Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(21)
Get into a fistfight with Boomer Steele? Where I was a solidly muscled one hundred and ninety pounds, he was a brick shithouse of at least two hundred-thirty.
Then again, maybe he could just make me go lights-out a lot earlier tonight, with a lot fewer recriminations weighing on my mind.
I took my first slow sip of whiskey. “Pass on the brawl, thanks.”
“Good. I don’t get off hitting people I like.” Leaning an elbow on the bar, he glanced at me. “So listen. Brodie’s worried about you. Tail is worried about you. Tucker’s worried about you. Now, me? I don’t give a good shit about you.”
I shook my head, a small smile forming.
He grinned. “Either you talk to Shiloh on your own recognizance—”
“Hey, you been brushing up on your word-of-the-day calendar, haven’t you?” Per usual, Brodie popped up like a freakin’ goateed gopher, slapping his hand on his brother’s back. “Buying you another one for next year.”
“Fuck you, Brodie.” Without missing a beat, Boomer carried on. “Or you can get your ass in gear, man up, and do something about your fuck up, Handsome. Because it was pretty epic.”
“I taught him that word.” Rayce sidled over, sliding her fingers up Boomer’s chest.
The tiny woman only reached his shoulders—when he was sitting on a stool. But she had sass enough to take on big Boomer Steele and twist him right around her finger where her wedding ring sparkled. And—let’s just say she was well built to boot.
Boomer would blind me and all the other dudes if he thought we noticed his new wife’s more than generous curves.
Some things were better left unsaid. Especially if you wanted to live through the night.
Boomer snatched his woman into a prolonged kiss that was hot enough to make me look away.
Brodie had no such compunction.
He waited for them to break their lip-lock then held out his fist to Rayce. “’Z’up, new sis?”
“I was just wondering how much longer Boomer has to stick around here counseling you bunch of misfit halfwits before he can take me home.” She pinned me with her laser-like gaze. “Because I promised I’d suck him off twice tonight, and I’ve got an early morning at the garage tomorrow.”
I almost spit out a mouthful of whiskey.
Even Brodie’s eyes flipped wide.
Rayce blinked prettily at Boomer who sat gaping at her for a moment. “That is, if you think you’re still up for a couple blowjobs, Old Man.”
He growled, low and deep, grabbing her close to him. “I don’t think me getting it up has ever been a problem with you, princess.”
They almost singed the steel top off the bar with the look that passed between the two of them.
Then Boomer eased off his stool, threw a wave around, and grabbed his truck keys in one hand and Rayce’s ass in another.
“So you’ll take care of shit with Shiloh? Because I’m . . .” His words trailed off when Rayce whispered something at his ear.
I swore to fuck he blushed.
“Yeah. Yeah. I got it. Don’t be a dick to Shy. On it,” I called to his retreating back.
Didn’t think he heard a single word because he almost broke the front door off its hinges, hustling Rayce from the building.
“And apologize to your lady.” Brodie knocked his shoulder against mine.
Chapter Eleven
Reckoning
I PARKED OUTSIDE SHY’S garage the next night. She’d have to code me in so I could enter, and I wasn’t one bit sure she’d agree to see me again.
She’d probably rather shoot me on sight. Couldn’t blame her. I’d been a complete jackhole.
So surprise didn’t even cover it when she heard my voice then immediately opened the door to the garage. The elevator was waiting for me, and I hurried to it.
Fucking weird being deposited straight into her condo. When the doors slid apart, I braced an arm against them to keep them open just in case Shy decided to shuttle me straight back down without letting me inside.
She stood there, waiting. Her lips slick and slightly parted. Wearing a tight tank top and baggy sweats rolled loosely around her ankles. Barefoot and bare of makeup and never prettier.
“Yes?” She asked, an imperious lilt to her voice, a challenging thrust to her pretty pointed chin.
“Peace offering.” I lifted the brown paper bag crushed inside the tight grip of my hand.
She didn’t take it. “What is it?”
“An apology?” I shook the bottle inside the ABC store packaging. “Remember that crappy liquor we used to sneak at our families’ parties? When I was too much of a rebel son to drink the good stuff from the Rush Distillery?”
“Popov Vodka!” A smile threatened her lips. “Do I dare let you in with your cheap peace offering?”
“Bring something better next time?” I lifted a shoulder.
“Will there be a next time?”
“I hope so, Shy.”
Stepping back, she accepted the bottle and allowed me inside.
I looped my arms around her waist to stop her from turning away from me. “Before we get to the real apology thing I need to do this first.”
She only had time to gasp before I hauled her into a bruising, almost brutal, kiss. The kind that was all tongues searching, hands seeking, lips wetting, and that fucking bottle of vodka bouncing against my back when Shy’s hands moved from my shoulders lower.