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“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Tack asks me.
“Natasha’s here to see them, not me.”
“I think you got hit in the head too much when we were growing up. There’s something seriously wrong with your brain’s processing skills.”
Shoving up against him, I growl, “I don’t want to be stupid alone. Here, allow me to pound your skull in, jackass.”
“Focus on the prize, Bear,” he says and gestures at where Natasha peeks at me while Siobhan flirts with some rando.
Tack isn’t wrong. I know I’m getting what I want, yet I can’t settle down.
“I’m afraid to believe in this thing and have it fall apart again.”
“If it does end, do you really want your last time with Natasha to be you fussing about like a cranky kid? Why not enjoy the ride until it crashes and burns?”
Despite his sensible advice, I’m still agitated once we’re seated at a table halfway between the bar top and the band stage. Siobhan continues to talk up a tall, scrawny guy with shitty tats and a goatee. I want so badly to tell her to up her standards, but I don’t dare voice my feelings. Natasha seems to be waiting for me to say something to piss her off.
“You look hot,” I tell her while she sips her piña colada.
Natasha snickers at my compliment before laughing harder. I frown at her amusement. I’m ready to complain when she scoots her chair closer.
“You sound like you’re trying to pick me up at a bar.”
“I am.”
“You already won my attention.”
“But you do look hot.”
Natasha glances down at her tits and then back at me. “I was trying to look relaxed.”
“You failed. You just look hot.”
Natasha smiles and tugs her chair closer as the band prepares to start their set. I expect her to say something. Instead, she only admires me while wearing a soft smile.
Siobhan returns to the table in a huff and drops into the chair next to Natasha. My woman’s gaze peels away from me to focus on her pissed friend.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was nailing that down and then Dumb and Dumber showed up,” she says and juts her thumb behind her where Indigo and Golden stand way too close to the skinny guy with the bad goatee.
“No big loss,” Tack tells her. “The guy had a girlfriend.”
“How do you know?”
“He kept looking around as if worried someone would spot him talking to you.”
Siobhan’s exaggerated eye roll nearly sends her out of her chair. Natasha hugs her friend and whispers reassuring crap to her.
On the stage, Hunter’s drums start off the song, and the lead singer—a dude who most definitely isn’t stacked, though he might be a bimbo—begins singing a rough and rowdy version of “Ain’t No Sunshine.”
Siobhan finally stops pouting and shooting hate daggers at our club brothers. Bouncing in her seat, she hugs Natasha.
Relieved to have Natasha within reach, I wish I could also hug all over her. Instead, I keep my hands to myself and admire the soft smile she wears.
By the time the band plays a rock version of “I Write the Songs,” Natasha has finished her drink and is inching closer to me. I stare into her eyes, willing her to erase the space between us. She obeys my silent pleading and ends up in my lap.
“I kissed you too hard that first day,” I babble, since I’m looking for negative shit to zero in on rather than enjoy the feel of her leaning against me.
