Intoxicated Page 17

“Ah,” he said, grabbing the platter with the chicken and sausage. “You mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thanks,” he said, unrolling the extra setting of silverware the waiter had left, probably anticipating another person after all that she’d ordered. “I haven’t had dinner yet and I don’t know that we have enough take-out boxes for all this anyway.”

  Her eyes shut. Dear God. She knew he was just joking but still struggled against the embarrassment climbing up her neck. Oh, it was so, so bad.

  “I just wanted to try a little of everything,” she explained lamely, not ready to give her cover away regardless of how it might look. She didn’t care what he thought of the amount of food she’d gotten. “It all sounded so good and I’m only in Vegas for a couple of weeks.”

  “Your first time?”

  “No, I’ve been several times.”

  “I’ve never been a huge fan of it,” he admitted, “but it’s home for now. My real one is a ranch in San Antonio where I grew up.”

  “San Antonio is great, though the tiny Alamo was a bit of disappointment.”

  He laughed again. “Yeah, well, I think that’s the point. The little guys lost the battle, but Texas came back to win the war. Think about how small the actual building is, and they defended it to the death against a larger and more powerful Mexican army. They knew they would die and did it anyway.”

  “Fair enough. Disappointment retracted,” she said, holding up her hands in supplication. “I should know better than to disparage Texas in the first place.”

  “Texas forever.” He grinned, repeating the popular catchphrase and holding up the longhorn steer sign on his hand, pointer and pinkie stretching up proudly.

  She rolled her eyes, watching as he chewed on a piece of sausage, his expression turning thoughtful.

  “Parker Jones, lifestyle writer in Vegas on business alone. You got any other plans besides eating the best barbecue in town tonight or would you wanna get out of here?”

  And then Parker thought she might choke on just actual air this time.

  She didn’t choke again, but came damn close. Holy shit. Was this really happening? A one-night stand with a famous football player? One-night stands never gave her this much agita and she knew it was because this one was different. She was already enjoying herself and could actually fall for him. Her heart beat a chaotic jangle in her chest and sweat coated her palms. Rubbing them discreetly on her jeans, she met his eyes and her shock must have shown.

  “I don’t mean for that,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t. Hell, of course, but I just meant I could show you around. You know, as a local. I’d hate to think of you doing this whole trip alone. Besides, I don’t meet many women who can eat this much, so I feel like this is my opportunity to get to know the kind of girl who at least gives it a shot. There are a lot of points on the board for making the effort.”

  It was a joke she couldn’t quite laugh at, but she appreciated it and she wanted to stay with him. Didn’t want the warmth of his body heating her left side to suddenly vanish without her really memorizing it to take out at a later date when she was back home, a place she was always slightly miserable if she were being honest.

  “Sure, I just have to pay the check and we can go. Since apparently I can’t box this stuff up.”

  Chuckling at the throwback to his previous joke, he stood, holding out his hand to help her from the booth. “How about I have the leftovers sent to where you’re staying.”

  “But the check,” she pointed out.

  “It’s on me, sweetheart. Keep your per diem for the next place you visit.”

  She bristled at the patronizing endearment and the per diem crack, as if she couldn’t afford to go out to dinner on her own. Like she was just some girl who couldn’t make it in the world and had to depend on her job’s petty cash to buy her enough food to eat for an entire month.

  Suddenly, it felt like she had rocks in her mouth, dry and crackling, and she wanted to grind them between her teeth until they were dust.

  He must have read her displeasure because he held up a hand. “We can have the bill sent to your hotel, okay? I was just trying to be nice. If I can’t buy a girl dinner at my own restaurant, I don’t know when I can, you know?” His tone was overly conciliatory, which only served to irritate her more.

  “Maybe I’ll just wait here for the check. I have an early day tomorrow and I’m very tired,” she backtracked, yawning to make it more believable.

  Hugh crossed his big arms in front of his gorilla-wide chest, the tailored fabric of his suit pulling over the bulging muscles outlined underneath. Although it looked like it, he wasn’t trying to be intimidating; she thought it was just his way of digging into his stance, which was obviously going to be to try to get her to go out with him. “Ms. Jones, I’m sorry if I offended you, but we’ve been looking at each other tonight the same way I hope people look at my food when it comes to their table. I don’t pick women up in my restaurants ever and I’m interested, so I’d be grateful if you’d give me another chance and come grab a drink with me.”

  As far as apologies went, it was pretty good, but she’d already made up her mind not to do it since it was a bad idea for a lot of reasons. If things had been different and she hadn’t been intending to write a review of his restaurant, she would one-night-stand the shit out of this guy, but alas, life was only that simple for the pool-raft models.

  “Listen,” he began just as she opened her mouth to tell him the aforementioned resolution. “I haven’t been on a real date in years, not one with a woman who minds if I pay a check or not anyway, and I know we literally just met, but you seem pretty cool. I have it on good authority that I’m not great at this shit, so if you could cut me some slack I would really appreciate it.”

  She smiled; she couldn’t help it. He didn’t have to be vulnerable with her but he’d gone there, and it took guts to do that with a complete stranger.

  “Whose authority?” she asked idly, still deciding what to do. “Who doesn’t think you’re good at picking up women in your restaurants? Seems like that would be pretty easy.”

  His lips thinned at the playful jab and his look was bland. “Well, my ex-fiancée for one.”

  “Did you call her ‘baby’ and try to put her in a corner?”

  His thick eyebrows came together at the old movie reference. “No, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “Well, you called me sweetheart and I hated it, just like I would hate to be called baby. And your offer to pay for my meal put me in a corner, metaphorically, if you know what I mean. So if you think about it, it really works on a lot of levels.”

  Hugh stared at her, a corner of his mouth twitching.

  “You know what we call this entire conversation in football?” he asked, arms still crossed and that meaty thumb drumming impatiently on the upper bicep of his opposite arm.

  “A touchdown?” she tried.

  “Nope, intentional grounding. Where you try to kill the play before it even begins.”

  “It sounds like your words are saying you didn’t like my joke, but your face is saying that you did.”

  He laughed for real then, the sound rich and deep, warming her belly more than his food had. “Yeah, I fucking liked it. I like you, too, so will you forgive me for trying to get what I have to assume is one of the largest meals ever ordered in my restaurant taken care of?”

  She met his eyes, shaking her head at his food crack. “One drink and then I really do need to get home.”

  “Fair enough.” He waved over a waiter to explain the situation about her leftovers and check.

  “What hotel?” he asked.

  “Halcyon.”

  “That’s a good one,” he approved.

  “It’s pretty for a casino in Vegas,” she admitted, finally rising from the booth.
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  He offered her his arm and she slipped her hand through, trepidation filtering through her body along with just plain anticipation.

  “And your fiancée might be right that you’re bad at the pickup, but your follow-through is exemplary.”

  “You have no idea just how accurate that statement is,” he told her, his tone edged with a delicious dash of danger and irony.

  Copyright © 2020 by Terra Rogerson

  New York Times bestselling author Chantal Fernando returns to the Knights of Fury series with her most complicated hero yet. He may be the epitome of cool, but this MC president isn’t called Temper for nothing...

  Temper

  by Chantal Fernando

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  “Can I have a whiskey, please?” the brown-eyed behemoth of a man asks, studying me with a little too much intensity for my liking. He’s wearing a black cut over more black clothing, and he smells good, like leather with a hint of cologne. “You have pretty eyes.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, ducking my head. My eyes were always a source of insecurity for me growing up, with them being quite bright and amber in color. To say I was teased about them was an understatement. At school they used to call me a cat and say I was possessed. I don’t care what people think about me anymore, a confidence I think comes with age, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get embarrassed when someone says something about them.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, never moving his eyes from me.

  “Abbie.”

  “I’m Temper,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, Tommy.”

  “How many people call you Tommy?” I find myself asking, trying to hide my smile. I’ve heard all of the bikers that pass through use road names for each other. I don’t know how many of them actually go by their real names, but it’s nice that he offered it to me. I can only imagine why they call him Temper, and if that isn’t warning to stay away from this man, I don’t know what is.

  “Uhh.” He tilts his head back, actually considering the answer to my question. “None.”

  I laugh softly and slide him his drink. “Okay, Temper it is.”

  Suddenly feeling shy, I start to wipe down the counter while his friend returns from the bathroom and sits down next to him. “You didn’t order me a drink?” he asks Temper, unimpressed.

  “Sorry, Prez, got a little distracted,” Temper replies, sounding amused.

  Prez looks at me. “Hey, sweetheart, could I get a beer, please?”

  “Sure,” I say, grabbing the first bottle I can reach from the fridge. “Is this one okay?”

  He nods. “Perfect.”

  Setting the beer in front of him, he throws some money on the table and smiles. “Thank you.”

  My mother always warned me about the bikers passing through the bar, and while I have had bad vibes from other bikers in the past, I don’t get any from these two. But what do I know? I’m twenty-three and have never even left Nevada. I’m the stereotypical small-town girl, something I always thought I’d never end up being. Our bar is off the major interstate that is one of the only ways to get to Vegas from Southern California and vice versa. Because of our location, we see just about every type of person—truckers, families, young people and bikers.

  “What time do you finish work?” Temper asks me as he stands to leave. “Can I take you out for dinner? Or coffee, or something?”

  I shake my head, taken aback by his request. “No, I don’t think so. But thank you for asking me.”

  He’s older than me; I know that much. If I had to guess, I would say he’s in his midthirties, which is maybe why I’m so surprised by the fact that he asked me out. If I’m being honest, while I am attracted to him, the age difference freaks me out a bit. I’ve been stuck here pretty much my whole life—I wouldn’t know what to talk to him about. I’d probably bore him to death. Also, I’m flattered, but I don’t think going out with a man by the name of Temper would be a good idea.

  “Okay.” He nods, brown eyes flashing with disappointment before he masks it. “Have a good night, Abbie.”

  “You too, Temper,” I respond, our gazes holding and lingering for longer than necessary.

  Flashing him a smile, I head back into the kitchen to hide, pushing away a slither of regret that hits me out of nowhere. Yeah, he’s good looking, but so what? There’s plenty of good-looking men out there.

  I’ve never been on a proper date before, and my first one isn’t going to be with a man like that.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  “That man keeps staring at you,” Sierra says under her breath, eyes on the cash register. “He’s kind of sexy, in an ‘I don’t know if I’m going to give you the best orgasm of your life or kill you in your sleep’ kind of way.”

  I don’t bother looking up, because I already know exactly who she’s talking about. Temper, President of the Knights of Fury MC, has been coming into our family-owned bar, Franks, for several years now. He’s not a regular—in fact, the MC only passes through maybe once or twice a year—but he’s not someone that’s easily forgotten.

  The last time he was here, he told me that he was now the president because his Prez had died, and he practically cried as he said it. When he asked me out, like he always does each time he is here, I almost caved.

  Almost.

  “Abbie,” Sierra growls. “Pay attention, he’s coming over here.”

  I glance up just as he stands in front of the bar. “Abbie,” he says with a nod, smiling. “How have you been?”

  “Not too bad,” I reply, taking in those brown eyes and shaved head. I’m not quite being honest. With my mom’s declining health, I’ve had to take over Franks, and had to drop out of college to do so. I spend every day here or at home, helping her as much as I can. My younger sister, Ivy, helps too, but I insisted she stay in college, so she can’t always be here.

  One of us had to make a sacrifice, and I volunteered. She can still become something, get out of this small highway town and follow her dreams.

  “Really? It’s been about eight months since I’ve seen you, and that’s all you have to say?” he asks, brow furrowing.

  I wish I had something exciting to say, like maybe tell him about a vacation I went on, or a competition I won, anything really, but I have nothing.

  “Just work,” I explain, smiling sadly. “Mom’s not well, so I’ve had to take over with running the place.”

  He nods, understanding reaching his eyes. “I see. So you and Ivy work here full time now? What about school?”

  “I’ve had to put that on hold,” I admit, and it hurts to do so. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer, ever since I can remember, but now it looks like my life is going to be spent serving drinks. When I brought up the idea of selling the place to Mom, you would have thought I had asked her for a million dollars. Franks has been in our family for decades, and it’s more than just a bar to her, it’s our family legacy. “Hopefully next year or so I can go back.”

  Temper’s lips tighten. “I know how important that is to you.”

  He’s killing me. I can’t believe he remembers. Last time he was here, in addition to him opening up to me about Prez, I had told him just how much I was loving my courses. He commented on my excitement over it, telling me it was cute, and he could see just how passionate I was about school. And now here I am, months later, admitting to him how I’ve basically dropped out to work full time.

  “Whiskey?” I ask, changing the subject. The last thing I want to discuss with him is how my life is no longer going according to plan, and I’m here because I need to be. Mom didn’t want me to drop out either, but there was no other option, and now I’m stuck.

  I always do this. I’m the first to want to help, the first to volunteer myself up, and you know what they say—no good deed goes unpunished. I’m learn
ing how true that is firsthand. It’s not like my mom is helping the situation either; she’s milking it by just lying around the house feeling sorry for herself. And yesterday she didn’t even go to her doctor’s appointment. She seems depressed, and it’s almost like the roles have reversed and I’m now the parent, and it’s a whole lot of stress for me. I wish she would take her health seriously—she did have a stroke—and be responsible. Her doctors have said she will make a full recovery so long as she puts in the work. It’s hard running Franks and constantly worrying about her as well.

  I’m going to go gray soon, I can feel it.

  He nods, and I take the opportunity to distract myself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and he looks good. It’s like the man doesn’t age. He’s tall, strong, and kind of mean looking, but he’s been nothing but nice and respectful toward me. We kind of have a routine going every time we see each other. We chat, we flirt, he asks if he can buy me dinner, and I say no. He accepts that and leaves, until next time.

  I don’t know why I always say no anymore. The first time was a combination of him being a biker and feeling so much older than me. But the age thing doesn’t bother me that much anymore. Truth is I’ve never said yes, to any man, to any date. I get asked out by people coming into the bar, but you don’t have to be experienced to know what they are really looking for, and it’s not a loving, long-lasting relationship. My experience is severely lacking, aside from prom and the mistake I made after it, and there’s no saving me now. I’m going to be a spinster. Hopefully Ivy will give me some nieces and nephews I can claim as my own.

  Temper places money on the table, with a huge tip, like he always does. “Seriously? Who tips that much?”

  His lip twitches. “You can take yourself out to a nice dinner with it, since I know you’re never going to let me take you out.”

  “You giving up that easily?” I tease, giving him a flirtatious smile. I don’t know where this sudden boldness is coming from, other than the fact that I don’t want him to stop asking me out, and I’ve only just realized this.