“Let me guess. They did the whole ‘You stay away from our baby sister’ thing.”
“Can’t blame them,” I said, shrugging. If I had a sister, I was sure I’d want to keep guys like me away from her too.
“No, it’s sort of sweet, actually. So why the hell are you trying to talk to her then?”
“Fuck if I know,” I admitted. “Can’t get her out of my mind. Figured maybe it was the guilt.”
“And you wanted to, what, apologize?”
I had no idea what was in my head. All I knew was that I saw her and needed to talk to her.
“The fuck if I know,” I admitted, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. “Just wanted to talk to her.”
“And that would be worth another ass-kicking?” she pressed.
“Guess I figured so in the moment.”
“Hm. Interesting. Well, you took your risk. It’s Conor working in here tonight. You might want to get moving,” she warned.
And, with that, she was gone.
“You good?” Slash asked when I walked back into the pool hall.
“Let’s take this back to the clubhouse,” I suggested. “I need a fucking drink.”
Or thirty.
Sure, the chicks flocked back with us. I was even pretty sure one of them put on a striptease on top of the fucking coffee table a few feet away from me.
But my dick stayed unimpressed.
I went ahead and blamed the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed.
But a part of me knew the truth.
I did want pussy.
But it was only Dell’s that I wanted.
What the fuck was that about?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Delaney
“You said you wanted to go,” Nyx said, pouting those bright red lips of hers.
“I do. I was just wondering why all of a sudden?” I said, wiping down the bar.
Tuesday nights, even in a small town with little going on, were almost always a bust.
So we did what we could.
We chatted up the few who did show up in hopes of a higher tip. We did some side work that we’d been putting off. And, apparently, we planned a last-minute trip to Vegas.
I mean, yes, she’d floated the idea to me almost two weeks ago. But I figured it was just one of those things you say you are going to do, but never actually get around to it.
Or, if you do, it is because you’ve been talking about it for a year, and you decide you need to stop talking about it, and do it already.
But after the one mention of it, we didn’t talk about it again.
Especially after encountering him in the alley that one night.
Was pretending I didn’t know who he was the most mature move? Probably not. But, you had to admit, it was a power move. And it made me feel a little bit like I had some more control over the whole thing.
Since then, I hadn’t seen him.
If he’d come into the bar, he did so when I wasn’t working. And I had too much pride to ask the others if they’d seen him.
Getting out of town might finally put enough space between me and him and that damned prep table.