Page 85 of Thug

Price had been in the bar for two hours. He’d barely spoken, short of answering my questions with one-word responses.

He glanced at the clock. “Just waiting for the bar to close.”

“What’s going to happen when the bar closes?”

“I want to have a talk.”

I arched a brow. “About?”

“Us.”

It was Monday at 11:50. Most everyone had gone already. There were two of Price’s men in the corner, nursing the same bottles of beer they’d been sipping on for the past hour.

I couldn’t take it any longer. If he wanted to talk, we needed get started. There were a few things I needed to get off my chest anyway.

“Hey, fellas!” I shouted. “We’re closing at midnight tonight. Sorry, I need to do inventory.”

One of the men waved appreciatively while the other stood.

“There,” I said. “That was simple. What do you want to talk about?”

“I’ll wait ‘till they’re gone.”

In less than a minute the cowbell declared their departure. “There you go.” I waved toward the door. “Gone.”

“Lock the door,” he said dryly.

He wanted sex. It was about time. Grinning from ear to ear, I reached for my keys. “Oh.” I rubbed my hands together. “You wanna fuck.”

“No,” he said. “I want to talk.”

My heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Something was. It didn’t matter what he said, I could tell. Maybe it was my kitchen hair. Wearing a net and looming over a grease fryer was doing me no justice in the hair department.

“Do you think I’m sexy?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he replied, appearing to take exception to my question.

“Do you like fucking me?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” he snapped back. “Why?”

“Because you don’t.”

He was out of his chair, looking at me with eyes of concern. “I don’t what?”

“You don’t fuck me,” I complained. “Since the whole kidnapping thing, you haven’t even tried. It’s been a week. You know I’m not broken, right? That I’m not skitzed out about it, or anything. You can fuck me. I’m not going to fall apart.”

He looked worried. About what, I had no idea.

“Well,” I said. “I know you can get it up, so what is it? What? It’s gotta be rough? That’s fine. Grab a fistful of my hair and let’s have a go at it.”

“We need to talk.”

“Fine,” I said snidely. “Let me lock the door.”