“Yes!” Adrian crowed with laughter, startling Gage for a second.
“Holy shit, kid.” Slate laughed, clapping his hands—the brothers and other people in the room doing the same.
Shotgun still hadn’t said anything or even moved. His eyes still focused on his son with the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly into a smile.
“But wait, the show’s not over yet!” Adrian announced. Getting up off the floor, he reached for a small bag on the chair. He stuck his hand inside and pulled out an outfit. Though it took me a second to figure out just what it was, Shotgun was already striding across the room.
“Nope. Hell, no,” he announced, shaking his head at what I was now making out. It was a onesie with a fake leather vest printed on it, bottoms that looked like ripped jeans, and feet that looked like boots. All topped off with a fake mustache and beard on the top.
Adrian frowned, but it was fake.
He was hiding a smile because he knew Shotgun was going to hate the fucking outfit.
“Not on my kid, dickhead,” Shotgun growled, bending down and picking up Gage off the floor. The kid’s eyes widened as Shotgun tucked him into his elbow, so he was sitting up and looking forward as he carried him away.
My mouth hung open.
I couldn’t do anything but watch him go.
It was so damn sexy, there really was nothing else to say or do.
Not just that, though, it was the first time Shotgun had taken charge with his son. The first time he’d picked him up on his own accord and not been handed him to hold. And not just that, but the first time I’d seen confidence in his eyes. In the way he just propped Gage up in his arm and walked off with him as if he never had any damn fears about raising this baby boy to begin with.
It made my heart soar and tears line my lashes. This was the man I knew he could be. The father I knew he wanted to be.
“Only leathers this kid is going to be wearing are real ones,” he called back as he headed for the garage.
“Oh, come on!” Adrian laughed, stomping after him for a few feet and throwing his hands in the air. “Can we at least put the mustache on?”
“Get fucked, manny!” Shotgun stepped through the garage doors, kicking them shut behind him.
The rest of the boys moved back to their jobs while Slate just sat there, a wide grin on his face as he watched Adrian pack up the mat again and stuff the ugly outfit back into the bag.
“Nice play, man,” Slate complimented, forcing Adrian to look up.
“What?” He raised his brow, though it was subtle, he was not as confused by the question like he was trying to play it off as.
“You figured out how Shotgun works. You don’t tell that asshole what to do. You don’t force him into shit.” I could see it now, where Slate was going. “It’s the little shit you do. Pretending to forget you left shit upstairs, so Shotgun has to watch Gage for a few moments on his own. Talking shit to Gage about Shotgun, in front of him, so Shotgun copies and talks shit to Gage about you just to get you back.”
Adrian cared.
He really did care so freaking much.
He and Shotgun smashed heads at times, nothing ever too serious, but I knew it was because Adrian saw in Shotgun what we all saw. That ability to be the most amazing father, but that was smothered by fear. And while I didn’t see it before, it seemed obvious now Slate had pointed it out.
“Like buying the ugliest biker baby outfit you could find,” I added with a gentle laugh. “And knowing Shotgun would rather take his baby the hell away from you before he let you put him in that.”
Adrian had his ways. They were sneaky and borderline manipulative, but they were working.
When Adrian just laughed, Slate walked over and slapped him on the back. “Thanks.”
“He’s gonna be a great dad,” Adrian said, clearing his voice as it broke just a little. “He just needs the odd push.”
SHOTGUN
“Ten minutes until we close,” I announced loudly, stepping into The Green Room—what we called our gentlemen’s club and letting the doors swing closed behind me.
The Green Room was a small, private bar at the front of Dynasty—one of the club’s popular nightclubs. It had more of a classy atmosphere, dancing girls who performed more of a burlesque type show. To no one’s surprise, the visitors were mostly men, and anyone who came to The Green Room had to be invited by someone else on our list.
If the person you invited fucks it up, touches one of the girls, gets too drunk and rowdy, not only are they uninvited, but so are you. So our patrons are warned to be cautious of the people they called friends.
The four or five men sitting at a handful of different tables sipped at their drinks, the girls already done dancing, and Avery the only bar staff left. I slipped behind the bar. It was small and cozy with not much space. My hand reached for her ass, and she swatted it away, laughing softly as she attempted to wipe the bar top down and make sure all the liquor was back on the shelves in the right place. “Stop it,” she warned in a hushed whisper, but her smile gave her away. “I need to finish packing up.”
She paused to wash her cloth in the sink, and I stepped up behind her, boxing her in with my hands flat on the counter on either side of her. “Your boss is a pretty nice guy. I’m sure he won’t mind if it takes a few extra minutes to close,” I murmured, my lips brushing her earlobe as I spoke. “Because right now, all I want is for you to open.”
My hands moved to her hips, tracing the waistband of her shorts until I found the button and zipper, making quick work of them, and letting the scrap of fabric that barely covered anything anyway, fall to the floor.
She dropped the cleaning cloth into the sink and gripped the front of it with both hands. “Shotgun,” she whispered, her voice a little shaky and not with fear.
No fucking way.
The way she pushed her ass back against me was a sure sign her voice was shaking in desire. “There are still people here,” she reminded me like I didn’t fucking know.
The bar, though, came up extra high in The Green Room, plenty of protection so anyone sitting in the bar at the tables couldn’t see below Avery’s waist unless they came and purposely looked which, when I slipped my hand inside her lacy panties and dipped my finger through her folds, I wondered whether she would actually object to.
My fucking woman.
The exhibitionist.
Her hips wiggled against my hand as I took another pass over her clit, teasing it for just a second before pulling away completely. “You better be quiet then,” I ordered, sinking to my knees and reveling in the way she looked back, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open with a gentle gasp of air.
She kicked her shorts to the side, and I guided her legs open further, taking a moment to admire her perfectly peach-shaped ass staring fucking right at me. She arched her back, her subtle way of telling me she was desperate for more, making me chuckle.
Pulling the lacy scrap of fabric covering her to the side and grabbing the round globes in my hands, I pinched at her cheeks and pulled her open, so she was completely on show. Brushing my lips against one cheek and then the other, I teased her, my cock hardening at the way she whimpered and gasped with each kiss or touch.
I needed to move fucking fast because the second I tasted her, it was going to be fucking hard to keep from just slamming my dick inside her and getting us both off. The idea of making her come while these assholes were still here in the room was too much of an opportunity to not take advantage of. It was fucking hot.