Page 37 of Surrender (Angels Halo MC Next Gen)

She didn’t tense, but she shifted her weight so that there was space between us while she kept her gaze on Chance as he took another shot.

“Let’s go home,” I suggested, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re tired.”

“Maybe after this game. I’m having a good time.” She sipped her new beer that Kingston had left. When Chance changed positions to take yet another shot, she had an excuse to put more distance between us.

Several yards away, a group of frat boys in polos were getting loud. Samara side-eyed them a few times, her fingers twisting around the pool stick she held.

Obviously, she was mad at me, but I didn’t have a clue what I’d done to upset her. We’d been having a good time as far as I could tell. All during dinner, she’d barely taken her eyes off me. I knew, because I’d been just as bad. Not having at least one of my senses engaged with her at any given time was painful.

If I wasn’t touching her, I was looking at her. If I wasn’t looking at her, I was smelling her. As long as I could hear her voice, or laugh, then I was calm. Fuck, I was surprised I hadn’t started licking her yet. It took half my strength not to kiss her every time I looked at her mouth.

Which made it even harder to figure out where I’d fucked up.

Chance bumped my shoulder when it was my turn. “Here, use mine,” he offered, giving me his pool stick.

Muttering a curse, I tried to focus on the balls, but all I saw was Samara, drinking her seventh beer and looking at everyone but me.

Look at me,I willed her with my eyes.Please, baby girl, just look at me. I’ll make whatever hurt you better. I promise.

Samara was so damn strong, but she had a fragile heart. I knew that. I knew everything about her. If she would just look at me, I would be able to figure out what hurt her heart and fix it.

Behind her, I saw Jack walking through the crowd, looking to cull the overly drunk and disorderly. Hannigans’ attracted all walks of life, from college kids to businessmen to cougars looking for a hookup. But it was primarily the MC’s domain. It was where we had Church on Thursday nights and got shit-faced Friday and Saturday. Every brother would protect the sanctity of Hannigans’ because it was home.

But if the fire marshal showed up and saw how many people were inside, he’d shut the place down.

“Sammy?” Jack said with a brief flash of genuine emotion in his voice.

Beer paused halfway to her mouth, Samara turned. “Hey!” Shifting her beer bottle and pool stick around, she hugged him.

I clenched my hand around my own stick so hard, the wood creaked. There was no one in that room I trusted more than Jack Hannigan to have my back, except my dad. But fuck it all, I didn’t like his hands on her, even for an impersonal hug.

While the two of them caught up, I pretended to line up a shot, but my mind wasn’t focused enough to be able to sink a ball.

Samara nodded toward me. “My new boss decided to take me out for a drink after work, and now he’s trying to impress me with his mad skills.”

Unsurprisingly, my shot was a total fail, but I could hear the tinge of anger just below the surface of her voice now.

Dad and Uncle Matt were practically howling with laughter over my scratch. “You tired, kid?”

“It’s too fucking loud in here,” I excused. “Jack needs to kick some of these assholes out before Hannigans’ gets fined and shut down.”

“Maybe he should show you to the door.” She finally looked at me.

Fucking hell. My princess didn’t think I could see it, but I did. All that pain in her eyes nearly dropped me to my knees.

“You’re either drunk or not nearly as good as you claimed to be all day,” she taunted.

“Is that how you talk to yourboss, Sammy?” I asked softly as I walked toward her.

Avoiding my gaze, she glanced down at the watch on her wrist, but not before I saw the fire flare a little hotter in her eyes. Her pain was still there, but she was working herself up. To her, being pissed was safer than letting herself feel the hurt.

“You’re only my boss from nine to five, Monday through Friday. It is currently eleven thirty on a Friday night. You’re not my boss at the moment, dipshit. You’re just the drunk biker who can’t hit the white ball.”

I didn’t want her in pain. God, I would burn the entire world down to keep her from hurting. But I didn’t want her anger unleashed in an overcrowded bar either.

Too many potential casualties.

Stepping into her space, I attempted to keep my hands to myself. Glittering blue gems snapped on to me, and I felt scorched, destroyed by her pain and anger, but so damn alive. I never wanted her to look away.

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