Page 11 of Forsaking All Others

“Still dipping your dick in that rachet pussy, Mav, huh?” she sneers, her eyes full of fury.

I lower the cup from my lips and set it next to her container. Bracing both hands on the edge of the bar, I stare at her.

“Ah, so you ran into Vivi on your way in,” Leftie murmurs. “And here I thought this morning was going to be boring as shit.”

“Yeah, I did,” Holly confirms. “And she was just as pleasant as she was when I first caught her in bed with my husband.”

“Leftie give us a minute,” I demand, still keeping my eyes pinned to my ex-wife.

“No,” she argues, breaking our stare to glance at Leftie. “I’m not here for him, anyway.”

“The hell you aren’t,” I bark, forcing her eyes back to me. “Now, old man.”

“Jeez,” he mumbles. “Give a man a minute, I don’t move as quick as I used to.” With a huff and a puff Leftie slides off the bar stool and turns to Holly, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Go easy on him, darlin’,” he murmurs. Her face remains expressionless as she continues to stare at me from over his shoulder, then she reaches for the Tupperware, handing it to Leftie.

“My braised steak tips,” she explains. “I know how much you like them.”

Leftie’s eyes come back to me as he takes the container from her. I got the mind to snatch the Tupperware from his hands seeing as I’d bet my fucking dick those aremysteak tips, not his. Shaking his head, he says, “I take it back, you’re not an idiot, you’re afuckingidiot.”

Duly noted, brother.

Now take my steak and run before I don’t give ya the chance.

He gives her another peck before tucking the container under his arm. When he finally makes his way out of the room, I turn my attention back to Holly. Unlike yesterday, her hair is piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. The t-shirt she wears hangs off one shoulder, revealing a creamy span of skin and a fucking bra strap my fingers itch to touch. My gaze travels lower, to the simple black leggings that cling to her long legs and the Timberland boots that cover her feet. I look at my own feet to the pair of boots that are identical to hers.

Timberlands wereourthing. Got the family photo in my room of the four of us standing in front of my Harley wearing jeans, white tees, and the Burnside preferred choice of footwear, to prove it.

I fight the urge to smile and lift my chin, schooling my features.

“Something happen with Tara?”

“No.”

Right.

“Shepard then.”

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and shakes her head.

Right.

Typical Holly, sending me mixed signals, fucking with my head.

“Then why the fuck are you here, woman?” I growl, frustration slicing through me.

She’s been avoiding the clubhouse like the fucking plague ever since she found me in bed with Vivi the day after she served me divorce papers. I gotta beg and plead just for her to pick up the kids on the weekends and don’t get me started on the hell she raised when I tried to throw Tara a Sweet Sixteen here. The woman about lost her mind. After shelling out twenty grand we wound up having it at the Knights of Columbus down the road.

Now, all of a sudden she’s got a change of heart, strutting that sweet ass through these clubhouse doors at the crack of dawn just to bust my balls for getting my dick wet when I’m fucking certain she didn’t give two shits where my dick was when she crawled into bed with her fucking husband last night.

Fuck that.

“I wanted to bring Leftie—”

I cut her off.

“Bullshit,” I hiss. Her shoulders straighten as she crosses her arms against her chest and sucks in a breath. “Been divorced for a long time now, baby, and never once have you found it necessary to bring one of my brothers leftovers.”

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