Page 12 of Crowbar

I hadn’t let him in. I’d opened the door. There was a difference, even if it didn’t feel like one at three in the morning when my arm throbbed and the deadbolt was the only thing between me and a man who thought love was a leash.

Enough. I grabbed the cupcakes with my right hand, stacked the muffins on top with a prayer everything didn’t slide free, and wedged the banana bread under my good arm. The car door required a hip check to open, which sent the muffin tower swaying like a drunk on a cruise ship.

“Don’t you dare,” I told the top container.

It obeyed.

I crossed the lot, and the smell hit me. Barbeque. Then I heard rock music coming from somewhere behind the building. Unsure where to go, I followed the smell, which led me around the side of the building.

My sneaker caught on something I couldn’t see with a tower of baked goods blocking my view. I stumbled, catching myself with the building. Pain exploded in my shoulder, but I bit back the shout, then waited for the throbbing to cease, before I continued walking.

A backyard opened up. I froze when I spotted close to a dozen men, some lounging in mismatched chairs, others standing around talking and laughing, beer bottles dangling from the fingertips. Two grills sat off to one side, smoke billowing from both of them.

I’d never seen so much bulk in my life. Inked muscle wearing leather cuts and, on the back, Howlers MC with claw marks in the middle.

Where was Crowbar in this sea of men?

A bark cut through the noise, and Noodles came tearing across the grass, a tiny missile with ears. She was wearing the black collar, which looked even better in natural light, and she moved with a reckless abandon as if no one had explained gravity to her yet. She hit my shin at full speed, bounced off, sat down hard on her butt, and then launched herself at my legs again.

“Hi, baby.” I crouched as best I could with an armful of baked goods, and she got her nose into the gap between the cupcake container and the muffins, tail whipping so hard her whole body swayed. “No. Those aren’t for you. You eat pee pads. You’ve lost treat privileges.”

Crowbar emerged from the cluster of men near the grill, beer in one hand, toothpick in place, and those storm-cloud eyes found me like I was the only thing in the yard worth looking at.

He was wearing the same leather cut, a black T-shirt underneath that did nothing to hide the architecture of his chest, and jeans that sat low on his hips, which I was not going to think about.

I was absolutely thinking about it.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring the freezer.” I straightened, and Noodles jumped at my knee again.

“You made it,” he said with a smile.

“When you said ‘we,’ I thought you meant three or four guys.”

“Nobody can resist Drift’s cooking.”

I scanned the yard again, trying not to look as out of place as I felt. Every man here had muscles. I was holding cupcakes and wearing a polo shirt and khakis. “You could’ve warned me. I would’ve worn something less...”

“Tan?”

“I was going to say corporate, but tan works.”

He took the muffins and the banana bread from me in one smooth motion, barely shifting his beer to do it. His fingers brushed my right hand during the transfer, and the contact sent a current straight toward my cock.

“Come on.” He nodded toward the yard. “I’ll introduce you.”

“To all of them?” My voice pitched higher. I was never going to remember everyone’s name. I also didn’t want to be the center of attention. “At once? Like a presentation?”

“They don’t bite.” He paused. The toothpick rolled. “Most of ’em.”

“Can you put an orange sticker on the ones that do? That way I know to keep a healthy distance from teeth.”

I followed him anyway. Noodles was already trotting ahead like she’d been coming to these cookouts for years. I wasn’t about to let a dog with a pee pad problem have more social confidence than me.

The conversations didn’t stop when we approached, but they shifted. Eyes found me, tracked across the cupcakes, the polo, the general state of being me. A few of the men exchanged glances I couldn’t read.

One of them, wearing a stone-cold-killer expression, looked from me to Crowbar and grinned wide enough to split his face.

He still looked like a killer. Now he just looked like a happy one.