Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(12)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“You want something?” a waitress yelled over the music, breaking my Liam-induced trance.

“Yeah,” he told her. “I’ll take an IPA, whatever you have on tap. You want another?”

I shook my head and the waitress moved on to the next table.

“This is really awkward,” I said, giving a nervous laugh.

He held a hand up to his ear. Great. He couldn’t hear me.

“This is really awkward,” I yelled. “I mean, I know we know each other, but meeting in person is weird.”

Liam’s mouth cracked in a panty-wetting grin.

“It’s different,” he said back, voice pitched to carry. “But I like it. It’s good to finally be in the same room. Are your friends here?”

“They’re dancing,” I told him, my voice faltering. Jesus, at this rate I’d end up with a sore throat from trying to talk so loud. “They want to inspect you.”

He grimaced.

“Of course they do,” he answered. “Sophie and Kimber, right?”

I nodded, impressed that he remembered their names.

“How do you know them?”

“Um, Sophie is . . . hmm, hard to explain,” I said, thinking about the Reapers, her weird nonrelationship with Ruger and all the reasons I hadn’t told Liam my full situation earlier. I took another sip of my drink, trying to decide what to say. Dad didn’t like me talking about the club, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that we were in one. Not really . . .

Fuck it. If the club was going to scare Liam off, might as well get it over with.

“You know, there’s something I’ve never told you,” I said loudly across the table.

He raised a brow.

“Is this the part where you confess you’re actually a man?” he shouted right as the music died. Heads turned and it was just like high school again. Everyone was looking at me. Liam glanced around at our audience, then winked at me. “’Cause if you are, I’m totally into that. Whoever did your boob job is a f**kin’ artist.”

I burst out laughing as the next song started.

“No,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “But there’s a reason I haven’t dated very much. My dad’s part of a motorcycle club. The local president, actually. Anyway, one of the guys in the club has a nephew, and Sophie’s the kid’s mom.”

Liam straightened, his face turning blank. I don’t know what I expected . . . Concern, maybe? A snide remark? Somehow the total lack of expression in his eyes was worse.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Damn it, carrying on a conversation in this place was nearly impossible. Had I made a huge mistake? Shit. Would Liam be like all the other guys, too scared of Dad to make a move?

He shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just remembered something I forgot to do earlier. Hey, you want to get out of here?”

“Um, I’m not sure—”

“That came out wrong,” he told me, smiling again. Had I been imagining things? “I meant, do you want to go to another bar? Public place, lots of witnesses, but maybe a little quieter? I want to really talk to you and it’s kind of hard in here. There’s a place down the street I like. Owner is an old friend of mine.”

I frowned.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to leave Sophie and Kimber.”

“We don’t have to,” he yelled. “No worries.”

I smiled, thankful he wasn’t going to push me. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I dug it out to find a text. Several of them, actually, including one from Liam telling me he would be early. It’d come in at the same time Sophie sent the picture. Oops.

KIMBER: He hre yet? I want to check out his ass. See if its worthy . . . think he’ll let me touch? I think we shud make him dance with us!!!!!

I frowned.

“Everything okay?” Liam shouted. I studied his handsome, concerned face and pictured his reaction when Kimber Davis, Sexual Bloodhound, started groping him on the dance floor. I wasn’t sure what would be worse—if it bothered him or if he liked it. Either way, it would embarrass the shit out of me.

“Let’s hit the other place,” I hollered. “You’re right, it’s too loud in here.”

“Text your friends and finish your drink,” he said. “Let’s go talk for real.”

• • •

Liam’s choice surprised me.

I don’t know what I expected, but not some grotty little hole in the wall my dad would’ve loved. The sign outside said Mick’s, and the guy behind the bar looked like a giant pit bull. I’d never been here before, and for good reason.

It wasn’t the kind of place you went with your girlfriends.

The room was long and narrow, with a bar along the left wall and rows of high-backed wooden booths with battered tables down the right. Liam held my hand, gently tugging me toward the back. The place wasn’t exactly busy, mostly guys who looked rougher than your typical Saturday night club boy. A lot rougher, actually. Hell, they could’ve been Reapers. Fortunately, I grew up around tough guys and they didn’t scare me. I wouldn’t want to come in here alone, but I felt safe with Liam.

“Here we go,” he said, stopping at the last booth. I slid in, and then he sat down next to me, his long thigh pressing against mine. I could smell his scent, too. Clean and fresh, with just a hint of strong soap.

“Lots of witnesses, but privacy, too,” he added.

Sitting so close felt like being a little drunk. My hormones were all happy and I wanted to reach down and grab his leg. Instead I forced myself to make small talk.

“So how long are you in town?” I asked, appreciating the fact that I didn’t have to shout.

“Depends,” he replied, smiling at me.

“On what?”

“Whether there’s a reason to stay.”

Oh, I hoped there would be a reason. Despite how nervous he made me, Liam made Painter look like a Ken doll.

“What about work?” I asked, realizing I didn’t know what he did for a living. How had we never talked about that?

“It’s flexible,” he replied. “I guess you’d call me a freelancer. I take on jobs as needed, and it seems to balance out in the end. Have you heard back yet on that aesthetician’s program you applied to down in Portland?”

“Not yet,” I said, feeling sheepish. I’d been planning on sending my application for two weeks now but kept putting it off because I didn’t know how to tell Dad I was considering a move. “I only sent in the paperwork a few days ago. I kept losing different parts of it, and . . .”