Page 8 of Biker in Love

“Good.” He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You think you can make it into the bar, or am I going to have to carry you?”

“Uh, I should be good, but you might want to spot me just in case.”

“Got it, baby.” He kept his arm wrapped around my waist, and we headed into the bar. I had been to The Watering Hole a couple of times before with Kelly, but it wasn’t a usual place I hung out at. We had come here because we heard they had killer fried pickles. My living room was more my style.

There were quite a few people at the bar, and all of the surrounding tables were full.

“Over there,” Red ordered. He walked to the side of me, his hand on the small of my back, and we squeezed in at the bar. Red stood closely behind me, his front pressed against my back and his arm possessively around my waist.

He leaned down, his lips at my ear. “What do you want to drink?”

I turned and looked up. “Uh, I drink wine coolers, Red.” A giggle escaped my lips. “I’m not much of a drinker.” There was no point in acting like something I wasn’t. I had been to The Watering Hole before, but it was for their food. “But the deep-fried pickles are good,” I chirped.

“Baby,” Red drawled. “You just get better and better every minute I’m with you.”

The bartender made her way over to us.

“What can I get you two?” she asked.

“Tito’s and cranberry, water, and fried pickles to go,” Red ordered.

The bartender nodded and got to work on our drinks.

“Water?” I asked him.

“Don’t drink, baby. Been sober for a couple of years,” he explained.

“I brought you over a beer,” I groaned. Only I would bring a sober person a beer.

“You didn’t know. Now, if you would have known I didn’t drink and still brought over beer, we would have had a problem.” He tightened his arm around me and squeezed. “You’re good.”

“Tito’s and a water,” the bartender called. “You want me to drop those pickles now or wait, Red?” she asked.

The bartender saying his name surprised me.

“Give us a few minutes and then drop them,” Red ordered.

My eyes fell to the bartender. I hadn’t really noticed her before since I had Red pressed against my back, but now I looked at her.

She was pretty. More like hot. She had bright red hair half pulled up on top of her head, a tight black cropped tank top, and I couldn’t see her pants, but I was sure she was wearing cutoffs. She smiled friendly at me and pushed my drink toward me. “Enjoy, honey.”

I slapped a smile on my face and grabbed my drink. Red grabbed his water, then turned me so my back was to the bar and kept his arm around my waist. “I can read your mind, baby,” he muttered softly.

I tipped my head to the side. “Really? What am I thinking?”

“Why did the bartender know my name?”

I quirked my lips. “Can you really blame me for wondering how a bartender knows your name when you just said you were sober?” I didn’t want to sound jealous, but he had read my mind.

Red sipped his water and leaned forward to set the glass back on the bar. “Probably has something to do with the fact I own this place.”

My jaw dropped, and I almost dropped my drink. “Shut up,” I hissed.

Red chuckled. “And Angela is my sister.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned. Thank god I hadn’t let my jealousy get the best of me and been snotty or glared at Angela. Now, that would have been bad. “That is not at all what I thought you were going to say.”

Red chuckled. “I know, baby. I bought this place about ten years ago. Became a raging alcoholic, quit cold turkey, and now I reap the benefits of the drinkers without being one,” he explained.

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