Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(11)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“Behave,” Sophie said, opening the stall door. She joined us to wash her hands. “I think we need a picture together.”

She pulled out her phone and held it up.

“Okay, strike a pose,” she said. “I want to see sexy, I want to see passion! This is not a game, ladies.”

I started giggling as Kimber crouched, pointing her fingers like a gun at the mirror. Sophie clicked the pic and we all looked at it.

Wow, I did look sort of hot.

“Text that to me?” I asked.

“Me, too,” Kimber chimed in. Sophie fiddled with her phone, then mine buzzed in my pocket.

“Serious talk now,” I said, looking at them in the mirror. “I know I said I wanted to have sex with Liam, but only if it feels right. Don’t be disappointed in me if it doesn’t happen.”

Sophie wrapped her arm around me.

“Hon, you shouldn’t do anything that doesn’t feel right.”

“Exactly,” Kimber said. “Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he brushes his teeth. There’s all kind of potential deal breakers here. Just remember, if he isn’t what you want, there’s always another guy. You just need to stay away from the club and you’ll start meeting them.”

“I still feel weird being here without my dad knowing,” I said. “There’s been lots of trouble this past year . . . For a long time we were all on lockdown. They almost got Marie, you know. The Devil’s Jacks?”

Kimber’s eyebrows rose.

“Really? Is that a story I want to hear?”

I frowned.

“I don’t know all the details—what I do know is that I didn’t get to go anywhere without protection for a long time,” I answered. “The Jacks and the Reapers have always fought with each other.”

“But you’re not on lockdown now,” Sophie said firmly. “And you haven’t been for a while, right? Ruger is crazy controlling about safety for me and Noah, and he didn’t say anything about needing protection. We’re fine. It’s just a night out—no drama, unless getting well and truly f**ked counts as drama. Fingers crossed for you on that one, babe.”

I thought about Liam’s picture and felt a delicious shiver run through me. Fingers crossed for sure . . . I wanted to lick him all over. There were six condoms in my purse, just ready and waiting. Not that I thought we’d need six, but a girl could hope, right?

“I want to dance,” Kimber said. “You up for it, ladies?”

“Yeah,” Sophie said, but I shook my head.

“I want to grab another drink first,” I told them. “It’s silly, but I feel really nervous about this.”

“Drink up,” Kimber said. “But not too much. Don’t want to make an ass of yourself and turn him off.”

“Oh, shit,” I muttered. “Do you think I will? This is so weird and scary . . . I don’t want to blow it.”

“You have a black corset, tight jeans, f**k-me heels, and a purse full of condoms,” Sophie said gravely. “It would take a lot to turn him off. This isn’t about whether he likes you. It’s about whether you like him—otherwise you’ll just keep shopping around.”

I hugged her impulsively.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Any time,” she whispered back, squeezing me tight. “Now go out there and get a drink, then come dance for a while. Life is too short to waste time on a guy who isn’t right for you, no matter how hot he is. Always remember that.”

I considered her words, wondering if she was talking about me or herself. Sophie’s situation with Ruger was complicated . . . Sophie let me go and then we walked out of the bathroom and into the bar.

• • •

I sat at a table toward the front of the room, sipping a Sex on the Beach, loud music pounding through me like a manic heartbeat. It felt like the clock over the bar must be broken, time moved so slowly. I kept thinking about the hotel room I’d booked earlier tonight. Kimber and Sophie had one connected to it—safety first, right? Assuming everything went well, I’d be taking Liam back to that room in a few hours.

My intentions toward him weren’t honorable.

Not even a little bit.

Letting go of my crush on Painter had been hard—good thing I had Liam to get me through and remind me I had options. Whatever else happened, I owed him for that. I swirled the drink with my straw, then looked up to see him leaning against the bar.

Shit. SHIT. Liam was here. Early.

I wasn’t ready yet. My mojo was all f**ked up. It didn’t help that he wasn’t smiling. Nope, he was looking at me like a hungry animal. So hungry it was scary, and I actually glanced behind me because I couldn’t believe that look was actually for me.

Then he pushed off the bar and started toward me. I froze, terrified. What had I been thinking, meeting a total stranger in a bar? I didn’t know this man. He was . . . bigger than I’d pictured. I mean, I’d seen pictures but my phone screen was small. “Small” wasn’t a word that applied to this guy. Liam in real life seemed to take up more space than the people around him. He was sexy, too. All long, lean muscles that flowed as he crossed the room. His gray henley covered broad shoulders, and his faded jeans moved like a part of his body.

He also wore biker boots and a Harley-Davidson belt buckle.

Holy shit, was Liam a biker? He’d never said a thing about that. What else hadn’t he told me? People moved out of his way, the women eyeing him speculatively and the men uncomfortable meeting his eyes.

Then he stopped in front of me.

“Em,” he said, reaching out to catch a strand of my hair. He rolled it between his fingers and smiled. It transformed his face from terrifying and dangerous to outright glorious. His eyes were a rich dark brown, with long lashes, and his hair really needed a trim. I wanted to touch it. “You’re prettier in real life than your pictures.”

I warmed, feeling what had to be a truly dorky grin take over my face.

“You’re taller,” I said, projecting my voice over the music.

He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then slipped into the chair opposite me. I felt myself relax with the distance, until I realized that now I had to face his intense gaze head-on. The pictures hadn’t conveyed the power of his eyes—not even close. I had no idea what to say or do, so I took a sip of my drink. He cocked his head, eyes fixed on my lips. I sat there like an idiot, watching him watching me.