“You’re just a kid,” Savage teased.
“Yeah—okay, old man,” Bowie said. Savage knew the guy was teasing, but at forty-five, he was really beginning to feel his age. “And how old are you?” Savage winced at the mention of his age. It was something he usually didn’t share because it wasn’t anyone’s damn business.
Savage smiled at Bowie, trying to deflect his question with one of his own. “Want to have a couple of beers with me?” Savage knew he was pushing his luck with the younger guy, but he didn’t give a shit. He was hot, tired, and Bowie turned him the fuck on. It was time to knock off, and if Savage could convince him to have a couple of beers, then he might be able to talk Bowie into coming home with him for the night. If he was reading the signals correctly, his new friend was interested, but he had been wrong in the past—so who knew.
“You asking me out, Savage?” Bowie questioned. Now it was Savage’s turn to waver in his answer, and he suddenly worried that he had misread the chemistry that hummed through the air between the two of them.
Savage shrugged, “Maybe I am,” he said, not really answering Bowie’s question. The guy was as stoic as they came, and Savage was trying to read him, but he wasn’t having any luck.
“Listen, if I misread the situation, then just forget I asked,” Savage grumbled. He picked up the last part of his rocket that landed a few hundred feet away from where he had parked, and by the time he turned around and headed back to his pick-up truck, he found Bowie leaning up against the passenger side door, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“I’m in,” Bowie said, flashing him a wolfish grin.
“Sounds good,” Savage said. He was trying for nonchalant, but his tone sounded anything but. It had been a damn long time since he met a man who made his cock pay attention, but Bowie did that for him. Savage needed to get himself under control, or he’d blow his whole cool guy routine. Hell, he was far from being cool, but Bowie seemed interested, and he wasn’t about to do anything to fuck that up.
“You have someplace in mind?” Bowie asked, helping Savage shove the last of his equipment into the back of his pickup. “I mean, do you have a place you usually go to, you know, for a few beers?”
Savage liked the way Bowie seemed just as flustered about their situation as he was. He found it kind of cute the way the guy was floundering for words. He could have helped him out, but givinghim a hard time felt like the better option and would be a lot more fun.
“You mean, like a gay bar?” Savage asked. He knew he was adding fuel to the fire, but he didn’t care. Bowie turned an adorable shade of red that ran down his sexy neck and had Savage wanting to see just how far down his blush went.
“Well, I mean—sure. Or any bar, for that matter. It doesn’t matter to me,” Bowie stuttered.
Savage reached out and put his hand on Bowie’s arm. “I’m just messing with you,” he said. “I don’t know of too many gay bars in Huntsville. I usually just go to my own bar, but I don’t really advertise that I’m gay, and I don’t feel like answering questions tonight. You mind just going to the Voodoo Lounge? It’s a bit yuppie, but I think we can blend in with the regular crowd. Plus, they’ve got great live music a few nights of the week.”
“Wait—you have a bar?” Bowie asked.
Savage smiled and nodded, “Yep—the bar’s called Savage Hell. It’s also where my motorcycle club meets. We’re a part of the Royal Bastards, which is a nationwide MC, but my little chapter calls themselves Savage Hell, after the bar. I try to keep my personal and private lives separate.”
“Meaning you haven’t shared that you’re gay with your club,” Bowie guessed.
Savage wasn’t sure what to say to Bowie’s assessment. On the one hand, he felt the need to set him straight, and on the other, he wanted to tell him it wasn’t anyone’s business who he was having sex with. From the way his body was responding to Bowie, he hoped to have sex with him before the end of the night.
“Listen,” Savage said. “I learned a long time ago that who I’m fucking is no one’s business. I like you, Bowie, but if you’re not interested, tell me now if I’m wasting my time.”
“I was just talking, man,” Bowie said.
Savage sighed, “Yeah—I’m just on edge lately with these damn tests needing to be done yesterday, and I’m being an ass. Sorry,” he offered. “And to answer your question—I haven’t told my club that I’m bi.” Hell, he hadn’t told many people about that part of his life. Savage was careful not to bring any of the men or women he slept with home to meet Chloe. He didn’t want to expose his daughter to his unstable dating life, and that was exactly what it was—chaotic.
He hadn’t been much of a serial dater, usually not making it past one night with a person. It was easier that way. He didn’t have to make any promises to anyone, and he didn’t expect anything in return. The one time he broke his no-dating rule, he ended up running away like a fucking coward when messy feelings got in the way.
“So we're doing this?” Savage asked. He started for the driver’s side of his pick-up, not waiting to see if Bowie was going to join him or not.
“I get it,” Bowie said. “I don’t share that part of my life easily. I haven’t even come out to my family yet.” Bowie slipped into the passenger side of the cab of the truck and pulled his seatbelt on, clicking it in place.
“What about your truck?” Savage asked, nodding to where Bowie’s vehicle sat, just down the road.
“I’ll get it tomorrow when I’m back on duty. That is, if you don’t mind giving me a lift back to my place later.” Bowie seemed toassume Savage would just agree, and honestly, he didn’t mind. If he was Bowie’s ride for the night, there was a better chance they’d end up in Bowie’s bed for a little while. Savage never left Chloe overnight, but he had a sitter with her, and he knew that she’d agree to a few extra hours if he paid double.
“Sure,” Savage said. “No problem.”
“Thanks,” Bowie said. “I have to admit, I could use a night out. It’s been a shit show around base, and I could use the break.”
“Yeah, I heard about the cut-backs, and I guess being down so many people makes for more work for the ones who are left.” Savage knew some other guys on base from his club, and they were all complaining about the changes to the budget and having to take on more hours for the same pay. His MC was made up of mostly military guys, both active and retired. But his guys came from all walks of life—he even had a few one-percenters who he was happy to help get their lives straightened out. He liked helping his guys and even took a few of them under his wing, as a sort of personal project.
“Yep, it sucks. But what am I gonna do? Uncle Sam owns me, and I go where he tells me,” Bowie said.
“Where are you originally from?” Savage asked. He usually didn’t get too chatty with his “dates,” but there was something about Bowie that made him want to know more about the guy.
