“Zane, since you’re not partaking in the soda portion of the experience, I must insist you indulge heavily in the snacks,” Lexie demanded, opening up the various candy packets. “Now, through a vast amount of trial and error, Mom and I have concocted a perfect chocolate to popcorn ratio,” she explained, expertly pouring the various candies into the popcorn. “The combination of sweet chocolate of various textures and the saltiness of the popcorn…perfection.”
I imagined her touching her fingers to her lips like an Italian does after a good meal, since she made the accompanying sound. I didn’t disagree though; our movie snacks were the shit.
Luckily, the dimming of the lights and the glowing of the screen silenced any further conversation. I expected to finally relax. The darkness of the theater masked any filthy looks directed my way and the need for silence hampered me from saying anything stupid. But as soon as those mother effing lights dimmed, something happened. The air turned charged with so much sexual tension I doubted you could cut it with a chainsaw. I clutched my drink so tightly I worried for a second it might explode everywhere. I tried to move in my seat, but that only seemed to make me more aware of Zane beside me. I could even smell the manly mix of tobacco and his own musky scent. I tried to hold my breath. Not because he smelled bad, but because he smelled so good. I then realized I couldn’t hold my breath for two hours, so I let it all out on a loud exhale.
For once in my life, I wished, no prayed, Toretto and his crew would get their mission done and dusted in a jiffy, no funny business.
He was having a bad day. Not that any of his days in the past four years could ever have been classified as good. In fact, most could be described as fuckin’ horrific. Like the days he planned his own death. The days he tried to force himself to work up the courage to eat a bullet. Then the days after that, when his best friend made it his mission to make sure he never had that particular meal. So this day couldn’t be classed as the worst, but it was pretty fucking bad. All because of the blonde bitch living across the street from him. The one who haunted his fucking dreams. The one who made his cock get half hard just thinking about her. Listening to her chattering away to her daughter about stupid shit while he changed her tire made him calm. Made his mind silent. His mind was never fuckin’ silent. But there it was, listening to them argue about some fucking actor and stupid fucking movies, it was like they were gone. The demons. Until they weren’t. That was dangerous. Blonde hair, amazing fuckin’ tits, beautiful fuckin’ eyes. Made him forget. He wanted her. But she was good. Innocent. Had a kid. Kid was fuckin’ good. Even more, innocent. Nice. Not even afraid of him. Friendly, acted like she thought he was worth talking to. He didn’t even know why he did it. Gave them his name. The name only a handful of living people knew. The name only one person had called him. The person who was the light of his life until he got her extinguished. He didn’t do good around good people. Nice people. Innocents. Which was why he didn’t talk to them. Didn’t talk to anyone, really. But that day, and every day after it, his mind was on her. Mia. Which distracted him. Thinking ‘bout her. Her tits. Tight little ass. Rosebud mouth that her teeth chewed when she was nervous. Which was when she was around him. He knew it. But she was still funny. Still spoke to him, gazed at him with those ocean blue eyes he couldn’t get out of his fuckin’ head. Therefore, his head was full of shit it shouldn’t be full of.
So his day was fucking bad. Hence why he was sitting in the clubhouse bar, pouring his first whisky and it was barely noon. As he had been for the past week.
“Jesus fucking Christ, would you look at that,” Gage, one of his brothers whistled. His head was near pressed to the window, which gave a view of the forecourt. “Sweet as fuck piece just walked in,” he paused. “Fuck, Lucky’s already pounced, the slimy fuck.” He seemed genuinely sad.
Bull inwardly shook his head. Gage was a loose cannon. Days like today he was lighthearted, all about pussy and joking. Then other days, when the occasion called for it, the fucker turned. Something he’d never witnessed. Everything left his eyes; he became cold, ruthless. The joker was gone. A killer remained. He had some serious fuckin’ issues. Issues that Bull thought stemmed from the mangled scars that hid underneath his tattooed arms.
Cade and Brock were lounging on the sofa, uncharacteristically without their women. This was because they had church early this morning. Again, unusual. But shit was going down.
“Jesus,” Brock muttered on a grin. “The last thing we need is that fucker adding another bitch to his collection. He’s juggling too many as it is. Reckon they’re gonna find out, then one bitch’ll go crazy and shoot the fucker if he’s not careful.”
Gage kept watching the window. “Doesn’t look like she’s here for him. Got car trouble by the looks of it.” He shook his head. “Hot as fuck piece, drives a ridiculous girly car like a fuckin’ Beetle.” He said like this was a crime to humanity.
Bull’s head snapped up at this. He knew of only one hot piece driving a Beetle. There was no fucking way he wanted Lucky flirting with her. In a flash, he had slammed his drink down on the bar and headed toward the forecourt. He hadn’t even realized Brock and Cade were in stride with him until he reached the car with Lucky inspecting under the hood. He gave them scowls but then was silent.