college.”
“You didn’t have an age issue Sunday night, and you can’t be that much older than me anyway.”
“Maybe not in years, but experience.”
JB drew herself taller. In the high heels the top of her head reached my nose. I inhaled the perfume clinging to her skin, holding my groan inside.
“Experience, my ass. You’re a damn coward.” She shoved me out the door.
I swung my arm up to catch it before she could slam it in my face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The muscle in my jaw flexed with tension.
“I know this: I could ride rings around you with my bike, and I could fuck you until you didn’t even remember any of your fake names. But I guess you’ll never find out.”
She kicked my shin then triumphantly banged the door shut with a click of the lock while I hopped on one foot with a wince of pain. Then I started laughing. The rumble came from deep inside. I’d just been outgunned by a goddamn sexy-as-sin kindergarten teacher. And I liked it.
If she was a bad decision before, she was definitely a no-go now.
I hobbled out of the school with a completely incongruous grin on my face.
****
At the end of a very long day, I entered Retribution clubhouse. I figured Cole was still on Probie status even though he’d made full member because the interior fucking sparkled. It was no dirty biker club, although what happened in the backrooms and bunkrooms was anyone’s guess. I hadn’t partaken of any of the pussy thrown my way, opting instead for the highest quality woman—JB. Seemed my instincts were still working because I’d chosen not only one hot biker babe but a classy career woman.
Yay me.
Round tables huddled together between the shiny steel-topped bar on one side of the room and the red baize, dark wood pool tables at the opposite end. There was room for dancing, a quality sound system pumping out rockabilly tunes, and even a small stage I’d never seen in action. The usual Miller High Life and Budweiser neon signs hung around the joint, but over the years they’d been “custom detailed” with slick graffiti. For example, the flashing Miller High Life sign showed the profile of a goateed dude toking a spliff, his hair spiked in a cannabis leaf formation. That right there was good art.
I scanned the room from under lowered brows. No sign of JB. I exhaled, only partly in relief. I was such a fuck up.
Seconds after I sat my ass on a barstool, I felt someone breathing down my neck. Spinning slowly around, I came face to face with JB’s fake girlfriend, a very furious Rayce.
She hauled back and slapped my cheek with a stinging blow. “That’s for Jessica , you dick-hole. She told me what happened.”
I grabbed Rayce’s wrist before her second slap connected with my face. “Exactly what did she say?”
“That you’re a liar and a loser, Hunter Sexton.”
I released her when she mentioned my UC name—the one I used here. JB would only get herself in trouble—and not by me—if she went around talking about Hunter Angelo or anything else I’d said in confidence.
“Yeah, she’s probably got that right. So no worries, girlfriend. I won’t be darkening Jessica’s door again.” Reaching back for my third whiskey shot, I dismissed Rayce.
“Better not.” She sneered at me.
She stalked off. Electric blue streaks in her short black hair, smoky eyes, smoking body. I knew Boomer Steele had his eye on this mechanic/termagant. I wished him all the luck taming that shrew.
After she left me alone, I downed shot after shot at the bar of Retribution, looking for a little absolution.
What I got an hour later was Brodie sitting next to me. “Bad day?”
“I fucked my kid’s kindergarten teacher.” I was just loose-lipped enough to spill the barest amount of what was eating me up inside.
“No shit? At the school? Man, you got some serious cojones.” His arctic blue eyes twinkled.
“Not at the school. It’s JB. Jailbait. She’s Miss Jessica Barnes,
“You didn’t have an age issue Sunday night, and you can’t be that much older than me anyway.”
“Maybe not in years, but experience.”
JB drew herself taller. In the high heels the top of her head reached my nose. I inhaled the perfume clinging to her skin, holding my groan inside.
“Experience, my ass. You’re a damn coward.” She shoved me out the door.
I swung my arm up to catch it before she could slam it in my face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The muscle in my jaw flexed with tension.
“I know this: I could ride rings around you with my bike, and I could fuck you until you didn’t even remember any of your fake names. But I guess you’ll never find out.”
She kicked my shin then triumphantly banged the door shut with a click of the lock while I hopped on one foot with a wince of pain. Then I started laughing. The rumble came from deep inside. I’d just been outgunned by a goddamn sexy-as-sin kindergarten teacher. And I liked it.
If she was a bad decision before, she was definitely a no-go now.
I hobbled out of the school with a completely incongruous grin on my face.
****
At the end of a very long day, I entered Retribution clubhouse. I figured Cole was still on Probie status even though he’d made full member because the interior fucking sparkled. It was no dirty biker club, although what happened in the backrooms and bunkrooms was anyone’s guess. I hadn’t partaken of any of the pussy thrown my way, opting instead for the highest quality woman—JB. Seemed my instincts were still working because I’d chosen not only one hot biker babe but a classy career woman.
Yay me.
Round tables huddled together between the shiny steel-topped bar on one side of the room and the red baize, dark wood pool tables at the opposite end. There was room for dancing, a quality sound system pumping out rockabilly tunes, and even a small stage I’d never seen in action. The usual Miller High Life and Budweiser neon signs hung around the joint, but over the years they’d been “custom detailed” with slick graffiti. For example, the flashing Miller High Life sign showed the profile of a goateed dude toking a spliff, his hair spiked in a cannabis leaf formation. That right there was good art.
I scanned the room from under lowered brows. No sign of JB. I exhaled, only partly in relief. I was such a fuck up.
Seconds after I sat my ass on a barstool, I felt someone breathing down my neck. Spinning slowly around, I came face to face with JB’s fake girlfriend, a very furious Rayce.
She hauled back and slapped my cheek with a stinging blow. “That’s for Jessica , you dick-hole. She told me what happened.”
I grabbed Rayce’s wrist before her second slap connected with my face. “Exactly what did she say?”
“That you’re a liar and a loser, Hunter Sexton.”
I released her when she mentioned my UC name—the one I used here. JB would only get herself in trouble—and not by me—if she went around talking about Hunter Angelo or anything else I’d said in confidence.
“Yeah, she’s probably got that right. So no worries, girlfriend. I won’t be darkening Jessica’s door again.” Reaching back for my third whiskey shot, I dismissed Rayce.
“Better not.” She sneered at me.
She stalked off. Electric blue streaks in her short black hair, smoky eyes, smoking body. I knew Boomer Steele had his eye on this mechanic/termagant. I wished him all the luck taming that shrew.
After she left me alone, I downed shot after shot at the bar of Retribution, looking for a little absolution.
What I got an hour later was Brodie sitting next to me. “Bad day?”
“I fucked my kid’s kindergarten teacher.” I was just loose-lipped enough to spill the barest amount of what was eating me up inside.
“No shit? At the school? Man, you got some serious cojones.” His arctic blue eyes twinkled.
“Not at the school. It’s JB. Jailbait. She’s Miss Jessica Barnes,
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