TWENTY-SEVEN
Throttle
Ever since my father showed up at the club, I can't stop thinking about it. It's frustrating that he remains an unpleasant prick. The way he spoke of Tequila. He doesn’t know her or me, so screw him.
If he had any desire to make things right, he wasted his only opportunity, assuming I would even consider forgiving and forgetting. It was extremely unlikely.
I take a sip of my beer, savoring the bitter flavor, and steal a glance at Tequila. Not only did she stick up for me to my father, but she held me up on the highest pedestal, one I’m not sure I even deserved.
Her smile has a magical effect on the room, and her laughter is captivating. When the reason for her laughter touches her hand, the little green monster inside me emerges.
I recognize him from Venom’s club. Sandy blond hair describes his loyal right-hand man. What the hell was he doing here when he had his own club?
Bastard.
“You cannot murder every guy who talks to her. Especially when you refuse to end whatever game you two are playing.” Brass removes the triangle from the pool table and aims his cue while Tank stands there with a smirk.
Crack.
I peer at them from over my bottle. “Fuck off.”
Brass laughs and has his turn, followed by Tank, interjecting with his unwanted opinion. “I’ll be honest. It’s starting to become sad, man and I’m concerned for your wellbeing at this point.”
With a roll of my eyes, I take another sip. “Don’t you have better things to do than find joy in my suffering?”
“Ah. He finally confesses,” Tank says, and they both laugh with pride.
Fine. I'm saying it out loud. I want Tequila. A part of me knew I’ve always wanted her. Not as a friend. Fuck that, but more. So much more. She’s always been mine.
“If you’ll excuse me, dipshits.” I leave my chair and brothers behind, stalking to the bar.
The closer I get, the louder my heart pounds. I have no idea. Maybe my father's visit was the reason. Maybe I couldn't endure the damn torture anymore. The constant need to reach out and touch her in ways I shouldn’t.
Tequila's laughter fades as she notices me approaching. A flash of curiosity on her pretty face.
“Get lost.” I lean in, gripping the edge of the bar so tight my knuckles turn white.
“Throttle,” Tequila’s order to behave will be ignored.
Wrench shifts his gaze toward me, noting the rage exuding from my pores, then turns his attention back to Tequila, who is now scowling with crossed arms.
"Don't be such a Neanderthal," she scolds me before my best friend turns back to the confused biker. “I’m sorry. He has crazy, possessive tendencies.”
I smirk.
With a cocky grin, Wrench rises. “I meant no disrespect. Sorry, man. Didn’t realize she was your ol’ lady.”
Her mouth drops. “No. He’s not my—”
“Apology accepted.” I grin, and an understanding passes between us.
Wrench leaves and Tequila's jaw is about to hit the floor.
“Are you serious right now? You can’t let every guy who talks to me assume I’m yours, Throttle!” She whips the washcloth down. “You do not get to—”
“You are mine.” I lean in, close enough to capture her candy scent.
She stares at me, then blinks. “What are you doing?” The confusion and bitterness drips out from her question.
“What I should’ve done a long time ago. I’m done running—hiding from this. From us.”
Her brow lifts. “If you’re done scaring away every customer who says hi to me tonight, I’ll be getting back to work.”
She doesn’t believe me, and who can blame her? I’ve been a jackass since we slept together.
I won’t push her into trusting me. It’s going to be on her terms, and even if it takes forever. Forever, I’m willing to wait.
“I’ll be here after your shift.” I tap my knuckles on the oak counter and walk backwards with my rose, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. It's possible, or it's possible, that I've finally found it.