Page 14 of Crowbar

My throat tightened. I looked down at Noodles, who was chewing on a belt loop. “That’s a very nice thing to say to someone you’ve known for a combined total of maybe forty minutes.”

Unlike Ken, Crowbar sounded like he’d genuinely meant it. He wasn’t smooth-talking me or being manipulative. His tone was filled with too much sincerity to be fake.

“Thirty-seven.” He stood, and the chair creaked with relief. “I counted.”

He walked toward a cooler near the grills, leaving me speechless, which was probably for the best because my response would’ve been something stupid and revealing, like “I counted too” or “please don’t be kind to me right now because I’ll fall apart.”

A man settled into Crowbar’s empty chair. Not one of the bikers, or rather, one of them, but different. Smaller. Softer around the edges. Brown hair, warm green-gray eyes, and a bruise on his jaw that had faded to practically nothing. He was wearing a leather jacket that was miles too big for him, and he held a mug of something steaming between both hands.

“You must be Spencer.” He smiled, and it reached his eyes. “I’m Trent.”

“Pet store guy,” I said. “The one who sold Noodles to Crowbar.”

He laughed. “I’m Preacher’s partner.” He pointed to a tall guy with short hair and silver rings who was talking to Deadeye. I might forget other names, but only someone who lacked self-preservation would forget his.

You opened the door to Ken. You have none.

Crowbar returned with a bottle of water and reclaimed his chair, which required Trent to vacate with a knowing look that I pretended not to see. Noodles had fallen asleep in my lap, her breathing slow and even, one paw twitching in whatever dream puppies had.

“You okay?” Crowbar asked, handing me the water.

I had a feeling he wasn’t asking about meeting so many people at once. That was a double-edged question. He’d noticed me favoring my left arm.

“Peachy.” I uncapped it with my right hand, took a long drink, and tried to arrange my face into something that didn’t broadcast every emotion I was feeling. “Your friends are loud.”

“They’re always loud.”

“Deadeye called me kid.”

“Just a name we use, not an insult. We’re well aware you’re an adult. He even called Prez kid, once. Got schooled real quick.”

“Prez being the tall scary one at the grill who looks at Trent like he invented oxygen?”

Crowbar’s mouth curved. “That’s the one.”

“They seem happy.” I took a drink of water, glancing around.

Crowbar didn’t respond right away. He sat there, beer on his thigh, toothpick moving in that slow roll across his lip, and watched the yard with an expression I couldn’t name. When he finally spoke, his voice was low enough that only I could hear it over the noise.

“How’d you hurt your arm?”

The water bottle froze halfway to my mouth. I slowly lowered it, every muscle in my body going tight.

“Stocking shelves.” Deb got the version where I’d fallen on the hallway steps leading up to my apartment.

“Shelves,” Crowbar grunted. “Those shelves come with hands?”

I gently picked Noodles up and placed her on his lap then stood and headed for my car.

Chapter Five

Crowbar

Boundary crossed. I cursed, calling myself several kinds of idiots, in alphabetical order. Lifting Gunner, I set her down on my seat then crossed the yard.

That wasn’t a bruise from work, but I’d push too soon. Couldn’t help it. Spencer was so small, and I wanted to rip the spine out of whoever had hurt the male.

My wolf had chosen Spencer. I’d gotten the same punch in the chest Preacher had felt when Prez’s wolf had chosen Trent. I’d chosen him between the puppy cages and the display of collars.