Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(18)

I was passing a beer to one of the cops, fluttering my eyelids just a little (just because I wasn’t going to sleep with them didn’t mean I wasn’t going to flirt) when my eyes flickered to the door. Or more precisely the leather clad hunks who had just walked through it. I recognized Cade straight away and followed his murderous stare. It was aimed at Gwen, or more precisely Luke’s hand, which was at Gwen’s hip. In any other circumstances I would be tickled pink at Gwen flirting with a member of the opposite sex. But right now I was thinking it might be conclusive to a brawl erupting in our store. Not that I wouldn’t pay to see those two men wrestle; that shit would be awesome. I just didn’t want it happening so close to all of those innocent accessories.

I caught Gwen’s eye and tried to give her a look. We could usually communicate pretty well with a look; we had an uncanny connection. But unfortunately “the hot biker who seems a tiny bit obsessed with you is currently storming over to potentially smackdown with the local cop who also seems obsessed with you” was not something that could be communicated with a mere look. We had to work on some kind of sign language.

I shrugged my shoulders and settled in for the show. Unfortunately my front row seat was interrupted.

“Three beers. Thanks, sweetheart,” a rough voice requested.

I didn’t move my gaze from Gwen and Luke, who had just been joined by a furious looking Cade. Uh oh.

“I’ll be with you in a sec,” I told the voice, wishing I could read lips.

“You got something better to do than give out drinks? I’m thinking maybe you shouldn’t be standing behind a bar,” the voice replied dryly.

At this point Cade grabbed Gwen’s hand and pretty much dragged her out of the store. I grinned at her as she went past, amused at the turn of events.

My grin disappeared and irritation flared at the deep voice’s last statement. I reached into the fridge and grabbed three beers, turning to thrust them at my unhappy customer. They were free, for f*ck’s sake, who was he to act all snippy?

“Here. I assume you haven’t died of thirst in the minute you’ve been waiting,” I started, turning to meet this guy’s eyes.

I stopped short. This guy was hot. Granted, there were a lot of hot men peppered around this room, but this guy was hot. He looked like a cross between a surfer and an outlaw. His sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun (holy crap what an awesome man bun it was). He had tanned skin, which was contrasted by some serious blue eyes. I felt them pierce my soul; okay, my ovaries. His nose was slightly crooked like it had been broken a couple of times too many. It seemed to make him hotter, to contrast the clean cut surfer look. Well, that and his tattoos. I could see one snaking up his neck and his hands had letters on his knuckles. Unfortunately I couldn’t get a good look. I did know his hands were big and you know what they say about big hands. I took a quick glance at his body which was hidden under a leather vest and shirt, but there was no hiding the bulk. I swallowed, feeling my mouth water.

Don’t drool in front of the biker.

“I would recommend you not quit your day job, sweetheart—I don’t think bartending is your calling. Your barside manner needs some work,” he smirked, revealing dimples.

Dimples!

He also reached over and snagged the bottle opener, his hand lightly brushing past my stomach. His touch felt like an open flame that spread south of the spot he had just made contact with. I was certainly attracted to him. His body at least, not his mouth. Actually his mouth was equally as attractive as the rest of him, just not what came out of it.

“Yeah, well, no one else seems to have a problem with my bartending skills,” I retorted, ignoring him pointedly opening the bottles.

He raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. I felt like his was doing something incredibly naughty and he wasn’t even touching me.

“I can see why, Sparky. I’m thinking most men would drink cold piss if you served it up wearing that. Tits like yours, who cares if you’re a bitch?” He winked and walked off.

I let out a breath and welcomed the flame of irritation this man had kindled. He had just called me a bitch seconds after meeting him! I wanted to pour a beer down his front and simultaneously lift up his tee and lick his abs.

“Holy crap, did you see that? I totally thought Cade was going to pummel Luke for a second. But now I see he is channeling a different emotion.” Lucy peered at the door Gwen and Cade had just exited, leaning on the bar.

I snapped my gaze away from the jean clad ass of the surfer and turned my attention to Lucy, who was joined by Ashley and Rosie.

“Well, it looks like my brother has decided that Gwen is his and she shall talk to no other man,” Rosie joked, sipping her cocktail. “Seriously, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he started beating his chest grunting ‘Gwen mine,’ before he dragged her off.”

I smirked at them “I don’t think the two of them will be doing much talking either. I’d bet her new dress is getting snagged on a brick wall right now.” I paused for a moment, feeling sad about the brutal treatment of such an innocent dress.

Rosie giggled. “It’s about time Cade set his sights on a woman who has class…and someone who doesn’t think belts can double as skirts.”

I glanced at the three girls with a smile. Our arrival in Amber had been so much better than I expected. Not only was our house amazing, the men unnaturally hot and the town actually nice, but we had also seemed to fall right into rhythm with a kick ass girl posse. These chicks not only had good taste in clothes and cocktails but they were genuine and friendly. I felt more comfortable with them than most of the girls I grew up with. They were real. Their fathers didn’t own banks and I didn’t think they summered in St. Tropez, which is exactly what I liked about them. They didn’t their lives in order to impress or incite jealousy in others. They just lived. I dug it.