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She turned around, and I jerked my gaze back up to see her eyes narrow as she came back over to me.
“Were you checking out my ass?” she asked.
I rubbed my bearded jaw. “Me and every man in this bar.”
Amusement lit her pretty brown eyes, and she took a glass, then set it in front of her. “Which MC are you a part of?” she asked as she free-poured the whiskey.
“Judgment,” I replied. “What gave me away?”
She nodded her head at my cut. “The leather vest. Patches.” She pushed the glass over to me and studied the patch on front, and then her eyes widened as she straightened back up. “President, huh? Impressive.”
I picked up the whiskey. “You didn’t ask if I wanted ice.”
She smirked. “I’ve been pouring drinks long enough to know a man who looks like you doesn’t want it diluted.”
Unable to help myself, I dropped my eyes back to her mouth, then her set of natural double D’s. She was young. Too young.
A man down the bar called out, and she left me to get him a drink. I turned my eyes and watched her ass and the long, toned legs that were on display. Maybe if I didn’t ask her how old she was, I could take her out of here to the nearest hotel tonight and fuck her. Clenching my jaw, I tore my eyes off her.
The sexy doctor I’d asked out last week before heading down to The Judgment’s sanctuary in Miami to handle club business was thirty-six. Still young, but more than ten years older than my daughter. There was potential with her. She was someone I could bring around my daughter. Possibly settle down with. I was looking at fifty in a few years, and the idea of having someone to come home to was becoming more appealing.
Staring down at the glass in my hand, I tried to remember what Dr. Dillard looked like. Her platinum-blonde hair and big blue eyes had reminded me of Etta. Wincing, I took a drink. Etta was another lifetime ago. Young love that had never been meant to be and ended too soon. Etta would always be nineteen and perfect. She didn’t get to grow old. Her life had been taken before she had that chance, and until I had found our daughter, I’d thought my heart had been taken with her.
“Ready for another?” that sultry voice asked me.
Lifting my gaze, I looked into the eyes of the brunette stunner I had no business lusting over. I was forty-seven. There was a good chance her dad was my age.
“Yeah, might as well. The storm hasn’t let up.”
My eyes followed her as she went for the bottle of Elijah Craig, not giving a shit about her age. That was definitely a prime piece of ass. The man who got to bend her over and fuck that tight cunt was one lucky son of a bitch.
I dropped my eyes back to the glass before she turned around and caught me ogling her ass again.
“Where were you headed when the storm brought you in here?” she asked, pouring another drink into a new glass.
“Home,” I said, looking up at her. “Been in Miami, handling club business, but I moved my home here to Ocala a few years back.”
She pushed the glass to me. “So, you’re the president, but you don’t live where the biker club is located?”
I smirked. That was a really long explanation that started with finding my daughter after searching for nineteen years. “Complicated.”
She chuckled. “Complicated. That makes two of us. That’s why I’m here too.”
The flash of sadness in her eyes caused an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. She was too young for that look just yet. Sure, life was one shit show after another until you were dead, but a pretty thing like that shouldn’t know it this soon. Didn’t seem right. But then I kept imagining her naked and full of my cock, so my sympathy might be a little lust-driven.
“You not from around here?” I asked.
She started to shake her head and stopped. “Well, not really. I was born in Charleston. I like to think that’s where I’m from. My dad brought me here when I was a kid, and bad decisions kept me here.”
“We’ve all made those and suffered,” I replied.
The sigh that she let out caused her tits to lift and fall enough to gently bounce. Fuck! I had to stop looking at her tits. She was clearly going through some shit. An old man perving on her wasn’t what she needed.
“I guess,” she replied, and then a smile touched her lips. “My Mama D used to say, ‘Mistakes happen, and cryin’ a bucket of tears over them is silly. Because wisdom is built from a pile of mistakes.’”
I grinned. “Mama D sounds like a smart woman.”
She nodded. “She was. The older I get, the more her sayings mean to me.”
