“Yeah, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Speed punches Fist in the arm.
“What’s the big fuckin’ deal? I call all hot women bitches. Or bitches in heat.”
“Lovely.” I roll my eyes.
“Shit, anybody with eyes can see she’s a classy bitch . . . sorry, woman,” Speed amends. “Not like those used-up cunts you’re ballin’ over at the Royal Flush.”
Thankfully, years listening to my father’s friends’ banter, then the Dogs made me immune to the trash talk.
I smile up at Fist. “Just for the record, she was checking you out too.”
“I knew it.” Fist shoulder-butts Speed. “Women see a good thing, and they can’t pass it up.”
“Ahhh, shit, now there’ll be no living with him,” Speed complains.
“Don’t worry, I also told her you have a different woman in your bed every night.”
“Fuck, babe, why’d you go and tell her that?”
“Just repeating what Deuce told me.”
Fist screws up his lips. “Hey, Deuce, what the fuck? You’re cockblocking me now?”
Deuce lays the power saw on the bar top, pushes back his safety googles and ambles over to us. His long strides eat up the space between us in no time.
“What’s your problem?” Deuce glares at Fist.
“Telling Sammie I’m a dog with women. That ain’t right.”
“Might not be right, but it’s fuckin’ true.” Deuce smirks at me. “Half the time, he doesn’t even get their names.”
“Like you’re any different.” Fist flings his hand at me. “Why don’t you tell her the real reason you call all women babe is ‘cause you usually can’t remember their names or never got them in the first place.”
“Is that so?” I cock my head. “That’s very interesting.
“I remember some names.”
“Yeah, right.” Fist barks out a laugh.
“I remember Cinzia Marino.”
The name hangs between us, and I can’t hold back the grin curving my lips or my eyes darting to his.
“Who the fuck is Cinzia Marino?” Speed asks.
“Sounds like a stripper name,” Fist says. “Who is she, some bitch you balled back in the day?”
“Not that far back.” His black eyes never leave mine. “I can still remember every detail, right down to little moans in the back of her throat.”
“Shit, brother,” Fist complains. “Too much fuckin’ information.”
Deuce breaks eye contact, turns and heads back to the bar. My eyes follow him like I have no control over my own body.
“Anyway,” Fist continues. “Tell your friend to stop by again.”
“Get the fuck back to work,” Deuce shouts from behind the bar. “It ain’t quitting time yet.”
Fist and Speed head back to the wood floor planking, and I turn toward the kitchen, purposely keeping my eyes forward even though I can feel Deuce’s gaze tracking my every move.
