“Fucked?” Bass asked.
Ville flushed a dull, blotchy red from under his cheekbones all the way up to his eyebrows. He shot a quick uncomfortable glance at Shepherd and cleared the back of his throat.
“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “Can you get him here? He could patch Sonny up.”
Bass hesitated as he thought of Doc, with his clever hands and willing mouth. It had just been a sweaty fuck and a few hazy fantasies traded over the phone. It hadn’t meant anything, but if he did this? The minute he made that call, it would be splashed with the same shit as the rest of his life in Plenty.
It might be worth it, though. Shepherd was the sort of man who couldn’t wait to forget a good turn, but never someone he could use. If Bass made his problem go away, it would be better than Ville’s introduction. He’d been in town for a couple of months now, and the occasional junkyard car chase wasn’t going to scratch his itch for trouble much longer.
“Can you do that?” Shepherd broke into his thoughts. “Get a doctor down here?”
Bass pushed himself off the bar and pulled his phone out of his pocket. All told, whatever he had with Doc probably rounded up to a few hours of hot sex and a couple of pages of jerk-off material. An in with the Brothers, on the other hand, that could change Bass’s life.
Bass stripped his Henley over his head and tossed it over behind the bar. He stretched his arms behind him to loosen the ache of his wrenched shoulder, where a black-and-purple stain bruised into his chest. Then he smirked at Shepherd.
“Give me ten minutes in a well-lit room,” he said confidently as he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. It slid low over his lean hips, a flash of hipbone and ink over the frayed denim. “I can talk him into going anywhere I want him.”
He grabbed his beer from the bar and took it with him as he sauntered toward the Men’s room. He just hoped Doc had been telling the truth about being a doctor—that or he was ready to really commit to the lie.
