with stars, void of any clouds.
A sliver of light from the cracked door penetrates the blackness of night. The warmth of the back room escapes through the gap, dancing over my skin, a complete contrast to the cool night air. Goosebumps rise on my arms and neck .
The possibility of someone coming upon us from the exit, or either side of the building, is equally terrifying and exciting. I lean into it, and my current blood alcohol content, in hopes of enjoying what’s happening.
I discover that Colt’s leather cut has soaked up the cold surprisingly fast when my fingers brush it, slipping under his shirt. I’m met with a firm build. His stomach muscles tense beneath my fingertips as he startles.
“Your hands are freezing,” he grumbles between sloppy kisses up my neck.
“Sorry.” It’s a blatant lie.
He immediately releases his grip on my sides to grab both wrists, pinning them between our bodies. “I’m happy to warm them.”
With one wrist locked in place between us, he thrusts the other hand toward his groin where I squeeze when he presses my hand against his erection. “Feel what I’ve been dealing with all night because of you?”
An inkling of doubt nudges me from within as my mind takes this opportunity to remind me one-night-stands are not something I’ve had experience with. Colt pinning me against a public wall for his gratification proves he isn’t concerned with the speed at which I jump into bed with someone, and the short-term nature of my time in town means I don’t care what he thinks of me since I don’t plan to see him ever again. So I push the nerves away.
“Oh, is that all?” I give an extra squeeze for good measure.
Without warning, he releases both hands and flips me around. I throw my hands out to brace myself on the brick wall.
One hand slides around my hip and down between my legs, cupping my core through my jeans. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna take good care of you,” he promises, biting and licking my neck .
His attentions are getting wetter, though it’s taking me a bit longer. Something feels off. I attribute it to a little fear at doing something wildly out of my comfort zone.
“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he whispers as he slides his hand up to pop open the button of my jeans and dip his hand inside.
When Colt’s hand grazes my clit I jolt, but I’m shortly convinced it was accidental as he pushes further.
He slips out of me, brushing my clit again and another startled sound escapes me. He chuckles. “I told you not to worry, baby.”
If he says baby one more time.
I’m not opposed to teaching. I did with my last two boyfriends. Either way, I don’t get the impression Colt thinks he has anything to learn, and since I don’t intend on this being a repeat experience, I let it go.
His hands work my jeans and underwear down my legs. The jingling of his belt and his zipper going down break through the quiet.
He grips my hips firmly with both hands and his exposed erection brushes my thigh. “I got you.”
In a moment of clarity, I freeze. “Wait!” His fingers dig into my hips but he doesn’t move. “Do you have a condom?”
Tension fills his silence. “I’m clean,” he says after a long moment.
“I don’t care.” I’m on birth control, but letting him finish inside me feels entirely too intimate for what’s happening here.
A hand leaves my hip, followed by a bit of movement. I dart my eyes over my shoulder to confirm he’s tearing open a condom. Once covered, he thrusts into me fully without warning and I curse loudly. A low “ fuuuck ,” rumbles behind me.
My head drops forward against the brick, the thump softened by my hand. Colt pulls back and thrusts in again. I reach one hand between my legs to continue what he started. If anyone’s going to get me there, it’s going to be me.
His intensity increases quickly and he drives into me over and over. If he cared a little more, we could probably get this whole thing together.
I try to clear my mind and lean into the buzz I’m losing. My fingers pick up their pace between my legs, sensing he won’t be lasting much longer.
His hands clench harder. “I can feel you squeezing my cock. You’re close.”
Sadly, he is mistaken.
“Shit.” His voice comes as a warning. Thrusting twice more, he finds his release.
I don’t give him time to come down before pulling away from him and redressing. “I’m going to stop by the bathroom.”
A couple of MC members are using a pool table in the back room and heat rushes through my neck and face. If they hadn’t figured out what was happening by the sounds, my embarrassment makes it clear.
That shit was not good and now I know one-night-stands are not my thing. I need more connection and someone who wants to please me, too. Just because it’s one night doesn’t mean it should be shit.
As I’m washing up, I notice minor abrasions on both palms from the brick. I roll my eyes. What a letdown.
Colt is seated at the table taking a long pull from a fresh beer. My hand rests on Leah’s shoulder as I look down at her. “I’m headed out. You hanging around?”
Pete’s eyes travel back and forth between the two of us before giving Colt some hardcore side-eye. I wonder which of us he thinks is the real cock block tonight .
For a split second, Leah meets my eyes and it’s clear she knows something is up. “I should head out, too. I’m beat.”
Pete looks at her with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes. He readjusts his hat needlessly.
“Give me your phone,” Leah orders and he does. With her number entered, she hands it back and jumps off her stool, grabbing her phone from the table as it lights up with the message she’s sent herself.
“See you around?” Colt asks.
“If you’re lucky.” I shoot him a wink for good measure, but some one-in-a-million shit would have to happen for me to ever consider him again.