Page 56 of Southpaw Slots

“Yeah, sure.” Thinking about earlier and my wife calling out my name, how alone he may be feeling, I ask, “Can I watch?”

As he heads out onto the main road, he checks the rearview. I think he hasn’t heard me, and I’mnotgoing to repeat it, but he says, “You want to watch me fix a car?”

“AndI want you to teach me how to ride.”

Twisting his neck, his eyebrows shoot up as he asks, “A bike?”

“A motorcycle, yes.”

“Sure, mav. I can show you. What’s all this new interest? In…everything.”

My dick twitches in my pants, and I slump in my seat to give it some room. “Because you’re in our life now. You’re ours. We’re yours. Arianna said that you want to be part of us and, well, maybe I want that, too. And if we’re together, then I want to learn.”

Glancing out the window, I don’t expect anyresponse. But a tickle on my thigh makes me turn back to look. Wyatt’s not watching the road. His eyes fix firmly on my face as the back of his finger strokes along my outer thigh. Watching it move, it sends sparks wherever he touches, and my cock gets harder.

Do I…

Do I have a crush on my wife’s boyfriend?

“Thanks.” With a lift to his chest, he finally breaks the silence and straightens in his seat. But when he goes to pull his hand back, I slap mine on top. I don’t make any eye contact as I lick my bottom lip and stare at the city streets passing by. My belly flips repeatedly as the heat rises in my blood.

I’m holding hands with Wyatt.

And as his fingers spread, he laces his pinkie with mine.

When he throws the car in park outside some absolute shithole cinder block building, he releases my hand and turns in his seat to me. “Hey, Asa? These guys are good men. But they’re not very welcoming to outsiders. Especially those from another part of town or…”

“Rich?”

“Yeah.”

Shrugging a shoulder, I jump out, but before I shut the door, I say, “Good thing I’m not, then.”

But he’s right. As we walk in, every head darts to me while I walk down the center aisle like I’m the last pig at a luau. Wyatt puts his hand on my shoulder andmurmurs in my ear, “Sit here.” Practically shoving me into a front row fold out chair, I do.

The man next to me smells of a mix of tobacco, weed, body odor, and malt liquor. So I lean forward and put my elbows on my thighs to give my nose some distance from the scent.

There’s a rusted music stand alone on a small makeshift stage, and Wyatt waltzes up to it as the men quiet their voices. Hardly any women are in attendance. Mainly, it’s really rough looking guys in leather vests with old tattoos. Not the fancy ink like we do in our shops in the south. No, these are done behind bars somewhere. It smells like a barn in here, but from the looks of the place, it was probably some type of warehouse at one point.

“A lot of you don’t understand what it takes to help change minds.” Wyatt’s voice rings out like he’s wearing a microphone, but he’s not. It’s just projection, and the rattling baritone shakes my shoes. He looks so commanding up there, everyone rapt in attention as he starts. “But things happen behind the scenes you aren’t aware of. Things I’m working on.”

“Like what?!” some guy yells from the back, and a few heads turn, but the man sits back down.

“Like things you shouldn’t know about yet.” Wyatt seems to center himself with a stroke across his scruff, then continues. “I brought you out of utter destitution. I’ve helped you get jobs, earn some money.Feed your families. And I did all that by helping you get out ofyour poverty mindset. I helpedshape your minds. But it’s not enough!” He grips the edge of the podium.

“No, it’s not,” the crowd murmurs.

“We know what needs to be done. Strauss is the problem here.He’sthe one who has set up this entire game wherewe fail,andhe wins! We need to take down his allies one by one. Dismantle them and feed them to the poor.”

A boom of riotous chants in agreement rings through the inner walls.

“Buthow? He has so many in the north and elsewhere. Like in the west. Changing yourmindisn’t enough. I need to capture theirhearts. And once I do, I’ll sneak in, and we’ll placeourman on top.”

The heavy voices are muted until one man speaks clearly near my back. “Who’sourman?”

Wyatt’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath, then looks at me. His palm extends to the front row and the shuffling of people craning their necks to look is like knives in my skin.

“Ace Donovan.”

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