Page 72 of Wild Eyes
Ford has covered his lips with his palm, and Rosie is laughing so hard that she’s making no noise at all.
My eyes lock with West’s, and I get a soft wink from him. God, he’s like Teflon—everything just rolls right off him. He’s not offended, but I sense her ribbing smarts a bit. And I know he’s reflective enough to consider what she’s telling him.
“You are in fine form tonight, Tabby Cat. I’m not even mad. After all, it’s you who inspired our team’s name.”
“What’s your team’s name?” I finally pipe up, taking a measured sip of the world’s most toxic tequila.
“The Ball Busters,” West announces, puffing his chest out a bit and giving Tabby’s shoulder a one-finger poke.
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “What an incredible honor. Thank you.”
It’s then that a tall, thin man waltzes up, leaning his elbows against the bar on the other side of the gate. He has a severe face, and gel saturates his hair to the point it looks almost wet.
“Oh joy, Stretch is here,” Ford mumbles, not sounding remotely excited about the man’s presence.
“Strikes me that if you wanted to name the team after Tabitha, you could have called it the Tongue Twisters. Can you still tie a knot in a cherry stem?”
Tabby stares back at the man, not a stitch of embarrassment on her face. In fact, it’s more like she oozes pity. “Still dreaming about the only blow job you ever got, Terence? Was that tenth grade? Shame that you peaked so young.”
My attention volleys to Rosie. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t miss a beat. She’s so comfortable in this setting.
The man flushes right as Ford turns to Rosie and mouthsTerence?
“You know?—”
He doesn’t get to finish because a man so tall, so broad that he looms like a mountain over Terence approaches from behind. He is beautiful and terrifying all at once. Built like a warrior, scowling like a predator.
He doesn’t hesitate to rest an oversized palm on the back of the skinny guy’s neck. It could be a friendly gesture—but it’s not.
“You know what I could tie a knot in? This long fucking neck. And then no one would have to tolerate your presence here. Anyone have any objections?” His voice is so deep that it shouldn’t be possible to make it out over the social hum of the bar.
And yet, it feels like everyone hears him.
Except Tabby, who has taken a sudden interest in the water-stained foam tiles on the ceiling.
This must be the infamous Rhys.
His obsidian eyes land on each of us but rest longer on Tabitha. A flicker of something passes there, and I find myself invested in whatever is going on with them. It seems to me like she may have glossed over some key details where this man is concerned.
“Wow, not a single objection. Imagine that, Terry,” Ford says with dry amusement. And when the man jerks himself free and hustles away with his tail between his legs, he adds, “I fucking hate that guy.”
Tabby takes another drink and stares at Mr. Dark and Foreboding. “Everyone hates that guy,” she says simply.
His jaw twitches as he watches her keenly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he looked downright green with jealousy.
But he says nothing, just turns to leave.
West claps his hands, always on a constant mission to lighten the mood. “Okay, fine. You guys can stay.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. And this time, rather than sipping my tequila, I toss it straight back. It burns, making me feel alive. “No one asked for your permission, West,” I say as I slam the shot glass down on the bar top. “Now beat it. This is girls’ night out.”
“Hear, hear!” Rosie echoes before following suit. “Drink up, Tabby. You’ve got a real embarrassing blow job to explain.”
Tabitha glosses over the jab with an eye roll, zeroing straight back in on West. “Never thought I’d see the day that Skylar Stone walked you like a dog, but here we are.” She tosses her drink back with a thoroughly amused twist to her mouth.
West doesn’t have time to respond because another man pops up from their lane farther back. Thick brows, threads of silver in his sideburns, and a bored scowl grace his masculine face. “Let’s go, you fucking clowns,” he calls out. “This isn’t high school. Leave the girls alone.”
“Coming, Dad,” West shouts back, garnering himself a chorus of laughs from around the bar. The man shakes his head like he’s disappointed before turning and flopping back down onto their bench.
