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She looks out the window again and says nothing more, even though I know she’s burning with questions.
You’re not the Big Bad Wolf, Rock. But I do believe that you fuck hard, and if you want, we could be good together. Let off some steam while I’m here…
I keep thinking about her words and trying to push them out of my memory for good.
Jesus Christ.
She shouldn’t talk to me like that, which is why it’s not a good idea that Cash put me in charge of her. I’m attracted to that smart mouth.
I could shut her up, teach her things… I could also do the letting off steam thing in a heartbeat, but I get the feeling Aspyn isn’t as brave as she appears. But she sure does like pushing my buttons.
When we pull up into the lot out front, Aspyn stares at the building with some kind of awe on her face.
“You good?”
She snaps out of it, unbuckling her seat belt as she grabs her purse and slides out of the truck.
“It looks more like one of those saloons in an old Western movie,” she says, a little smile on her lips. She’s not wrong, even if the inside has been completely gutted and renovated, courtesy of Deanna.
“Wait till we get inside. They removed the stripper poles in honor of your visit.”
She shoots me a look, and I can’t help but laugh.
As it’s mid-morning, not much happens around here this early.
Cash makes sure the staff clean up regularly and keep the place looking tidy.
We jump out and Aspyn looks around as we mount the steps and I push the double doors open. Waiting, I let her go ahead of me. There’s nobody inside at the bar and it smells freshly cleaned.
“Wow,” she says. “It’s actually pretty nice in here.”
“Cash’s ol’ lady renovated and decorated the place last year. Was a bit of a shithole back then.”
“Hmm, I can imagine.”
She eyes everything like she’s never seen a bar before. I get we’re inside a clubhouse, but it’s not really that different from a bar with extra seating and lounges. There’re also pool tables, dart boards, and a large flat-screen TV for when the boys wanna watch the game.
“Follow me,” I say as we head toward the meeting room doors.
We barely get a couple of feet when I hear, “Well, lookie who we have here… Little Miss Laguna Beach.” Manny, of course.
I roll my eyes. I forgot to warn her about Manny.
She turns around, looking at him curiously.
“You must be Aspyn,” he says, walking toward us, a big grin on his face.
He hasn’t toned down his attire today.
His hair is messily disheveled, a cross earring dangles from one ear, and he has more bracelets and rings than I’ve ever seen on anyone, females included. His AC/DC t-shirt and designer ripped jeans are more casual than his usual patent leather.
And he gives her a shit-eating grin.
I groan internally.
I don’t need Manny crushing on my mystery girl. He can go fuck right off.
“And you are?” Aspyn raises a brow.
