Page 13 of Twister’s Salvation (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Madison, WI #1)
Twister
I should’ve gone home.
She worked confidently. Comfortable.
Pouring drinks, chatting, and laughing. Her voice rang out above the low thrum of conversation, warm and strong. She stopped to talk to a woman, then took plates back to the kitchen. Then she was back, slinging beers and wiping down the bar.
She didn’t sit still for a second.
I sipped my drink and watched her. Every move. Every flick of her fingers. The way her hips swayed slightly when she walked. I told myself it wasn’t creepy. I was just... interested. That’s all. Admiring from afar.
At least until some guy reached across the bar and touched her hand.
My jaw clenched. It wasn’t even sexual, just some drunk guy trying to get her attention. But still. I didn’t like it.
Tempi pulled her hand back, not flinching, not scared. Just... annoyed. Like she was used to it.
I hated that.
Two in the morning came fast. The bar thinned out until it was just me, Britta, and Tempi left. The woman had stumbled out an hour earlier, and the college kids had long since wandered off.
Tempi was behind the bar rearranging bottles and wiping things down with the same focused energy. Britta was leaning against the counter, sipping something dark from a red cup.
“You can head out, Britta,”
Tempi said.
“Not much left to clean tonight.”
Britta raised an eyebrow, flicked her gaze toward me, then smirked.
“I think that sounds good to me. See ya later, you two.”
She grabbed her purse from under the bar and headed for the door.
The second it shut behind her, the silence settled.
Tempi glanced at me.
“You gonna finish that drink, or should I put it in a to-go cup for you?”
I chuckled and raised the glass.
“If I finished it too fast, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stick around.”
Her eyes met mine.
“Why did you need to stick around?”
I shrugged and stared into the last inch of whiskey.
“Not really sure why, doll. Something just...”
She tilted her head.
“Just what?”
I didn’t answer and downed the last of the whiskey. I watched her as she continued to clean. The way her fingers moved across the bottles, the way her brow furrowed as she realigned the shelf.
I stood up and made my way to the jukebox in the corner. Flicked through the songs until I saw an icon labeled Tempi’s.
Of course she had her own playlist.
I tapped it. First song: Break In by Halestorm.
I pressed play.
The slow, haunting intro poured into the bar and wrapped around us like smoke. I turned around. Tempi was standing on the other side of the bar, closer than before.
“What are you doing?”
she asked.
I didn’t know. I was just going with it.
I held out my hand.
“Dance with me.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“We’re closed.”
I looked around the empty bar.
“Yeah. And?”
She didn’t move.
“Dance with me,”
I repeated, firmer.
“Twister,”
she started like she was going to say no.
I didn’t give her the chance. I stepped forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and pulled her close.
She came willingly.
“It’s just a dance, Tempi,”
I whispered.
She relaxed against me. Her head tilted up, and her hand rested on my chest. We swayed to the rhythm as her body fit perfectly against mine. The world faded. There was only the music, her warmth, and the steady beat of my heart that was suddenly thudding like a war drum.
“How did you find my playlist?”
she asked softly.
“You labeled it Tempi, doll. Pretty easy to find.”
She laughed, and the sound curled around me.
“You’re about to see how much I love Halestorm.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna dance with me for longer than one song?”
She didn’t answer. Just leaned into me.
The song ended.
The next one started.
A little more upbeat, a little more rock. I’m Not an Angel.
“What song is this?” I asked.
“I’m Not an Angel,”
she murmured.
We kept swaying. Closer now. Slower. Her cheek brushed against my shoulder, and my hand slid lower on her back.
“The next one,”
she whispered, “we’re not gonna be able to dance to.”
“Oh yeah?”
I smirked. “Why not?”
She tilted her head up and smiled.
“I’ll let you find out on your own.”
Sure enough, the moment I’m Not an Angel faded out, a heavy drumbeat kicked in.
I laughed.
“Yeah, pretty sure headbanging is the only thing we could do to this one.”
Tempi grinned, lifted her hand, and flashed the rock and roll horns.
“The Steeple’s one of my favorites,” she said.
“Got a little rock and roll in you, huh?”
I murmured.
“I like it.”
Her eyes locked on mine.
“Twister,”
she whispered.
That was it.
The pull between us snapped tight. Magnetic. Unstoppable.
I leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips were soft, warm, and hesitant for half a second, then she melted into me. Her arms slid around my neck. My hands flattened against her back. We kissed like we needed it. Like the last week had been building to this moment and neither of us had the strength to fight it anymore.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard.
She looked up at me with her cheeks flushed and lips parted.
“Twister...”
I saw the confusion in her eyes. The war waging between logic and want.
I felt it too. The unknown. The damn whirlwind of emotions that made zero sense.
“I know, doll,”
I said softly. I pressed one more kiss to her lips. Slower. Reverent. Then I stepped back, just enough to let air pass between us.
“Make sure to lock up.”
“Okay,”
she whispered.
I looked at her one last time. I wanted to stay.
Fuck, I wanted to stay.
But I couldn’t.
We both needed to figure out what the hell this was.
She knew I wanted her.
Now she had to decide what she was gonna do about it.
I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. The air was cooler than I expected. I turned back and looked through the window.
She was still standing where I’d left her.
“Lock the door,”
I hollered.
She startled, then rushed forward and clicked the deadbolt into place.
We stared at each other through the glass for one beat. Two.
Then I nodded and turned down the street.
Headed back to the clubhouse.
This wasn’t something I planned.
Wasn’t something I expected.
But it sure as hell was something I couldn’t ignore.