Rake's Redemption (Wind Dragons MC #4)(20)

“I’m Irish,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”

I glance at Anna, who rolls her eyes. “Irish, don’t scare her. Bailey, ignore him.”

Shifting in my seat, I feel a little uncomfortable. If I’d known I was going to be a third wheel tonight, I wouldn’t have come out.

“What are you guys doing here?” Lana asks Tracker, making me feel better that they didn’t know the men were going to show up.

“We were on our way to Rift, wanted to know if you all wanted to come,” Tracker says, nuzzling Lana’s cheek.

Irish moans. “Just tell them to come and let’s go. I need a f*ckin’ drink.”

The women both look at me. I guess they’re letting it be my choice.

“Pretty sure Adam told me never to step back into that place,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Adam?” Irish asks, looking confused. “Ohhh. Rake. Why doesn’t he want you there? You’re a sexy woman. He should be all over that shit.”

“Been there,” Tracker says, looking amused.

I throw him a dirty look, for which he replies with a wink.

Irish puts up his hand. “Wait a damn second. Rake has f*cked her and doesn’t want her at the club? Which means . . .”

“He actually cares about a woman other than our women? Yeah,” Tracker says, grinning wolfishly. “Another one bites the motherf*ckin’ dust.”

I shake my head. “How does his not wanting me there mean he cares? That makes no sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Arrow says in that gruff, deep voice of his. “If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t give two f*cks about where you showed up.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re wrong. And it doesn’t matter. Is he going to be there? If he isn’t, I’ll come; otherwise you guys can go and I’ll take a cab home.”

Tracker studies me, a little too closely for my liking. He pulls out his phone, hits a number, then puts his phone to his ear. “Rake. Where are you, brother?”

He listens, then replies, “I want to take the women to Rift with me. That gonna be an issue?”

Tracker glances at me then, those blue eyes looking directly into mine.

“Yeah, I’ve got you. All right. ’Bye.”

“Well?” Anna asks, looking at him expectantly.

Tracker grins at Anna. “All good, Anna Bell, so we going or what?”

Irish puts his arm around me. He smells good, like leather and mint. “We’re in, right? Let’s go. My dick is hard and I need to find someone to take care of it. Unless Bailey is offering?”

“Ummm. Yeah, probably not,” I mutter, taking his arm off me and standing. “I guess we’re going dancing.”

“Don’t say probably,” Lana suggests, narrowing her eyes on Irish. “Say no. They don’t take subtle hints; you need to be firm. Let him know you’re not playing games, which is what most women try to do with him.”

I look at Irish, who is busy flashing Lana an amused look at her analysis.

“Irish,” I say, getting his attention. “No way in hell will I ever be taking care of your dick. I don’t care how hard it is. Guess we better go to Rift so you can find a substitute.”

Everyone except Irish laughs.

Lana nods in approval.

Rift, here we come.





EIGHT




WHAT’S your real name?” I ask Irish, watching as he sips his beer. I pick up my Coke and take a sip, waiting for him to answer. There’s no way I’m drinking tonight, not when Cara has dance class in the morning.

“What makes you think it’s not Irish?”

I make a face. “My common sense?”

He smirks, then licks his lips. “How about a kiss? I’ll tell you then.”

I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose. “I already fell for that one with Talon.”

Irish scowls, his fingers tightening on his bottle. “You kissing men from other clubs now? Where’s the loyalty, Bailey?”

“I don’t belong to anyone, and I wouldn’t have even met any other bikers if it wasn’t for Anna and Lana, so you take that up with them,” I reply in a curt tone. Speaking of . . . I look to see both of them on the dance floor with their men. Arrow isn’t dancing, just watching Anna shaking her ass in front of him, but Tracker’s grinding behind Lana, pressing his penis against her ass.

Not one shit is given.

“What happened to you finding a woman?” I ask when he says nothing further on that topic.

“I’m looking,” he says, lips twitching. “I take my time, look around. See what the night has to offer.”

“And then?”

“And then if someone catches my eye, I’ll make my move,” he replies. “If I have to go home alone, I will, rather than lower my standards. I don’t own any beer goggles, unlike most men.”

I put my drink down on the table. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an *?”

“All the time.”

“So what happens after you’ve screwed her? Bone and bail? Even though she apparently meets your very high standards?” I ask, tapping my short red fingernails on the bar.