Page 13 of Jacob

Molten heat snaked around her waist when she put her tray down to clear it of the empty bottles. Stiffening, she turned, expecting to see Jacob, as though he could have slithered through the crowd and beat her to the bar. She’d just seen him at the table. Impossible. She’d definitely lost her goddamn mind.

“Baby,” Pipes murmured, pulling her against him as he sat on the barstool.

Willing herself to relax in his hold, she couldn’t get Jacob out of her mind. He’d see this. As though her muscles had a mind of their own, they remained stiff and resistant to Pipes’ hold on her. She didn’t have to check, she could feel his eyes still on her. Why the hell didn’t she want him to see her boyfriend holding her, being affectionate with her?

Seeming to be unaware of her rigid posture, her boyfriend nuzzled against her neck. “Take fifteen, gotta talk,” he whispered along her neck before his lips grazed her earlobe.

She shuddered from the heat of his breath and glanced to Kimber, the bartender. She’d shown up an hour late to work. She’d spent fifteen or so minutes in the stockroom with the guy she’d projected this high school fantasy crush on. Oh and nearly kissed him. Now, her boyfriend wanted her to take a break.

Kimber winked. “Go ahead. It’s still early.”

She still had to take that order over. “Can you bring a Jameson over to Bowie’s table?” she asked.

Kimber nodded. “I’ll ask someone to do it, don’t worry.”

Relieved, she focused back on her boyfriend. At least this would give her a bit of a reprieve from the intensity of Jacob’s eyes on her. The feel of his gaze made the back of her neck prickle. “Ten,” Sparrow pointed in Pipes’ face.

He smirked, grabbed her finger, pulled it to his mouth, and nipped it. Unable to stop it, she laughed and shoved his face playfully. His hands went to her hips and immediately reminded her of the stockroom. Exactly where it shouldn’t go.What the hell was wrong with her?

Her head turned as he yanked her against him. Scanning the bar, she noted an empty chair beside Bowie.

Shit. Where did he go?

Fuck! Why did she care?

Lost in her own thoughts, Sparrow stumbled slightly as Pipes led her out of the bar toward the parking lot. His fingers curled around her palm and she returned the gesture out of reflex. Clouds blocked the moon, making it feel darker than most evenings. A brisk fall breeze blew past, and she wished she’d worn more clothing.

Once they’d reached his bike, Pipes placed his hands on her hips again and positioned her so that her ass rested on his seat and her thighs parted wide enough for him to position himself between them. Her own hands went to his waist as she looked up at him. A floodlight mounted on the brick wall of the bar illuminated the parking lot, casting an eeriness, shadowing half of his face.

“Leaving on a run in the morning,” he said as he moved his hands to her shoulders. “Gonna be gone a few days.”

She frowned as she slipped her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. “How many is a few days?” She knew better than to ask where or why. Club business was for patched members and he wasn’t patched, so she doubted he knew. Plus, she wasn’t a patched member either. So, even if he knew, he wouldn’t tell her.

He lifted his left shoulder before crouching and placing a brief kiss on her lips. “Don’t know yet,” he said as he looked away. “But it’s a big one.” He brought his attention back to her with a wide grin. “Likefinallygonna get my colors big.” The excitement sparkled in his bloodshot eyes. “And when I have my colors,” he began taking her face in both hands. “You’re gonna be my Ol’ Lady. I’m gonna make you mine. No one else’s, just mine.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, his mouth covered hers, swallowing any response she would’ve had. His hand went to the back of her head, pulling her into the kiss.

The taste of stale cigarettes and beer swiped across her tongue with his. Her stomach rolled either from the flavor or from the idea.

They’d been dating for two years. Of course, this road led to a property vest and Ol’ Lady status. Hadn’t that been the goal when she introduced him to Bowie? Maybe before he’d gotten into the shit.

Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him back. Her tongue ran along her bottom lip after she’d broken the kiss. Meeting his eyes, she bit her lips together, taking an audible inhale. Time away would be good. It would give her a chance to really clear her head and decide what she wanted. Shit or get off the pot, as they say.

“I gotta get back in there,” she said, doing her best to sound disappointed.

He nodded. “Yeah. I should pack,” he said, stepping back and running his hand along his chin.

Slipping off his bike, she stuffed her hands into her back pockets. “See you tonight at home?”

He lifted his brows. “What? Ah no.” He shook his head. “Gotta crash at the clubhouse. Come hang out after your shift.”

Stepping past him, she tucked some hair behind her ear. She hated going to the clubhouse with him. The parties she went to as a kid had been family parties—toned down for kids and Ol’ Ladies. The shit Pipes brought her to were full-on debauchery—sex, drugs, and rock & roll. It bordered on disgusting.

Plus, he wasn’t an officer. He didn’t have a room at the clubhouse. When her father had been the SAA, he’d had a room. At the time, she’d just thought it was cool to have a place where she and the other kids could go and watch movies away from the adults. Now, she understood it was a crash pad for her dad.

“Yeah, maybe,” she answered non-committally. “Depends on how tired I am. Plus, I really want to study. The entrance exams are next week.”

Groaning, he rolled his eyes. “Baby, when I’m patched you won’t need to do any of that shit. I’ll be making bank. I’ll take care of you.” He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out to rest on his lip before he lit it.

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