Page 11 of Driving Whiskey Wild
Crow laughed and took another drink.
Dixie stalked over to the bar. “B, I need two whiskey sours, one Heiny, and one Coors.” She set her hand on her hip, and her features softened as she faced Crow. “Hey there. Have you given any thought to the renovations I mentioned?”
Crow’s appreciative smile practically slapped Bullet in the face. “You know I always give thought to your propositions.”
Dixie rolled her eyes.
“Cut it out, Crow,” Bullet warned.
Crow pulled something out of his back pocket and handed it to Dixie. “It’s all there, babe. Everything you asked for. Prices, timelines.” As he lifted the beer to his lips, he eyed Bullet, as if to say, Calm down. I’m riding a fine line and you have no reason to pound the shit out of me.
Bullet leveled the smirk on his face with a dark stare before turning his attention to filling Dixie’s drink order. He wanted to see that damn list, but the truth was, this was Dixie’s area to manage. He didn’t need to piss her off any more than he already had.
“Jesus, you two. Cut the shit,” Dixie said, and stalked off to help another customer.
It was a constant job keeping his family safe, but it was one Bullet was good at, even if it ruffled their feathers. He couldn’t do anything about the way Dixie dressed in skinny jeans, Daisy Dukes, miniskirts, half or tight shirts, and boots, all the things guys got off on, but he could yank the men’s leashes when they needed reining in.
He filled several drink orders, talked with his usual customers, and shot the shit with Crow, all the while keeping one eye on the front door in case Finlay showed up.
“I hear Penny’s sister is helping y’all get the kitchen up and running,” Crow said. “What’s she like?”
As if beckoned by the stars, Finlay backed into the bar in one of her sexy short dresses, carrying some sort of tray in each arm and with a big bag over her shoulder.
“Who is that?” Crow’s gaze flamed as he drank her in.
“Eyes back in your head. It’s Finlay.” Bullet came out from behind the bar as she practically twirled, her dress whisking around her thighs. She almost ran right into him. He grabbed the trays to keep them from falling out of her hands.
Every eye in the frigging place was watching her, including his.
“Whoa!” She smiled up at Bullet. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Her eyes sparkled with happiness, and he felt himself falling into them. He focused on the trays to keep from making a fool of himself. “What’s all this?”
“Cookies,” she said cheerfully as she walked around him and took a tray from his hands. She set it on the bar, then turned back for the other, setting it beside the first. She plopped her bag on a barstool beside Crow and began taking things out of it—pink napkins and plates that read FINLAY’S in swirly white letters, and at least a dozen tiny pink notepads with the same logo at the top.
“What’s going on, lollipop?” Bullet asked as she untied a pink ribbon from around one of the trays.
She stepped in close, surprising him, and motioned for him to lean down. The scent of warm vanilla and sugar seeped beneath his skin, and it wasn’t from the cookies.
“I know I need to feel comfortable here, and I also need to get to know your customer base so I can figure out the best menus for them. Cookies are a great ice breaker.” She grabbed something wrapped in pink tissue paper from a tray and handed it to him. “This one is yours. I hope you love it! But if you don’t, it’s okay. I have thick skin.”
She spun on her sexy-as-sin boot heels and walked around to each table, delivering her goodies.
There was nothing thick about Finlay Wilson. The muscles in Bullet’s neck knotted up as she flitted from table to table, smiling and chatting, touching the arms and shoulders of each customer as she leaned in close to catch every word they said. The men ate up her attention. The quiet ones became motormouths, the dicks shamefully leered, and she made fast friends with the women. His fingers curled into fists, stopping short of crushing the gift she’d given him.
He didn’t have time for gifts. He needed to draw some very dark lines in the sand. Fuck, he needed a goddamn backhoe.
He strode across the floor, eyes locked on Finlay. His Finlay. Yeah, he might not have the right to claim her, but he didn’t care. In his mind she was already his, whether she knew it or not. He stepped around a table and Red came out of nowhere, blocking his path.
Standing before him in a black Whiskey Bro’s shirt, black jeans, and a smile that said, I love you, but…, she wrapped her hand around his arm and said, “Come on, sweetheart.” His mother never called them by their road names. While she’d chased after four wild kids, it had probably been easier to call them the endearments that still rolled off her tongue so easily—sweetheart, babe, honey. On the rare occasions when she used their given names, she meant business.
She took a step toward the bar, but Bullet’s boots were rooted to the floor. His gaze darted to Finlay, who was now standing by the pool tables, talking with two guys while holding out a paper plate with cookies on it.
Fucking cookies.
His mother sighed, worry settling in her eyes as she patted his arm. “Brandon Whiskey, trust me on this. You do not want to do what you’re dead set on doing.”
“Red,” he said, knowing when his mother set her mind on something, like the rest of them, there was no dissuading her. They’d called her Red since they were kids, when Bear had heard her friends calling her by her name, Wren, and thought they’d said Red. The name had stuck.
“Come with me, babe. Let’s have a little chat.”
He tried to clear his throat, but it came out as a growl, and she laughed.
“Well, this is new.” She guided him away from the tables, but he kept his eyes trained on Finlay. “Eyes down here, baby boy.”
He met her amused gaze.
“I thought your brothers were crazy when they said you had a thing for Finlay at Tru and Gemma’s wedding. Clearly, I was slow on the uptake.”
“Your point?”
“My point is”—she lifted his hand holding the tissue-paper-wrapped gift from Finlay—“that sweet little thing over there is not a biker girl. You can’t bully your way into her heart, or scare away every man who looks at her with the hopes that she’ll only see you.”
“I can try.” He was only half kidding.
“Yes, and you’ll push her away faster than you can grovel to get her back.”
He stroked his beard, mulling over what she was saying and hating every word of it. “I’m not walking away from her.”
“Did I say you should?” She arched a slim red brow. “I’m not sure you could if you wanted to. I’ve waited forever to see that fire in your eyes.”
“You always say I was born with fire in my eyes.”
“And you were. The fire you were born with made you the man you are.” She glanced at Finlay, and then his mother’s green eyes found him again. “But this fire will make you the man you’re supposed to be.” She paused, as if she wanted her words to sink in, which they did.
All the way to his bones.
She smiled and said, “Don’t go after your sweetheart with your brawn, baby. Go after her with your heart. That’s the biggest and best thing that sets you apart from every other tough guy out there.”
He watched her stroll away to help another customer, and he wondered why women had to talk in riddles. What the hell did it mean to go after her with his heart? He glanced at Finlay, who was reaching across a table, which gave him a perfect view of her ass. His cock twitched. Calm the hell down. You’re not my fucking heart.
As he went behind the bar, Jed showed up for his shift and snagged a cookie.
“These are awesome.” Jed wiped his forearm across his mouth. His thick blond hair flopped over his eyes. It was hard to put him and Crystal together as siblings, with her jet-black hair.
Jed had a history of theft, but Bullet had recently learned about Jed and Crystal’s painful past, which had led Jed to do what he’d had to in order to help his family, and had led to Crystal’s total transformation.
Bullet became aware of the gift in his right hand again. “You can take off tonight.”
“No, man. I’m supposed to work, and it’s busy.”
“Schedule change. I need you to work Friday night. That cool?” Please fucking say it’s cool.
“Seriously? I told you I’d work whenever you needed me. I can stay tonight, too, if you want me to.”
“Nah. Go have some fun. Just stay out of trouble. And thanks for Friday.”
Jed pulled on his leather jacket and patted Bullet’s shoulder. “Thanks for tonight. Now I can meet up with Quincy and head down to a bonfire on the beach.” He snagged another cookie from the near-empty tray on his way out.
Quincy was Truman’s younger brother and Jed’s roommate. He’d also had a shitty upbringing. Unfortunately, he’d followed in his mother’s footsteps down a drug-infested path. But he was clean now, and on a safe and healthy track. And Bullet would do everything within his power to make sure he stayed that way.
There was an influx of drink orders after Jed left. Bullet set the tissue-paper-wrapped gift on the counter behind him and tended to customers. Finlay was still on her cookie-inspired mission, moving from patron to patron, but now she was passing out little notepads and tiny pink pencils, asking people to write down their favorite bar foods. She set a bowl in the middle of each table for the customers to put their suggestions in. She’d gone from a deer in the headlights to driving the truck in the blink of an eye. Her confidence and determination were as big a turn-on as her innocence and beauty.
