Ghost recovers first, setting his beer down with a thud. “No shit? Old lady? Like, cut-and-vest old lady?”
I meet his stare dead-on. “Yeah. Like that.”
Diesel lets out a low whistle. “Fuck me. Thought you were just… y’know. Enjoying the ride.”
“Still am,” I say, voice dropping low enough that only she can hear the edge in it. I press a kiss to her temple, lingering just long enough to feel her lean into it. “But she’s riding permanently now.”
Tank finally finds his voice. “Well, goddamn. Congrats, Lucky.” He raises his glass. “To Lucky finally locking shit down.”
The others follow, bottles clinking, half-laughing, half-stunned murmurs of “holy shit” and “didn’t see that coming.” Riot’s still grinning like he won the lottery.
Savannah ducks her head a little, cheeks pink, but she’s smiling too. She squeezes my waist, fingers pressing into my side like she’s anchoring herself to me. I drop my hand to the small ofher back, thumb rubbing slow circles over the denim there, right where Noah’s hand had been earlier. Mine now. All mine.
She tilts her head up, voice quiet just for me. “You sure about this? Throwing it out there like that?”
I look down at her, those eyes, that mouth, every soft curve that’s been driving me insane since the day I met her. “Never been more sure of anything, firecracker.”
Her smile turns wicked. “Good. Because I’m not planning on letting you take it back.”
I lean down, brush my lips against her ear. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re wearing my cut soon. Then there’s no question.”
Riot clears his throat, loud and obnoxious. “You two gonna eye-fuck each other all night, or you gonna sit down and help us win this trivia shit? I’m not losing to your team again.”
Savannah snorts, leaning forward to point at him. “Keep dreaming, big guy. My team’s undefeated this month for a reason.”
Riot barks a laugh. “Yeah? That streak ends tonight. We’ve got a ringer now.” He jerks his chin at me. “Lucky is locked in. No more going easy on you just ’cause you’re pretty.”
She turns those big eyes on me, eyebrow arched. “Going easy, huh? That what you were doing last week when we beat you by fifteen points?”
I lean in, lips brushing her ear so only she can hear. “Last week I was distracted by the way your ass looked in those jeans every time you got up to grab a drink. Tonight? I’m focused. And I still want to win so I can drag you to Black Iron after and put my ink on you.”
Her breath catches, cheeks flushing just enough that I feel the heat radiating off her skin. But she doesn’t back down, she never does. Instead she turns her face, lips grazing my jaw. “Then you better bring your A-game, Lucky. Because if my team wins again… I’ve got another spot picked out for you. Somewhere even more visible.”
I growl low in my throat, hand tightening on her shoulder. “Deal.”
The emcee calls the next round, and the table splits, her crew huddled on one side, mine on the other, trash talk flying across the divide like bullets. But under the table, her fingers stay laced with mine, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. Rivals for trivia. Everything else? We’re already on the same side.
My brothers keep shooting me looks, amused, surprised, maybe a little jealous, but they’ll get used to it. They always do.
And me? I’ve got my woman pressed against my side, her team gunning to beat mine, my claim on her loud and clear for the whole damn bar to hear. The night’s just getting started, and win or lose, I’m walking out of here with her on the back of my bike.
The emcee’s voice crackles over the speakers, cutting through the rising din of the bar like a knife.
“Final scores are locked in, folks. Third place… Whiskey Business.”
A few half-hearted claps and groans ripple from the back.
“Second place… Quiztopher Nolan.”
Lena throws her hands up dramatically, yelling, “We were robbed!” while Eli and Noah pull her into a group hug, laughing it off.
“And claiming first place tonight...with a brutal comeback in the lightning round… The Reaper-cussions!”
Our side of the table detonates.
Riot slams both fists on the high-top so hard the empty bottles rattle. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he bellows, jumping up to slap Tank on the back hard enough to make the big man grunt. Diesel lets out a war whoop, pumping both arms like he just scored the winning touchdown. The prospects are on their feet, hollering, one of them already ringing the little brass victory bell the bar keeps stashed behind the counter. Ghost’s grinning like a maniac, pointing across the divide at Savannah’s team like he’s personally responsible for every correct answer.
I feel the slow, satisfied grin spread across my face. My arm’s still slung around Savannah’s shoulders, but she’s gone statue-still against me...every inch of her locked up tight, eyes glued to the projected scoreboard like it personally betrayed her.
