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Vaughn glared at me but shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and produced a few dollar bills. “Fine then. Sis.”
Fang ignored our bickering and reached over the countertop to swipe at a stray bubble on my forearm. He flicked it off his fingers into the sink. “Hey. We’re all going back to the clubhouse for a party after the game. Do you want to come?”
“Sure. Sounds good. We’re closing up after it finishes anyway.”
Vaughn looked between me and the fifteen men all sitting around tables, their MC jackets on the backs of their chairs, their bikes all lined up outside the window. “You are not seriously going to a party with all of them?”
He had his Providence-raised, Judgey McJudgeface pants on, clearly. It was so entitled. I knew better than anyone that wearing a business suit didn’t make you a good guy. The Slayers might appear rough and ready, but none of them had ever laid a finger on me.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I challenged him.
Fang twisted to glare at him. “Are you implying she wouldn’t be safe with me and my brothers?”
Vaughn held his hands up. “Hey, I’m just trying to look out for her.”
Irritation prickled at me, probably a leftover after him calling me his sister when some very core part of me didn’t have even remotely brotherly thoughts about him. “Who says I want that, Vaughn? Those guys are my friends.”
“I’m sure you said that about Caleb too.”
Shock punched me right in the gut, and before I could stop them, tears pricked the backs of my eyes. “You’re a fucking asshole,” I seethed at him. “One minute you’re being all nice. But just give you a minute and you’re back to being a prick…”
To his credit, he did appear apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Try seeing it from my point of view.”
“I did. You still look like an asshole.” Fucking men, thinking they knew better than me.
He turned to Fang for support, and to my surprise, Fang didn’t immediately bark something harsh out in my defense. In fact, it was quite the opposite. “Come to the party as well then,” he relented with a sigh.
“What?” Vaughn and I said in unison.
Fang rubbed a hand over the back of his neck uncomfortably, his blue-eyed gaze steadfastly fixed on me. “Hey. I think he’s a jackass too. But you live together. And in some messed-up way, I think he’s just trying to protect you.”
“I am,” Vaughn grumbled.
“I can’t blame him for wanting to know you’re safe.”
I watched Vaughn for a second, and he actually did seem hurt that I was cranky with him. “Fine. You can come. You’re so uptight. You look like you need to chill out and get laid anyway.”
I regretted my choice of words the moment they came out of my mouth. I didn’t want to think about Vaughn getting laid.
He finished the last few mouthfuls of his beer. “I’m ready.”
Fang looked at me and chuckled. I laughed with him.
“What?” Vaughn asked, glancing between us. “What’s so funny?”
Fang stood and slapped him on the shoulder. “You aren’t ready, my friend. Not even a little bit.”
“The Slayers’ parties rival the sex club we have here at Psychos,” I explained. “You good with that?”
Vaughn cleared his throat, suddenly not quite so cocky. “Sure.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe the question should have been, is your wife good with you cheating on her at one?”
To my surprise, he huffed out a laugh, though it had a slightly bitter tinge to it. “My wife spent my entire trust fund on her alcohol, drug, and gambling addiction. She’s slept with all of my friends back in Cali and didn’t even care enough to try to cover it up. I don’t think she gives a shit what I do, as long as I cough up the money she needs to pay her debts.”
I blinked at maybe the first honest thing to have come out of Vaughn’s mouth since I’d met him.
He dropped his gaze to the bar top.