Page 75 of Wild Card
I looked around the pool hall. Maybe if I found a hookup, I could shake off my brother. My gaze bounced from a trucker type working his way through a basket of wings—good-looking in that rugged, unkempt way—to a curvy blonde bent over the pool table. Her date was all over her, ostensibly showing her how to play. They might as well fuck right on that table, though, for all that she was going to learn.
I considered joining them. I could win her away from him. Or hell, maybe just fuck the both of them. More likely, he’d get pissed when I moved in and give me a good fight. The thought of punching something, of the rush of adrenaline I’d get as I took my first hit, was mighty tempting.
“Axel?” Gray prompted. “Are you listening to me?”
I snapped my gaze back to my brother. “You’re killing my mojo, man. How am I supposed to find a hookup with you yammering in my ear?”
“You don’t need a hookup,” he said dismissively.
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know what I need.”
It was mostly lip service. I’d been more excited about the idea of fighting than fucking, anyway. And my brother would never let me start a bar brawl without involving himself. I couldn’t drag him and Bailey into a jail cell with me, so that was off the table.
Gray sat back and crossed his arms. “You’ve been obsessed with Dalton for weeks. You telling me that you’re going to sabotage it at the first sign of trouble?”
“There’s nothing to sabotage.” I went back to my beer. “Get me another shot, or change the fucking subject.”
“Fine,” Gray said. “Why were you so against the idea of starting a rescue program? If there’s funding out there, and you can do what you love?—”
“With a bunch of regulations I’ll probably just fuck up?” I finished off the beer. “No, thanks.”
“Seriously?” Bailey said.
“When the fuck did you come to the table?” I muttered, disoriented for a minute.
Bailey pushed a basket of nachos toward me. “I just got here. Want some?”
I figured he was trying to get me to soak up the booze, but they looked good, so I didn’t call him on his shit. I scoopedup a chip covered in beef, melted cheese, and sour cream. Ah, yes. The original trash plate, if you thought about it. A bunch of random ingredients tossed together for delicious results. I downed three more chips covered in tasty slop.
“…don’t even know.”
I realized Bailey had been speaking to me. “Huh?”
Bailey rolled his eyes. “Dude, how drunk are you?”
“Not drunk enough,” I muttered.
“I was saying, you don’t even know what would be required. You gave up without even getting all the information.”
I shrugged. “Money always comes with strings.”
“So what?” Bailey demanded. “Isn’t Banshee worth a few strings? What about Sugar and Taz, huh?”
“They’re all just fine the way things are now. Why fix what ain’t broke?”
“It is broken,” Gray argued. “That’s what started you down this road. Remember the dognapping? The almost arrest? The underfunded shelter? Dalton wanted to help protect you and these animals.”
Fucking Dalton. He’d acted like he cared, but then he’d walked away. Realized I was too much trouble. My phone was full of messages from him. But if he walked away once, he’d do it again.
“…out of it.”
“Yeah, it might be time…”
My brothers talked to each other, their words washing over me. I picked up my beer, but the damn bottle was empty. “Need another drink.”
I pushed back from the table, staggering as I stood up. Damn. I’d eaten the nachos. Drank the water. But the room still spun any-fucking-way. I’d gotten carried away with the tequila.
Gray grabbed my arm. “All right, let’s get you home.”
