Page 8 of Puck (The Lost Boys MC)
I nodded. “Thank you.”
She pulled into a parallel parking space. “We’re here!”
I looked around. “Which one?”
She pointed to a neon sign. “There.”
I squinted to read it. “Home Run?”
“That’s the one.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Looks like a dive bar more than anything.”
Maggie reached over and patted my knee. “Girl, dive bars are the fucking best. Trust me, you’ll see once we get in there.”
But as we walked through the front doors, I still didn’t understand the appeal.
As my best friend led me straight to the bar, I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose at the smell of tobacco and weed in the air. I thought people weren’t allowed to smoke in bars any longer? I mean, the smell alone turned my stomach, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get anything down into my stomach in this place, including alcohol.
And as we slid into our seats, Maggie lifted her hand.
“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked.
“Two margaritas, please. On the rocks.”
The bartender nodded. “Comin’ right up.”
Maggie swiveled her stool around. “Look at this place. Isn’t it fantastic?”
I peered over my shoulder and took in all of the half-naked women sitting in the laps of old, gross men with beer stains on their shirts. Bass thumped loudly from inside and I watched as a couple of the women got up and danced on one of the empty tables in the middle of the damn bar. Maggie whistled at them and guys took out dollar bills to throw at the girls that were now grinding on one another.
Just as our margaritas touched down in front of us, I leaned over into Maggie’s ear.
“This place isn’t really my scene,” I said.
Maggie waved me away. “Drink your drink and we’ll go find someplace else to perch.”
I furrowed my brow. “Do you really like watching people dance like—”
“Shh, shh, shh, shh. I’m watching the show.”
I crooked an eyebrow before my eyes volleyed between Maggie’s face and the girls that were now making out with each other. Money was tossed into the air and men whooped and hollered like a pack of fucking pigs. I was shocked when Maggie took out money of her own. She threw her margarita back, swallowing it in a few breathless chugs, then she winked at me before she slid off her chair and walked over to the girls.
And got up onto the table and danced with them.
“Maggie!” I exclaimed.
I balked as she got up there and shook her ass cheeks. I had absolutely no idea that my best friend could dance that way, which made me wonder if she had pregamed at all before she came over to my place.
No, she couldn’t have. She was the one driving.
“I need an Uber,” I murmured to myself.
“Something wrong with your drink?”
I spun around at the bartender’s behest and shook my head. “No, no. Not at all. Just… my attention was elsewhere.”
She grinned. “You swing towards women?”
I picked up my margarita and slammed it back in one swallow. I ignored the bartender’s question as I pulled out my wallet and offered her my card to pay for the drinks. I’d leave the tip to Maggie, since she was the one who had money flying in her direction. After the bartender gave me my card back, I noticed that she slipped me a folded piece of paper.
With her number on it.
“Give it a call sometime if you want to explore a bit,” she said with a wink.
Then, she was off to clean the other end of the bar.
I really need to get home.
I spun back around in my chair and went to get down when my eyes scanned across a man that caught my attention. Had it not been for a set of car lights that had flashed through the window, I might not have seen him due to the darkness his booth was shrouded in. But as the lights of the cars passing by lit up the space around him, I drank in his honey brown hair that he had swept off to the side. The muscles beneath his white t-shirt were crisp and chiseled, pulsing with need and calling to me like a siren’s song out in the middle of the ocean.
And when his eyes locked with mine, I found myself spinning back around.
Before I beckoned to the bartender for another drink.
Five
Puck
The second my gaze found her stare, a grin spread across my face. While I wasn’t sure if she caught it, the flush that rose up her cheeks and her calves told a very different story. I’d always had a way with women, especially those who enjoyed the bad boy type. And the great thing about being a bad boy was that most women weren’t inclined to take me home to Mommy and Daddy.
Which meant I never had to have the “what are we” conversation.
