“God, I swear, if that’s Mrs. Webbly . . .”
I snorted. “I told her I’d get to the toilet tomorrow. She has two bathrooms.”
“Let me talk to her,” Tinker said, pushing my hands off her knees. She stood and had started toward the door when the pounding came a second time, and a man shouted, “Are you okay, Ms. Garrett? This is Tony Allen, with Hallies Falls PD. Can you open the door?”
Fucking hell. Tinker hesitated, then shot me a quick question with her eyes. Did this have anything to do with me? I shook my head in quick denial, following and standing behind her as she opened the door. A young deputy—hardly old enough to shave—looked at us with wide eyes.
“Um, we got a call requesting a welfare check,” he said slowly. “A friend of yours called, said he was concerned about a man coming into your home. Can you step outside, Ms. Garrett?”
Oh, that fucker. That cowardly little fucker. Guitar Boy hadn’t had the nerve to stand up to me so he’d called in the cops for no damned good reason. Just what I needed.
“Of course,” she said, following him. I knew the drill here. He’d talk to her separately, make sure I wasn’t forcing her to do anything. If she truly wanted to jack me up, now would be her opportunity. I considered that. Tinker was pissed at me—really pissed. She could tell him I’d lied about my identity, not that much would come of it. The club’s lawyers could fix anything that needed fixing, and the local cops followed the Nighthawks’ lead. Still, I was a little surprised when she finished talking to the guy and came back inside.
“Sorry about that,” she said as we watched him walk down the street to his squad car. “I think Joel called them. He was worried you’d hurt me or something.”
“Must’ve been real concerned,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “He made that phone call just as soon as he got his own ass a safe distance from yours. Sounds like a real winner to me.”
She looked up at me. “You know, for a lying asshole you’re sort of cute when you’re jealous.”
“What?” I asked, thrown off-balance.
“You heard me,” she replied crisply. “Let’s finish talking. I’m tired and want to go to bed. Alone, for the record. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“You have a way of making a man feel appreciated,” I said wryly, and she shrugged as she closed the front door before sitting on one of the wingback chairs in the living room. I settled on the couch, leaning forward with my arms on my knees to pin her down with my stare.
“Okay, so you were busy avoiding admitting that you’re part of a criminal organization,” she said quietly.
“If that’s what you really believe, why didn’t you have that cop haul me out of here?”
“Would he have done it?” she asked. “Because most of my life, I’ve heard that the Nighthawks own the local police. According to my ex-husband, bikers come hand in hand with crime and corruption. What’s your side of the story?”
“You know, it’s a lot easier to hook up with girls who don’t ask so many questions,” I muttered, frowning.
“Feel free to hook up with someone else, then,” she snapped. I studied her face, then let my eyes slowly slide down her body. Jesus, the woman really was perfect. Cute jeans shorts that cupped her ass just right, another of those halters she loved so much. It was red with big white polka dots, and for once she wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was loose and tangled.
“You look good like this,” I said. She raised a brow.
“Not wearing so much makeup, and the fancy hair,” I clarified, taking her in. “Not that I don’t love it when you dress the other way—it’s hot as hell. But this works, too.”
“You’re trying to distract me,” she whispered. I slid forward off the couch, standing in front of her. Stepping forward just a little too close, my knees bumped hers. Looking down at her from this perspective, it almost seemed like she was about to give me a blow job. Christ, what I wouldn’t give for that to be the case. Giving my lips a lick, I reached down, sinking one hand into her sleek hair.
“Are you distracted?” I whispered.
She swallowed.
“Maybe a little,” she said. “But I’m not some stupid little girl you can bully or control.”
“I don’t want to bully or control you,” I said slowly. “Although I would very much like to fuck you. Tonight. You want it, too.”
Tinker’s eyes flickered to the fly on my jeans. It wasn’t much, just a quick glance, but I felt the blood start to pool in my cock.
“You’re full of shit.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “But I was serious about not lying to you again. I did what I had to do, and believe me when I said I didn’t enjoy it. If there’s something I can’t tell you in the future, I’ll be straight up about it. And there will be things I can’t tell you. That’s how club life works.”
It took everything I had to hold her head gently, rubbing one thumb slowly up and down her cheek as she considered the words. Part of me wanted to smash her face into my cock, face-fuck her until the tears ran down her cheeks.
Jesus.
There was something wrong with me.
“I’m not the best of men,” I said. “But you know what? I’ve looked into your ex. He’s supposed to be one of the good guys, but he isn’t. I’m not sure how much you really know about him—”
“Don’t bring him into this,” she whispered, sighing. I watched as she raised a hand, running one finger delicately down the length of my fly. My dick grew like she had some sort of magical pull on it, which I guess she did. “You’re right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
She glanced up at me, her eyes assessing. “We are going to fuck tonight. But don’t think it’s because I like you, or that I’ve forgiven you. Sex isn’t always about emotions. A guy who’s screwed plenty of strippers should know that, right?”
“Right,” I replied slowly, wondering if I’d heard her right.
“So tonight won’t be about emotions,” she said, her eyes piercing. “And it doesn’t mean I’m okay with your lies or that I’ve forgiven you or anything. Maybe it’s just been a long time, and I’d like to get laid. This is my decision and it has nothing to do with you, so don’t take it personally.”