Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(20)
Undoubtedly, his brother was already working the women in the room, pouring on the charm and lining up his own hit it and quit it for the evening, which was Mason’s method of operation when it came to females. And with his cocky, bad-boy persona, combined with his good looks and multitude of tattoos, he always had an abundance of willing females to choose from. And he never failed to take advantage of that fact.
Another half hour had passed when Tessa came up to the bar next to Katrina, not to collect a drink order but to get Clay’s attention. She waved him over, her expression flushed and irritated.
“Everything okay?” Clay asked, immediately concerned.
“No.” More irritation vibrated in her voice. “Your brother is in the women’s restroom banging some chick, and I need to pee!”
He was so taken aback by her announcement that he frowned. “Mason?”
Katrina snorted, and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “Who else would it be? Do you honestly think Levi would do something so indecent?”
Yeah, Katrina had a point. Only Mason would be so ballsy as to have sex in a semi-public place, while people waited to use the facilities. Ever since he was a teenager, his brother had developed an I don’t give a f*ck attitude that made him impulsive and careless, one that continued even now, at the age of twenty-seven. Mason had some of his shit together—he was a talented tattoo artist and owned his own shop—but their f*cked-up childhood still affected him on an emotional level, and he dealt with all that painful shit in his own way. Namely by being reckless, wild, and pretending to be so aloof no one would even try to get close enough to crush him, the way their own mother had. Thus, his inclination toward one-night stands. Easy sex and no attachments. Ever.
Yeah, all three Kincaid brothers had mommy issues, and they each dealt with the residual effects in their own way. Growing up with a junkie for a mother who’d abandoned her kids for days at a time in order to get high, then had landed in prison for drug possession and prostitution, tended to leave a lasting impression on a kid. And that hadn’t even been the worst of what they’d gone through.
“Since Mason is ignoring me, can you please go and take care of the problem?” Tessa asked as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet.
Problem was too easy of a word for Mason. His brother was a pain in his ass. A thorn in his side. The shit on his shingle. There was nothing easy or predictable about Mason, and tonight’s escapade proved as much.
Clay exhaled a harsh breath, but just as he tossed his damp rag behind the bar, intending to cut short Mason’s fun, the man himself sauntered out of the crowd and headed toward the bar. By himself. But the arrogant swagger in his walk and the satisfied smile on his face definitely confirmed he’d just gotten lucky—and could easily get lucky again if he wanted to with one of the many females ogling him as he strolled by.
When he reached the end of the bar where they were gathered, relief flashed across Tessa’s features. “It’s about damn time, Romeo,” she grumbled, and quickly beelined it for the ladies’ room.
Mason merely smirked, which increased Clay’s annoyance. “What the f*ck are you doing in the women’s restroom?”
“It’s called getting laid,” Mason replied as he slid onto the stool next to Katrina, who was frowning at Mason. “You should try it sometime, big brother. It might improve your testy mood and mellow you out some.”
“My mood is fine,” he snapped, unwilling to admit just how much he had been on edge since that morning’s hot, erotic kiss with Samantha. And watching her hustle around the place in those snug jeans and formfitting T-shirt wasn’t helping his intense attraction to her, either. His dick had been at half-mast since she’d arrived at the bar, with no relief in sight.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about Mason’s behavior. “I don’t appreciate you being so crass in my bar. If you were anyone else, I would have tossed you out on your ass.”
“Luckily I’m in good with the owner.” Mason grinned.
Clay reached into the bin of ice chilling the beers and pulled out a Sam Adams—his brother’s drink of choice until he moved on to the harder stuff in an hour or so. “Not that good, so don’t f*cking press your luck.” He removed the metal cap and set the bottle on the bar.
“Jesus, Mason,” Katrina finally said, a sharp, chastising bite to her voice. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for one night?”
Mason laughed at the obvious displeasure in her tone, and she visibly bristled. “Now why would I want to do that, Kitty-Kat?” he asked innocently, using the pet name he’d given her so many years ago.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she responded sarcastically. “So you don’t catch something and your dick falls off?”
Her unflattering comment didn’t even seem to faze him. “Not gonna happen. Condoms first, always,” he said, and took a long drink of his beer.
Katrina made a distasteful sound in the back of her throat. “You’re gross and disgusting.”
“So you’ve told me many times before,” Mason said, and suddenly grew more serious, which didn’t happen often since being a smartass was more conducive to keeping most people at a distance. “But you’re my very best friend, and I know deep down inside, you secretly love me despite my faults.”
There was the slightest teasing note to Mason’s voice that kept his reply from being too intimate, but the glimmer of something more briefly flashed in Katrina’s eyes—a longing and desire that Clay had seen in her gaze before.