Page 2 of Bangin': Knuckles Sexy Bites
One
Jess
What was I thinking?
All that bravado of telling myself thatIcould go after Sanders, yet here I stand, watching him from afar like some psycho stalker. Where the hell is all the courage I had when I told myself I was going for it, no more waiting? It must have gotten lost in themix.
Knuckles is packed, which isn’t surprising since it’s a Friday night. I recently bought the joint from Chip, who owned the place for years. I know this place inside and out, having worked here since I was old enough to be legal. The waitressing tips helped pay for much of my schooling. Then, after graduating four years ago from the University of Illinois Chicago with a degree in business management and accounting, I did Chip’s bookkeeping. With all the experience with Knuckles, it was only logical that I would take over when Chip decided to retire, which was just a few monthsago.
Being the owner instead of an employee has been strange, and it has taken a bit of adjustment, but I always make my presence known on Fridays and Saturdays. I may not be slinging drinks, but I step in when I need to. It’s also great to keep the skillset up; you never know when someone calls insick.
Right now, though, I’m watching the object of my obsession from across the room as he stands against the side of the bar, resting his hip against it with a bottle of beer wedged between his index and his middle finger. So damn sexy without even trying. He only needs to breathe to attract everyone in the bar, and I’m not just talking about women. Men too. Sanders just exudes this power, like he could take on anything and everything with a snap of hisfingers.
The expanse of his chest pulls the black V-neck T-shirt he has on within its last stitch, as it molds to every groove and swell of his body. And believe me, he has a lot of those grooves and swells to accommodate. I’ve watched them grow over the years, enticing not only me, but everyone else in this town. I’d be a very rich woman if I took a dollar every time a woman talked aboutSanders.
His tight ass is hugged in the most worn pair of Levi’s I bet he owns, and damn, they look good on him, like they were custom-made to lure in every woman in a ten-mile radius. They do a damn good job too, judging from the three women hanging on his every word, smiling and laughing at everything hesays.
His hair. Damn his hair. It’s long, midnight black, and I swear it has a bluish hue to it in different lights. I’m talking, down to his shoulder blades long, and right now, he has it pulled up tight in what I like to refer as his sexy-as-hell man bun. I never thought I would be attracted to a man whose hair is almost as long as my own, but as Sanders grew it out, I changed my opinionquick.
He raises his beer to his lips and, from the side, I can see them mold around the opening of the bottle. My stomach churns, wondering what that light spattering of a beard he has would feel like on my neck, down my chest … between my legs. How his tongue would lick me, just as I’m sure it’s touching theglass.
As his tattooed arm flexes as he lifts the bottle, I thank God the music in here is loud; otherwise, my groan would’ve been way too awkward. I don’t even have to wonder if I’m wet. Nope. Whenever I even think of the man, I’m donefor.
For the past twenty-six years of my life, Sanders Becker has been my fantasy. He’s been the star in every one of my dreams. He’s even played a major role in my vibrator helping me out with this ache. He’s helped me get through some very, let’s say, delicate situations when a guy I was with couldn’t exactly live up to what I needed him to be. In those cases, thoughts of Sanders were what tipped me over the edge, not that I have told anyone that. Not even my best friend Mal. Nope, that one I keep lockedup.
The way he stands at the end of the bar, commanding the space around him, one would think he was a celebrity or something. And in a way, he is. He’s not the most straight-laced man around. Sure, he’s run his family’s electrical company ever since his father passed away, but that’s not it. It’s theladies.
I won’t lie to myself and say I will be the one to tame Sanders Becker, because I know I won’t. I honestly believe there isn’t a woman on the planet who could tame the Harley riding, get any woman he wants, bad boy. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to tame him. Okay, I would like to tame the get-any-woman part, but I’m not going to fool myself into believing thatIwould change him. I just want a piece of him; have wanted it since I knew what liking boys meant. However, he’s always kept me at adistance.
Abby, one of the women vying for his attention, rubs her hand up and down his strong arm, the one without the tattoos. He doesn’t flinch or move, no doubt used to all the touches. Me, I want to rip her hand away and shove it up herass.
Abby is beautiful. She’s three years younger than I am and was the homecoming queen runner-up. With our town being close-knit, I know everything. With the big city around us, this small niche of people knows it all. It’s just how it is. Some things you’re just stuck knowing even if you don’t wantto.
“Jess?”
I turn my head toward Layla, my head waitress, prying my eyes from Sanders and not caring in the least that she caught mestaring.
“Yeah, hon? What’sup?”
Her eyes float to a table across the room where Darren, a regular, and some of his guy friends sit laughing and pointing at some of my girls, no doubt drunk off theirasses.
“Those guys won’t stop touching. I’ve told them twice. Both Beth and Alissa have come up complaining about them. I think they need to be cutoff.”
When I’m not here, Layla handles problems, but when I am, she likes to divvy out the not so fun tasks to me. I can’t blame her. When I waited tables, I hated this part of the job too. Stilldo.
“I’m on it. Tell the girls to stay away from the table and I’ll deal withit.”
Layla sighs in relief. She’s such a cute little thing. Whenever I see her, I think of Tinkerbell. Only my Tink wears tight boy shorts that cut up the cheek of her ass and a bright yellow V-neck T-shirt that readsKnucklesacross her bust. I’m not changing a good thing. That uniform allowed me to pay for college and put a decent chunk down on this place. It’s doing the same for my girls, and they haven’tcomplained.
I peer over at Sanders who is laughing it up with Abby and a few of her friends that have come along. First, I’ll deal with Darren, thenhim.
Steering myself in Darren’s direction, I push through the crush of people all drinking, dancing, and having a hell of a time. That’s one thing I love about this place, the good vibes and happymoods.
Darren is about five years older than me, so the only school we went to together was grade school. He’s attractive in the boy next-door kind of way. His sandy brown hair is cut so it doesn’t move in any way when he turns his head, but he has the nicest green eyes in town. Women normally flock to him, so why he’s getting touchy with my girls when he knows the rules is beyondme.
Five guys sit at the circular table, but I move behind Darren. The other guys are no strangers to me either. Each of them are from Darren’s graduatingclass.
“Darren, am I going to have to throw you out for touching my girls?” I ask in my seductive, get-what-I-want voice. I love that voice. Too bad I’ve never had the balls to use it with Sanders. But that changestonight…
