Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(38)

“So, tonight the girls from your club are coming over,” I told him, trying to find a safe place for my eyes. They skittered across the tribal tattoo on his pec and caught on his nipple ring. I flushed. Definitely not there. “I guess we’re planning some sort of party for tomorrow at your club’s armory? Do I want to know why your club has an armory?”

“It’s an actual National Guard Armory,” he said. “Club bought it when it got surplussed, years ago. It’s got everything from a big kitchen and bar to rooms upstairs for people who need somewhere to crash for the night.”

So. His clubhouse had beds. Why did this not surprise me?

I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t f*cked TBS there instead of bringing her home to me and Noah, but I couldn’t think of a not-crazy way of doing it. Instead I decided to keep talking about my schedule.

“They had me line up a sleepover for Noah at my friend Kimber’s house for tomorrow night,” I said, eyes darting to his face. Not a flicker of recognition at her name. Good. “Anyway, they invited me and I promised you I’d give it a shot, so … I’ll see you at the party?”

He cocked his head and studied me, utterly impossible to read. Silence stretched between us. I struggled not to start babbling just to fill the void.

“Bigger party than they think,” he finally said, his voice low. It took me a minute to remember what we’d been talking about. Oh, yeah. Party planning. Armory. “Whole bunch of guys from all over coming in tonight and tomorrow. Not sure I want you there.”

He shook his head slowly, tongue flicking out to slide along his lower lip, catching on the ring. I wanted to flick it with my tongue, too. Then I caught a glimpse of something else … Shit. His tongue was pierced. There was a hard, round ball right in the middle.

That hadn’t been there four years ago. I would’ve remembered.

What would it feel like in my mouth … or lower? I’d never kissed a guy with a pierced tongue, let alone had one go down on me. I started tingling between my legs, which was not what I needed in that moment. Assholes this big shouldn’t be so hot.

Hairy ears, I thought. Pretend he has hairy ears.

“You’re a very frustrating person, Ruger,” I said, torn between bitching at him for being such a giant whore and jumping over the counter, ripping off his pants, and riding his cock. Not the best way to handle the situation.

I knew this.

Really.

“You say I shouldn’t judge the club,” I added, trying to focus. “You say you want me to get to know everyone, and that Noah’s life would be better if he had the club behind him. If that’s true, why can’t I go to one of their parties?”

“Because this one’s gonna get pretty f*ckin’ wild. Not really a starter party,” he said, unfolding his arms to brace them on the counter on either side of his body. I saw his biceps rippling under his full-sleeve tattoos. He had more ink across his shoulders, some kind of rounded slash things in addition to the pattern on his chest. There was another tat curling around his stomach from his hip. A panther disappearing down into his pants on one side.

Lucky cat.

I really, really wanted to see the rest of it.

“You said some shit the other night that we gotta deal with. Um, Sophie? I have a face, you know,” he added, and my eyes jerked up from his stomach. I felt myself flush and he stayed silent, watching me with hooded eyes. He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, biceps and triceps flexing nicely, then scratched at his stomach. The muscles between my legs took note, pulsing their approval.

“What do we have to deal with?” I asked, feeling my cheeks flush again.

“No friends with benefits for you,” he told me without a trace of humor. “No f*cking around, no kissing, or even fluttering your goddamned eyelashes at any guy in the club. That’s the only way you’ll be at the party. Or any club event.”

I raised my brows at him and shook my head. No matter how uncomfortable this conversation might be, I needed to set some boundaries.

“That’s stupid. I’m single. If I meet someone I like, it’s my decision whether I flirt with them or kiss them or whatever. And you’re one to talk—you just threw a naked chick out the door without even a thank-you for the road. Hypocrite much?”

“My house, my rules,” he replied. “You go to that party, nothing happens. You’re the Virgin f*ckin’ Mary, got me? Otherwise you stay home.”

I thought about this, then straightened, placing my hands flat on the counter. Until that moment, I’d been on the fence about the party. I wanted to give the club a shot, but I’d been nervous about jumping in headfirst. Now? Now I’d show up at that damned Armory if it killed me. I’d flirt all over the place, too.

Fuck him and his whore.

I glared at him. He glared back. Neither of us blinked.

There’s a lot Ruger and I refused to talk about, and God knew he could hide his thoughts from me. Now I couldn’t even begin to follow his logic—he’d made it clear nothing would happen between us, so why the jealous boyfriend act?

“Why does it matter?” I asked finally. “Are your friends so dangerous that I’m not safe? Because you’ve spent a lot of time giving me shit for assuming they’re dangerous criminals instead of giving them a shot. So it’s either that or because you’re jealous. That it? You don’t want me but nobody else gets me, either? Would it be easier if you peed on me so they know I’m taken?”