Steele
Ididn’t hate Copper Lounge as much as I said I did.
But in comparison to the type of place I normally drank? And given the fact that I didn’t feel like dropping a tank of gas on a fucking drink that would last all of ten minutes?
Call it basic economics, but I did not have much demand, so it didn’t fucking matter what the supply cost. The only thing I had a demand for was Elizabeth, and when I’d seen her standing under the sign for Copper Lounge, I almost just made a bold, physical move right there.
She had on a thin white shirt that, if placed directly in the sun, might have been transparent enough for me to see her soft, curvy skin underneath it. She had on tight black shorts that I was sure had an actual clothing name, but to me, it just made her hips and ass look like a target, the kind of thing I just had to lay my hands on. Complimenting all of that were golden earrings, black heels, and legs that I just wanted to kiss, spread, and shove to the side.
Heavens, Tara was beautiful, but Elizabeth was hot. It was wrong to say I’d never looked at Elizabeth sexually before—I was a dude, and I’d drunkenly said as much to Tara before—but it wasn’t wrong to say I’d never entertained the thoughts before.
But now, here, tonight?
Well, let’s just say that I now had one goal for the evening.
Get Elizabeth Rogers on my bike.
If I did that, the rest would fall into place. She’d feel the vibrations, especially without long pants on. She’d have to put her life in my hands. She’d almost have no choice but to fall for me.
I was fighting not to completely believe it would happen, knowing how that had worked out for me recently, but every laugh she gave, every touch of mine that she fell into made it feel just a hair more likely that that was inevitable.
“Now I’m the one wishing I’d dressed a little less fancy,” Elizabeth said as we walked under the remnants of the New Mexico sunlight. “I didn’t think we’d be walking all the way—”
“We can always turn around and I can drive us,” I said, not even bothering to hide the smile on my face.
I still had her hand in mine, too. I squeezed it just for effect.
Elizabeth looked up at me, biting her lip, looking so hard like she wanted to be the good girl. I definitely appreciated Elizabeth’s warm and understanding nature, but we were not having a serious moment out here. This was like a tiger circling its mate right now, and I was just having fun seeing Elizabeth squirm against her ingrained nature.
“No, it’s fine,” she said.
As if to consciously prove the point, she pulled her hand away from me, putting it in her pockets.
“We can walk. I just will make a note of this for later.”
For later? So you’re already thinking ahead, huh?
“I just wished I’d known that you’d be wearing basic clothes, and—”
“Don’t ever call this basic,” I said, grabbing my cut.
At first, I hadn’t worn it that much, only at the repair shop. I’d felt like if I wore my cut everywhere, it would be the equivalent of an NFL or NBA player wearing their sports jersey everywhere they went. Nothing would have screamed douchebag louder than to do that.
But then Brock, after talking to Cole some more, had explained to me that we wore our cuts not to boast or not to show off for sex, but to take pride in who we were. Our cuts were not a pussy magnet or a status symbol. They were meant to show how serious we were about our brotherhood, about our duty, about our loyalty to ourselves and to what Santa Maria could be.
So not only were we asked to wear our cuts wherever we went, we were expected to. And I had taken to that request with pride.
It was probably as close as I would ever come to wearing something that someone in the military might have.
“I mean, it’s—”
“Don’t, Elizabeth,” I said.
Elizabeth’s breath hitched.
“Forgive me for not understanding, but it just seems like a guy’s club of sorts.”
She doesn’t know. She’s only seen the party. She wasn’t there when we helped Tara.
