Chapter Six
“NICE CAR,”Bass said. He leaned back against the long fire-engine-red hood of the Mustang and crossed his arms. “Gotta say, I figured you more for Jags than muscle cars.”
Tag shot him a bleak look. “I guess there are things neither of us knew about the other,” he said harshly, but he didn’t break stride. He paced the length of the car and then back again as he took deep, unsteady breaths of the cool night air. There was blood on his scrubs and sweat stains under his arms and around his collar.
It was oddly hot…. Allof it. The steady hand, the confidence as he opened Sonny’s leg down to the bone and fucked around in there like he knew what he was doing, and the rangy, restless energy of him now that all that adrenaline was off the leash.
From experience Bass knew that the sex right then would be amazing. He’d been there often enough, his veins itchy with suddenly aimless energy that needed to be pointed somewhere. Of course it wasn’t going to happen. Under the circumstances, a fight was more likely. Although he did, briefly, consider just shoving Tag up against the car and kissing him. Whiskey and anger sharp in their mouths and the gradual surrender of Tag’s lean, responsive body as Bass bent him over a car hood—
Tag interrupted Bass’s fantasy as he stopped midpace in front of the car. He stood for a second, jaw set and eyes closed. Then he gagged and bolted over to puke into the weeds at the edge of the lot. Bass looked away, his attention focused on the scuffed toe of his boot until Tag stopped retching.
“Son of a bitch,” Tag muttered, his voice clogged and raw. He was doubled over, hands braced on his knees, and his head hung between his shoulders. For a second, Bass thought he just meant… generally. Then Tag spat, wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist, and spat the words out between his teeth. “You son of a bitch.”
“I got Shepherd to cut you loose, didn’t I?” Bass protested, the defensive prickle automatic even when he was in the wrong. “I had your back.”
Tag pushed himself upright. “Sure,” he said bitterly as he stalked back. “You’re a fucking prince. Get off my car.”
“Look, Sonny needed help,” Bass said. He didn’t know why. What he did was the sort of shit you couldn’t come back from, and he knew that when he honeytrapped the text. His mouth apparently hadn’t gotten the memo, and it just wanted to justify itself. “If I hadn’t called you, then Shepherd would have ripped that screwdriver out with a crowbar and got Sonny a whore to distract him as he bled out. You’d rather that happen than I ask you for help?”
“You didn’t ask,” Tag pointed out. He stalked by Bass and prepared to get into the car. “That’s the point. Get off my car.”
It was a fair point, but Bass reached out and slammed the Mustang’s door shut. He held out his arms when Tag glared at him.
“Go on, then.”
“What?”
“Hit me,” Bass said. He stuck out his chin as a target. “Take your best shot, and I won’t even duck.”
Tag choked out a laugh that he scrubbed off his mouth with an impatient pass of his hand. He shook his head and jerked the door open again.
“You think that will make me feel better? What? I split your lip and we’re even? Break your jaw and I owe you one?” he asked. “No hard feelings?”
Bass met his gaze. “I deserve it,” he admitted.
“Yeah,” Tag said quietly. “You do. But there’s two problems with that. If I break my knuckles, I’ll be benched for a couple of months, and you aren’t worth it.”
The sting of that caught Bass by surprise. It made him sneer and bristle in reaction.
“Not what you said before,” he said, even though he knew he should shut up. The hole he’d dug was deep enough. “You thought I was worth it when you drove down here on a promise of some ass.”
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Bass thought with a grimace at the taste that sentence left on his tongue, he went and opened his mouth.
Tag shook his head and folded himself down into the bucket seat of the Mustang. The engine spluttered and coughed as he fought with the ignition. It finally caught with a hiccuped growl that Bass could feel through his hips.
“Stay away from me,” Tag said.
He threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. Bass had to jump clear of the car to avoid being rolled under the wheels. He shoved his hand through his hair, and knotted curls caught around his fingers as he watched Tag’s taillights drive away.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Should have just kissed him. Couldn’t have worked out any worse.”
At least then Tag might have punched him. It would have made Bass feel a bit better, if nothing else.
Fuck it.Bass swallowed the scratch of regret in the back of his throat and pushed Tag out of his mind. He wasn’t the first guy Bass had fucked over, and he wouldn’t be the last. It was probably for the best that he got out now, before Bass pulled him in any deeper.
A wry smile tucked the corners of Bass’s mouth as he headed back into the clubhouse. Hell, if he looked at it that way, he’d done Tag a favor. Bass shouldered open the door of the bar and ducked inside. The sweaty mug of body heat and leather greeted him, and he kicked the door shut behind him.
“Well, I ain’t getting fucked tonight,” he said.
