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Nash chuckled. The guy was probably five years older than me, but he had this settled-down vibe about him that I knew I didn’t share. I was anxious. Unsettled. Rebel usually calmed that feeling in me, but without her around, I was twitchy.
Nash eyed me, focusing in on my leg bouncing. “Rebel isn’t on tonight.”
“Didn’t ask if she was,” I answered too quickly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t need to, bro.”
I sighed, figuring there was no point bluffing when the guy clearly knew what was up. I wanted his info. “She always works the sex parties.” I knew because it was fucking torture, watching her walk around this place in anything from sexy lingerie to nipple tassels and a G-string. If the mood took her, it might be nothing but her birthday suit while she strutted around the club, one-hundred-percent confident in her own skin. It took everything in me not to toss her over my shoulder and storm through the club to find somewhere private to sink my dick deep inside her.
But that wasn’t how she and I worked.
She wasn’t mine.
Even if I wanted her to be.
“She’s sick,” Nash explained. “She texted Bliss at the start of the week to say she had some sort of stomach bug and that she’d be out for a few days.”
“She’s been out all week?” I shifted uncomfortably. I’d never known her to take so much as a single sick day. She loved this place.
He slapped me on the shoulder. “She’s okay. She’ll be back on Monday.” He glanced around the room. “Plenty of other women around if you don’t want to wait… I know you two aren’t exclusive…”
I scowled at him.
He sniggered. “Yeah, like I thought. You don’t need to say a word.”
“Fuck off, Nash.”
He just laughed and carried on his way with an all-knowing expression, as if he knew everything just because he was dating Rebel’s best friend and they were all shacked up with my prez and some other dude.
Fuck that. Sharing my woman with two other men?
No thank you.
I shifted uncomfortably on the seat, remembering Rebel flirting with some asshole at the bar last week before I’d gone to Florida. I’d had no choice but to get up and leave. My club had needed me, and I had orders that had to be followed.
It was probably a good thing, though. If I’d stayed, I might have shoved the cocky, all-American asshole’s head through a window just for looking at her. Then Rebel would have gotten pissed and told me to fuck off, just like she did every other time I got possessive with her.
She wasn’t mine.
She’d reminded me of that a million times.
I needed it fucking tattooed on the back of my hand so I remembered.
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, hitting a button to light up the screen.
Rebel
Hey. I need a favor.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered beneath my breath. My heart hammered at just the sight of her name.
Fang
Anything. You need soup or something?
Rebel
Soup? Why?