“I’ve decided I don’t want to stop looking at you, so if it takes me longer to decide …” He offers me a cheesy little grin, and I must be out of sorts tonight because I’m losing patience. Fast. I try my best not to roll my eyes, and instead glance over his shoulder at the sergeant and his crew still sitting there in the corner. My stomach drops as I noticethoseeyes on me, glancing up over the rim of his glass. Then the sergeant turns to face me fully and holds me with his gaze for a beat before he stands up. Probably ready to leave. I will myself to look away and offer Ryan a very fake smile, ignoring his attempt to hit on me.
“We have some excellent local craft beer—”
“I’ve also decided that I’d like to know what makes you smile. I saw you smile earlier.” He cuts me off, flashing me another grin and thick-lashed blue eyes. I sigh deeply, bracing myself to shut this man down as politely as possible. Then Ryan reaches down and grabs my wrist as I set a napkin on the bar. My body physically rejects his touch and I tug my arm back.
“It feels like … well, it almost feels like the heavens start to open every time—”
“Van Morrison?” a deep voice asks, sounding almost annoyed. “That shit works for you?”
I flinch and turn to face the sergeant, realizing he stood just to come over here.
“You don’t pick up a woman like that, squid, especially when she’s just trying to do her job, yeah?” The sergeant turns his furrowed gaze intently to me, leaning into the bar and, in turn, pushing Ryan aside. One large hand reaches out to circle my wrist. I look down and notice that the tattoo of a chain on his right hand almost looks like a bracelet of sorts. His thumb grazes the soft skin of my inner arm. This touch doesn’t repel me; this touch makes me weak. I break out in goosebumps, and he immediately pins my eyes with an intense stare.
“Me and the boys are gonna stay a little later and rack some,babe. We’ll need another round of Hellbender.”
My mouth pops open and so does Ryan’s. Even I will admit this outlaw is devastatingly gorgeous in the most unconventional way, and for some reason, it seems he’s pretending we’re acouple?
I tip my head to the side and narrow my eyes at the way he speaks. His tone is almost affluent, unexpected, and I can’t make sense of it as I look from Ryan back to the man’s eyes, which are making me feel very unsteady. I pull my arm away.
“And whatever your new friend here is about to have, add that to my tab too,” he says, flashing a gorgeous straight smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his vibrant eyes. It somehow only serves to make him even more threatening.
“T-thanks man,” Ryan stutters with a cautious smile. “I’ll take a whiskey sour. Sorry … I didn’t know she was taken—”
“I’m not taken,” I interject. That anger I was looking for when he came up to the bar has finally arrived.Who the hell does he think he is?
The sergeant shoots a warning glance at me.
“I promise I won’t hurt him. Now that he’s apologized …” he says pointedly, but his words are more of a threat than anassurance with the wicked smirk he wears just for me. I feel almost hot with the way he’s publicly claiming me—the shameless way he seems to think he has the right to pretend I’mhisas I make Ryan’s drink.
I set the whiskey sour on the bar and Ryan makes a move to grab it, but the Sergeant is faster. “Oh … just one thing,” he says to Ryan as he passes the drink over to him. “You’re going to fuck off now, and be sure never to look in this direction again, unless you’d like to know what it feels like to have your eyes plucked from their sockets. Understand?”
He clamps his large hand on Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan almost buckles as his eyes widen. I instantly know as well as Ryan does that this man wouldn’t hesitate to doexactlywhat he threatens. Then he lets go with a clap to Ryan’s shoulder and it somehow makesmefeel bold, despite our workplace mantra that “the customer is always right.” This customer doesn’t have the right to hit on me.
“Actually, two things …” I turn to Ryan, a hand on my hip. “Put your wedding ring back on, you look like a jackass.”
Ryan looks between us for all of one second before he disappears without a backward glance, faster than I’ve ever seen a man scurry away from a bar in my life. I can’t help but feel the rush of just speaking my mind for once. That felt damn good. I let a small smile slip onto my face when I meet the Sergeant’s eyes, and he smirks back.
“You’re welcome. But I really do want those Hellbenders,” he commands with a gleam in his eyes and a knock on the bar top. He turns to leave but I stop him. I spread my arms out wide on the bar, leaning in so he can hear me, feeling almost high as his eyes narrow and he comes closer.
“I’m not available for you either, and I’m not thanking you for acting like a Neanderthal. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve worked here for months.” I look up at him pointedly. “I can handle myself.”
The sergeant spreads his own arms outward, matching my stance and leans in so his face is inches from mine as he looks me up and down—slowly, hotly, as his incredible scent washes over me.
“Can you now?”
“Absolutely,” I bite out in response. He’s overwhelming, to put it mildly, but I can’t let this man know he ruffles my feathers even one bit. Something tells me he wouldn’t respect me if I faltered, but as his eyes trail over me, something also tells me that I’d be shockingly down to bedisrespectedby him.
This man actually smirks. “Those Hellbenders, yeah?” he says, swallowing me with his eyes.
I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and turn to reach on my tiptoes to grab the Hellbender off the second-highest shelf. When I turn back and pull four glasses out from under the bar, tingles erupt all over my skin, because my sergeant’s gaze has changed from the playful one he had before. This gaze is ruinous and almost hungry.
My sergeant? What the hell, Layla?
I ignore it as best I can and pour his four shots, then slide them across the bar. When the last shot reaches him, our fingers brush, sending a trail of goosebumps up my forearm, just as his friend, the blond, slides in beside him.
“Ax, fuck, what’s taking so long? It’s your shot …” he says, looking at me, his words trailing into a grin.Ax?I’m not surprised his name is Ax. Isn’t that what all these bikers’ names are like? Ax? Razor? Tank?
“Oh …got it.” His gaze bounces between us. “Still hungry.” He chuckles. Ax backhands the blond man in the chest as he takes three of the shots in his own hands and leaves Ax’s with him.
