Nobody had ever called me that before. I liked it. A lot. “Feisty, huh?”
“Fierce.” He squeezed my butt. “Ferocious.” He leaned in and snapped his teeth near my neck. “A goddamn savage. You’re not cooking for me tonight, though.”
“Why not?”
His eyes darkened. “I’ve got other plans for you. I want you on my cock, not in my kitchen. Get dressed and grab whatever you need to take to the station. We’ll pick up something to eat along the way.”
He released me, albeit reluctantly. I dressed, packed up my clothes, and locked up the apartment. We climbed into my car and headed out, stopping for Chinese takeout along the way.
It was shortly after three by the time we made it to the fire station. Spade carried my suitcase upstairs while I set out the paper containers and grabbed us plates. The restaurant had neglected to include chopsticks with our order, and I searched the kitchen for some before giving up and opening the fridge.
“Whatchu doin’?” Spade asked, bumping his hip against mine as he joined me.
“Looking for something to drink.”
“The good stuff’s out in the bar. Want me to get you a beer or make you a cocktail? I think Emily and Julia stocked up some decent wine, if that’s more of your thing.”
I thought about refusing and sticking with water, but I was having fun and wanted to relax even more. Alcohol would help. “Actually, Shari made me something last night that was really good. A rum and diet? Does that sound right?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I got you, babe. Need anything else?”
“What about chopsticks?” I asked. “Got any of those around here?”
“Third drawer beneath the coffee pot.”
Closing the fridge, I eyed him skeptically as I opened the drawer and looked inside.
“Pull it out further. They’re in the back.”
Sure enough, disposable chopsticks in paper wrappers were piled up in the back of the drawer. I grabbed two sets. “You know your way around the kitchen, huh?”
“All club members start out as prospects.” He grabbed the plates I’d set on the counter and followed me out to the dining room. “While prospecting, we have to prove our value and loyalty, which basically means we get stuck with a lot of shit jobs to see how committed we are to joining. Prospects do most of the cleaning and some of the cooking around here.”
“So, it’s like an initiation process.” Interesting. I followed Spade out to the dining room. “Is membership worth the hassle?”
“Absolutely. The club’s clean, so it’s not like a one-percenter club that makes their prospects earn or fight their way in. Honestly, it’s not bad. Not nearly as bad as boot camp and we all handled that shit just fine.”
He set the plates down on the giant table and headed for the bar while I started dishing us up food. Expecting him to sit across from me, I pushed his plate to the other side of the table, but when he returned, he sat on my left and reached over to grab it.
“Sorry if this breaks etiquette, but I like being close to you.” He scooted my drink over in front of me. “Hope that’s all right.”
I didn’t know if he was talking about the drink or his location, but I took a sip and nodded. This was a little stronger than the one Shari made me, but I could handle it. Probably. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
He arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to say more.
“And I like sitting beside you, too.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard to admit. I knew you liked me all along.” Grinning he dug into his dinner.
Honestly, I couldn’t see how anyone could resist him. Remembering the way he’d bent me over the arm of my loveseat had me crossing my legs. Desperate to think about something else, I asked, “Why ‘Dead Presidents?’ Is there a story behind the name?” I’d been curious about the club name for a while, but I kept forgetting to ask Carly. I could have asked any of the guys, but I felt more comfortable with Spade.
“The name describes how it feels to leave the service. One minute, your entire life revolves around serving the country. Then your term ends, and you’re thrust back into civilian society. You know all this shit and have all kinds of training, but none of it matters anymore. That life’s dead to you now. You’ve gotta try to remember who the fuck you were and what you wanted to do with your life before you signed up. People come home, but they never really come back, Jess. Not like they were, at least. The service changes everyone. Sometimes it’s for the better, sometimes it’s not.” He frowned, clearly thinking of someone in particular. “Link’s dad, Jake, formed the club and built this place to help reintegrate servicemen into civilian society. And since his last name is Lincoln... the name just worked.”
Made sense. Swallowing a bite, I asked, “Link’s name is Link Lincoln?”
“Link’s his road name. Since his real name is public knowledge, I can tell you it’s Tyler. Some of the brothers hide their real names. Since Link’s the face of the club and has to interact with the public all the time, he doesn’t care.”
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
