Wingman [Woman]
Page 47
I think I made the wrong choice.
I should have stuck with getting angry and running away.
“Little wingman,” I hear a husky voice purr from behind me.
I turn to see Spike and a whole shitload of other bikers and women behind him. My eyes widen. Whoa.
“Biker.” I smirk. “What brings your fine ass to this bar?”
He lets his eyes run over me and he scrunches up his nose. “You showered in the last few days?”
I gape at him and swing around in my chair. “I beg your pardon, this look is very in right now.”
He raises a brow. “That so?”
“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “That’s so.”
Okay, so I didn’t take a great deal of care with my appearance. I wasn’t coming out to get laid or have fun, I was coming to get drunk. My denim short skirt is old, faded and ratty. My tank was once a dark, gorgeous blue. Now it, too, is faded. My hair has been messily brushed and thrown atop my head and I’m wearing only a pair of flip-flops.
I never claimed to be classy.
“Where’s your boy?” Spike asks, looking around.
I frown and turn in my chair, taking the shot that the bartender hands me. “For starters, he is not my boy. For seconds, I wouldn’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for a week.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
I turn back towards him. His little group have all gone and filled about three tables in the bar. “Define paradise?” I slur.
He raises a brow. “You’re fuckin’ drunk.”
I snort and lean in close. “Last time I checked, that’s usually why you come to a bar that serves alcohol.”
He chuckles. “Smart ass. Listen, come and sit with us. Meet the girls. They’d love you.”
I narrow my eyes at him and give a skeptical look. “Love me how? Because I’m telling you right now, buddy, I don’t munch rugs.”
He snorts a laugh and takes my hand, pulling me off the stool. “Precious, those girls like cock more than you like the alcohol you’re desperately clutching in your hand right now.”
I stare down at my hand and see I am, in fact, clutching my glass as if it’s going to be wrestled from me at any moment.
“Funny,” I mutter.
He leads me over and stops at one of the tables of bikers. Then he announces loudly, “Men, this is Reign’s woman, Tiani.”
“I am not his woman,” I hiss into his ear.
“Fine,” he corrects himself. “Men, this is Reign’s I put my dick in it but she ain’t my woman Tiani.”
I glare at him. “You’re a jackass.”
“Stop being a dirtbag, Spike,” a gorgeous blond girl with the most dazzling yellow eyes I’ve ever seen says, standing and walking over.
“Hi,” she says, stretching out a hand. “I’m Ciara. Spike’s old lady, or, as I like to call myself, his better half.”
Spike snorts and joins the guys at the table. Another two girls come over, both of them equally as gorgeous as Ciara. Wow, do they raid the runway and steal their models?
“I’m Addison, Cade’s old lady,” the first girl, with long dark hair and a mischievous face, says.
“And I’m Serenity,” says the second girl, who is gorgeous and tiny, just like a pixie. “I’m Jackson’s old lady.”
“Question,” I say, reaching out and shaking their hands. “You like being called, an old lady?”
Addison laughs, putting her arm around my shoulder. “Me and you will get along just fine. And the term old lady to us is somewhat of a compliment. It means we matter; it means we’re more than just club whores. It means we are protected by the club and always will be. It might sound crappy, but to them, it matters in a way marriage and commitment matter to others.”
I glance around at all the bikers. “Any of them single?”
The girls burst out laughing, and a few of the guys chuckle. The girls usher me over to sit down, and I feel oddly comfortable with them.
“Hi boys,” I hear a sultry, sexy voice say.
I look up from my drink to see two less-than-sexy women approaching the table. Okay, granted, one day those girls might have been quite stunning but now . . . they are just a mix of ratty hair, yellow teeth, skintight clothes and seriously bad acne. Sick.
“Who the hell are they?” I ask Addi, leaning over so she can hear me.
“Whores.”
“These men actually sleep with them?” I gasp, disgusted.
She shrugs. “Some of them aren’t choosy.”
“Oh hell no. That’s disgusting.”
“Not now,” Cade grunts at the girls. “We don’t want you around our club tonight. Fuck off.”
The girl with the ratty, blond hair bats her eyelashes at him. Oh, ew. Dream on, lady.
“But Cade,” she whines. “We barely see you here anymore.”
“You fuckin’ deaf?” Addison barks. “Go and find another toy to play with.”
I smile at her outburst, and even more when Cade grins at her. Sweet. Maybe I’ll endeavor to be an old lady someday.
“Um,” Raggedy Anne says, screwing up her unpleasant little nose. “Who asked you?”
I snort loudly, causing her eyes to divert to mine.
“Hello.” I smile wickedly.
She looks around, confused.
“Oh, I’m talking to you sweetheart.” I grin, leaning back in my chair. “It appears you can’t take a hint.”
I should have stuck with getting angry and running away.
“Little wingman,” I hear a husky voice purr from behind me.
I turn to see Spike and a whole shitload of other bikers and women behind him. My eyes widen. Whoa.
“Biker.” I smirk. “What brings your fine ass to this bar?”
He lets his eyes run over me and he scrunches up his nose. “You showered in the last few days?”
I gape at him and swing around in my chair. “I beg your pardon, this look is very in right now.”
He raises a brow. “That so?”
“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “That’s so.”
Okay, so I didn’t take a great deal of care with my appearance. I wasn’t coming out to get laid or have fun, I was coming to get drunk. My denim short skirt is old, faded and ratty. My tank was once a dark, gorgeous blue. Now it, too, is faded. My hair has been messily brushed and thrown atop my head and I’m wearing only a pair of flip-flops.
I never claimed to be classy.
“Where’s your boy?” Spike asks, looking around.
I frown and turn in my chair, taking the shot that the bartender hands me. “For starters, he is not my boy. For seconds, I wouldn’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for a week.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
I turn back towards him. His little group have all gone and filled about three tables in the bar. “Define paradise?” I slur.
He raises a brow. “You’re fuckin’ drunk.”
I snort and lean in close. “Last time I checked, that’s usually why you come to a bar that serves alcohol.”
He chuckles. “Smart ass. Listen, come and sit with us. Meet the girls. They’d love you.”
I narrow my eyes at him and give a skeptical look. “Love me how? Because I’m telling you right now, buddy, I don’t munch rugs.”
He snorts a laugh and takes my hand, pulling me off the stool. “Precious, those girls like cock more than you like the alcohol you’re desperately clutching in your hand right now.”
I stare down at my hand and see I am, in fact, clutching my glass as if it’s going to be wrestled from me at any moment.
“Funny,” I mutter.
He leads me over and stops at one of the tables of bikers. Then he announces loudly, “Men, this is Reign’s woman, Tiani.”
“I am not his woman,” I hiss into his ear.
“Fine,” he corrects himself. “Men, this is Reign’s I put my dick in it but she ain’t my woman Tiani.”
I glare at him. “You’re a jackass.”
“Stop being a dirtbag, Spike,” a gorgeous blond girl with the most dazzling yellow eyes I’ve ever seen says, standing and walking over.
“Hi,” she says, stretching out a hand. “I’m Ciara. Spike’s old lady, or, as I like to call myself, his better half.”
Spike snorts and joins the guys at the table. Another two girls come over, both of them equally as gorgeous as Ciara. Wow, do they raid the runway and steal their models?
“I’m Addison, Cade’s old lady,” the first girl, with long dark hair and a mischievous face, says.
“And I’m Serenity,” says the second girl, who is gorgeous and tiny, just like a pixie. “I’m Jackson’s old lady.”
“Question,” I say, reaching out and shaking their hands. “You like being called, an old lady?”
Addison laughs, putting her arm around my shoulder. “Me and you will get along just fine. And the term old lady to us is somewhat of a compliment. It means we matter; it means we’re more than just club whores. It means we are protected by the club and always will be. It might sound crappy, but to them, it matters in a way marriage and commitment matter to others.”
I glance around at all the bikers. “Any of them single?”
The girls burst out laughing, and a few of the guys chuckle. The girls usher me over to sit down, and I feel oddly comfortable with them.
“Hi boys,” I hear a sultry, sexy voice say.
I look up from my drink to see two less-than-sexy women approaching the table. Okay, granted, one day those girls might have been quite stunning but now . . . they are just a mix of ratty hair, yellow teeth, skintight clothes and seriously bad acne. Sick.
“Who the hell are they?” I ask Addi, leaning over so she can hear me.
“Whores.”
“These men actually sleep with them?” I gasp, disgusted.
She shrugs. “Some of them aren’t choosy.”
“Oh hell no. That’s disgusting.”
“Not now,” Cade grunts at the girls. “We don’t want you around our club tonight. Fuck off.”
The girl with the ratty, blond hair bats her eyelashes at him. Oh, ew. Dream on, lady.
“But Cade,” she whines. “We barely see you here anymore.”
“You fuckin’ deaf?” Addison barks. “Go and find another toy to play with.”
I smile at her outburst, and even more when Cade grins at her. Sweet. Maybe I’ll endeavor to be an old lady someday.
“Um,” Raggedy Anne says, screwing up her unpleasant little nose. “Who asked you?”
I snort loudly, causing her eyes to divert to mine.
“Hello.” I smile wickedly.
She looks around, confused.
“Oh, I’m talking to you sweetheart.” I grin, leaning back in my chair. “It appears you can’t take a hint.”
