Admitting that to myself was a jagged pill to swallow, but at the same time, a familiar voice whispered from the dark corners of my mind that I needed to fight for what I wanted. Fighting seemed much easier than the alternative.
“Let me make it up to you,” I said. “Why don’t we go to the Dutch tonight?” The Dutch was a hole-in-the-wall, but a lot less crowded than the Red. Not as many vultures hanging around.
“That’s a biker bar.” She frowned.
“Okay, then let’s go to the club. I’ll take you to dinner and then we can go to the Red Door. My treat.”
“How will going out to dinner and then to a club fix the problem? When people see us out together, it will make it worse.”
I finished tying her bag to the back of my bike and then straddled the seat. She didn’t argue about the bag this time. That was always promising.
“Think about it. Me, drunk, in a room full of scantily clad women? It won’t take long for people to figure out we’re not a couple.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Take a guy home from the bar to drive the point home?”
I frowned. The thought of her leaving with a guy made my jaw tense, as if I’d poured lemon juice in my mouth. “I didn’t say that. No need to get carried away.”
She rolled her eyes, and then climbed onto the seat, wrapping her arms around my middle. “Some random girl is going to follow us home from the bar? That’s how you’re going to make it up to me?”
“You’re not jealous, are you, Pigeon?”
“Jealous of what? The STD-infested imbecile you’re going to piss off in the morning?”
I chuckled, and then started the engine. If she only knew how impossible that was. When she was around, everyone else seemed to disappear. It took all of my focus and concentration to stay a step ahead of her.
We informed Shepley and America of our plans, and then the girls began their routine. I hopped in the shower first, realizing too late that I should have been last, because the girls took a lot longer than me and Shepley to get ready.
Me, Shepley, and America waited for an eternity for Abby to come out of the bathroom, but when she finally emerged, I nearly lost my balance. Her legs looked like they went on forever in her short, black dress. Her tits were playing peek-a-boo, just barely making their presence known when she turned a certain way, and her long curls hung off to the side instead of over her chest.
I didn’t remember her being that tan, but her skin had a healthy glow against the dark fabric of her dress.
“Nice legs,” I said.
She smiled. “Did I mention the razor is magic?”
Magic my ass. She was fucking gorgeous. “I don’t think it’s the razor.”
I pulled her out the door by her hand, leading her to Shepley’s Charger. She didn’t pull it away, and I held it in mine until we got to the car. It felt wrong to let go. When we got to the sushi restaurant, I interlaced my fingers between hers as we walked in.
I ordered one round of sake, and then another. The waitress didn’t card us until I ordered beer. I knew America had a fake ID, and I was impressed when Abby whipped hers out like a champ. Once the waitress looked it over and walked away, I grabbed it. Her picture was in the corner, and everything looked legit as far as I knew. I’d never seen a Kansas ID before, but this one was flawless. The name read Jessica James, and for some reason, that turned me on. Hard.
Abby flicked the ID, and it popped out of my grasp, but she caught it midflight to the floor, and within seconds it was hidden away inside her wallet.
She smiled, and I smiled back, leaning on my elbows. “Jessica James?”
She mirrored my position, leaning on her elbows and matching my stare. She was so confident. It was incredibly sexy.
“Yeah. So?”
“Interesting choice.”
“So is the California Roll. Pansy.”
Shepley burst into laughter, but stopped abruptly when America chugged her beer. “Slow down, baby. The sake hits late.”
America wiped her mouth and grinned. “I’ve had sake, Shep. Stop worrying.”
The more we drank, the louder we became. The waitstaff didn’t seem to mind, but that was probably because it was late and there were only a few others on the far side of the restaurant, and they were almost as drunk as we were. Except Shepley. He was too protective of his car to drink too much while driving, and he loved America more than his car. When she came along, he not only watched his intake, but he also followed every traffic law and used his blinkers.
Whipped.
The waitress brought the check, and I tossed some cash on the table, nudging Abby until she scooted out of the booth. She elbowed me back playfully, and I nonchalantly threw my arm around her while we walked across the parking lot.
America slid into the front seat next to her boyfriend, and began licking his ear. Abby looked at me and rolled her eyes, but regardless of being a captive audience to the peep show, she was having a good time.
After Shepley pulled into the Red, he drove through the rows of cars two or three times.
“Sometime tonight, Shep,” America muttered.