“Did you invite someone over?” he asked.
I snorted. “It’s one in the morning and I wanted to get fucked, so no. I didn’t.” Sighing, I stalked out of the bedroom and toward the front door, not bothering to check who it was before I flung it open.
Barber stood on the other side, a bottle of what appeared to be his uncle’s home brew in his hand and a stupid grin on his face. In the darkness of the hallway he looked exactly like what he was—a criminal—but his grin just made it worse, especially with the smattering of bruises across his face, including a particularly big one on the right side of his jaw.
“What the fuck, Barber?” I snapped, crossing my arms.
He waved the glass bottle at me and the amber liquid sloshed inside. “Peace offering. I know Charley’s at work tonight—”
“He’s not,” I interrupted, glaring. “You’re forgiven. Goodbye.” I went to close the door, but he slammed his hand out to stop me, pouting in such a ridiculous way I wanted to punch him again.
“Quain’s out of town. Quick job. I’m on my own.”
“Don’t you have KC? Isn’t that the name of Quain’s son?” My glare deepened and my grip on the door tightened so he couldn’t get past me. Knowing Barber, he’d try.
“He’s spending time with his grandfather. Come on, King told me to apologize. I’m here apologizin’.” He waved the drink harder and shoved it at my chest.
I grabbed the bottle before he could let go and drop it on the floor, and in that time he managed to wriggle past me and into the apartment.
“That’s from Uncle Errol, he sends his regards,” Barber said over his shoulder as he made his way to the couch and fell onto it. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and pieces of mud caked on his boots fluttered to the glass. “So, do you forgive me? Because that home brew costs a mint.”
I glanced down at the bottle in my hand and tightened my grip on the neck of it. I imagined hammering the solid glass over Barber’s head, finishing him for good, but brought myself back from the edge quickly. He wasn’t a bad guy, just a pain in the ass. I slammed the door shut and glared at him.
“Barber, get the fuck out of my home.” I stormed over to him and slapped his boots off the table. “And get your filthy fucking feet off my coffee table.”
He cackled and it grated on my nerves. “You sound like my mom when I lived at home. Sweetheart”—his voice rose in pitch, a feminine sound leaving his mouth—“take your shoes off at the door. Lukey, don’t forget to take your schoolbag up to your room. Your father tripped over it the other day.” He made faces as he spoke and laughed again. “Fucking annoying.”
I gave him a toothy smile I knew would look terrifying. “Lukey, would your mother cut off your feet like I will?”
He grimaced. “Okay, feet not on the coffee table. Got it. Now go get some tumblers and let’s have a drink. I got a few good hits on your face, too, by the look of it.”
“No.” I pointed toward the door, jaw clenched and my hold on the alcohol tightening. “Get the fuck out of my apartment. I want to get laid.”
He waved his hand. “Brother, you can get laid anytime. Come on, King’ll be happy if we bury the hatchet. He hates it when guys in the club are fighting. Otherwise we’ll just have it out all over again when we do the Lake Run to Punch Out beach, and there are too many people who already try to kick my ass at the Punch Out. It’s not fucking fair.”
“I wonder whose fault it is?” I shoved the bottle at his chest, and he grabbed it again. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“Come on, man. I’m so lonely. Quain’s outta town, and KC’s with his grandfather. Errol took Sophie out to celebrate doing well on some test she took that will let her go to a good college.” He pouted as though that would change my mind.Hell no. “I ain’t got anyone.”
“That’s not my problem.” Anger sizzled inside me, and even though Barber was an all right guy sometimes, I couldn’t let anything ruin tonight. Not when I’d finally convinced myself I wanted to bottom. I grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, half dragging him toward the front door.
“Scar!” Charley’s sharp voice stopped me before I could throw Barber’s ass out, and we both glanced in his direction.
Barber raised the alcohol toward him. “Hey, Charley. Want a drink, brother? King wanted me to apologize and here I am. I thought you were working?”
Charley padded out into the living room, arms crossed and a confused expression on his face. Even though he was still wearing his work clothes, he looked amazing and had my mouth watering. “King wanted you to make up?”
Barber nodded. “Yeah, said I better make it right or he’ll kick my ass for real. We don’t need bad blood in the club. So, I came here with a drink.” He shook that damned bottle again, and Charley sighed.
“If we haveonedrink with you, will you go home?” he asked, sending me an apologetic look. I wanted to reject the idea and throw Barber’s ass out, but knowing him, he’d keep knocking until he woke our neighbors up and had the cops at our front door. Fuck him. I just wanted to get Charley’s cock in me, was that so wrong? I couldn’t tell Barber that, either, because he’d never let me live it down.
“Yeah! One drink and I’ll leave peacefully.” He made anXon his chest with a finger and gave Charley a silly grin. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”
“You will fucking die by the time I’m done with you,” I murmured, but Charley and Barber both ignored me.
“Fine.” Charley held out his hand, and Barber shook my hold on him, practically bouncing toward Charley to pass him the alcohol. “I’ll pour us a drink.”
“And after it’s done, I’m keeping that home brew,” I snapped, glaring as I collapsed onto the couch. My eyes snapped to the three secret places I kept handguns as I still considered shooting Barber in the head, but when he sat beside me, grinning at me with his bruised mouth, all I could do was sigh.
