Page 29 of Thug

“Is that an invitation?” I asked.

She laughed. “Not even close. There’s one person going out with me tonight.” She rolled down all the way and glanced over her left shoulder. “I’ve got news for you, Price. It isn’t you.”

With her eyes still locked on mine, she put her truck in gear and idled away from the curb.

I’d never known a girl to have balls as big as a man’s. Until I met Gray, that is. I couldn’t decide if it was an attractive quality or if it was irritating.

As her taillights disappeared in the distance, my dick decided for me.

9

Gray

Landon Bishop was tall, lean, and attractive. He had olive-colored skin that women envied, and his bank account made most investment bankers jealous. He earned his money trading stocks online. Those that knew him considered him to be a financial genius. He wore his dark hair short and always uncombed. His attire of choice was worn sneakers, shorts, and a vintage concert tee.

Our friendship began in middle school and continued through college. After graduating, we saw each other whenever we felt the urge, but primarily when I needed his opinion about men. Although his advice was often sought, it was rarely followed.

He pushed his bottle of beer to the side with the back of his hand. The look on his face was one of utter disbelief. “Let me get this straight. He came in, sat down, and said, ‘Show me your tits’?”

Hearing Landon say it made Price sound like a douchebag. I felt a tinge of desire to defend the biker who had sexually frustrated me to the point that I was seeking assistance, but I needed Landon to be honest in his opinion, so I offered an apologetic shrug and told the truth.

“Pretty much,” I said. “But he said that after I told him he was a cocksucker for running off my best customers. If that matters.”

“It does, and it doesn’t.” he reached for his beer, and then paused. “So, then he walked behind the bar, squeezed your tits, and left?”

I sipped my wine. “Yep.”

“And you want to know what, exactly?”

“I want to know what he’s thinking.”

His face contorted. “Who is this guy?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He reached for his beer. After a moment of thought and a few drinks of beer, he brushed the wrinkles from his shirt. “Do I know him?”

The Strokes shirt he wore was pockmarked with small wear holes acquired from years of enjoyment. It was at least fifteen years old because I remembered him wearing it on the day we graduated.

“I like that shirt,” I said. “You wore it on graduation day.”

He laughed. “I know him.”

“You at least know ‘of’ him.”

He rested his chin against the web of his hand. “North or south side of town?”

I shook my head. “I’m saying nothing until you give your opinion.”

“I’m not giving my opinion until I have the entire story.”

If I wanted the best advice Landon had to offer, I needed to be honest. I was reluctant to tell him the entire truth, because it made me look like a woman who was easily manipulated.

I took another drink of wine. “We had sex,” I said over the rim of glass. “On the night we met.”

“Nice,” he said, dragging the word along for a good two seconds. “That’s classy. Tell me the details. Not of the sex, but of how it came about. Instant chemistry, right?”

Again, honesty would be instrumental in reaching my goal. I sighed at the thought of telling Landon the sordid details, but proceeded, nevertheless.