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Bama’s wiping down the bar, chuckling to himself.
“Don’t you dare laugh at that. He’s nasty,” I mutter, glancing over at Bama.
“I think it’s funny how he tries to get under your skin, and you let him. He only says that shit to get a reaction out of you.” Bama’s eyes bore into mine.
“You know, you’re probably right.”
“I usually am,” he replies with a laugh, the sound rich and warm. “I will say, I didn’t expect you to get hounded so much about me pickin’ you up.”
“Tell me about it,” I groan, taking a long sip. The cold liquid is a stark contrast to the heat rising in my cheeks. “They mean well, though.”
“Yeah, they do.” He nods, wiping down the bar, his golden blond curls catching the dim light. “You’re lucky to have overbearing parents like that. Not many people do.”
I furrow my brows a tad, sensing the underlying tone beneath his words.
“Hey, Bama.” Zane’s voice cuts through the moment, rough and commanding. “You’ve done enough work for today. I’m gettin’ Siren to come handle the bar for a few hours.”
“Got it,” Bama responds, a mix of relief and uncertainty flashing across his face.
He gives me a quick look, something unspoken passing between us, before he turns to follow Zane’s order.
As Siren steps in behind the bar, I can’t shake the feeling that things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.
“Thanks for relieving me, Siren,” Bama says, clapping his hand on Siren’s shoulder.
I don’t know why, but I grimace at the sight of him putting his hands on another woman.
It might be light-hearted, but it irritates me.
“Like I had a choice,” Siren grunts, already grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar.
Bama turns back toward me, and our eyes lock.
There’s that spark—something raw and electric that makes my pulse quicken.
My lips curl into a smirk, daring him to make the next move.
His ocean-blue eyes hold mine for just a beat longer than necessary, filled with unspoken words and possibilities.
“Catch you later, Jordyn,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.
“Yeah, see ya,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
He walks off, his shoulders squared, and each step measured and confident.
I watch him go, the room seeming to dim a little in his absence.
It’s like the air shifts when he’s around, charged with an energy that both excites and unnerves me.
I finish the rest of my beer, the cold liquid doing nothing to quell the heat coursing through my veins.
Bama may have walked away, but the tension between us lingers, thick and undeniable. And something tells me this is only the beginning.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bama
“Hey, Bama, you got a minute?” Ripper’s voice cuts through the noise of the clubhouse, a rough edge to his tone.
