Smoked Out (Devil Dogs MC) (2 page)

She waited for him to add something stupid to the end of that sentence, but he didn’t.

“I just kind of want to be alone,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope it doesn’t make things difficult for you.”

She exhaled smoke. “It’s the kind of thing that could make my career.”

“Yep,” he said. “Unless you’re not sure that’s the career you want.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “Yeah,” she said—at a loss for other words.

She kind of thought that would make him laugh at her; but, instead, he said, “You’re not fooling me.”

“What do you mean?”
“You came out here to smoke because the bartender kicked you out.” He looked up at

her. “He kicked me out, too.”

The tension between them dissipated. “He said a lawyer should know better.”

“Wouldn’t even let you bring your drink out, would he?” Rich pulled two beers out of his coat pocket. “Tell you what, I just happened to have these on my person. And I don’t believe I should drink them both alone.” He offered one up to her, but she hesitated. He popped the top on his and took a drink, then he looked away from her while she made up her mind.

“Thanks,” she said and sat beside him on the line of cement in between the building and the gravel of the lot.

“But don’t get any ideas, okay? This one is mine.” He held the other beer close with a scowl.

She laughed, twisted the top off, and sipped the bitter liquid. “So, this whole situation must be making a name for you in the club.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know. What about you?” he asked. “They offer you a partnership or whatever?”

She frowned at that.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was stupid. It must be hard being a woman surrounded by assholes.”

She shrugged. “It can be. With alpha-males, it’s all about domination, you know? Any weakness, whether it’s real or they just think it is, and they pounce.”

“It’s like that in the club, too. Man, some guys will say anything or do anything to get to you.”

“Really?” she asked. “I guess I didn’t think it was such a high-stakes situation.”

“Oh yeah. Everybody’s vying for power. Any way they can knock you down a rung, they will. Not everybody, but some of them. Enough.”

She hesitated. “You know, the prosecuting attorney today said I won because of my skirt.”

He leaned to the side to get a better look at her skirt. “It’s nice,” he said. “I mean, it looks expensive. How does it work? Does it talk and tell you legal strategies, or is it a telepathic thing?”

She hit him playfully. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said. “And it’s bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re beautiful, just stunning, really.” When he said it, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Her eyes went wide, and he paused.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged again. “But that’s not why you won. You won because you’re damned good at your job. If you weren’t, the club wouldn’t use you. I’d have requested a different lawyer. However, the club vouched for you—not because you’re hot—but because you work your ass off, do your homework, and you win.” He counted the last things off on his fingers.

She was left, stunned. He turned back to the parking lot and swigged from his beer. 

“I thought you’d be celebrating your big win with all your motorcycle buddies—unless the judge hit a nerve.”

He nodded. “Just wanted to clear my head. They’re throwing me a party later.”

“You know, I’ve got to say, you don’t strike me as the biker type,” she said.

That made him chuckle. “Too many teeth?” he asked.

“Yeah, and no beer gut. No, I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. You just seem different.” She backtracked, realizing how easily she could offend him.

“I was born in to it,” he said. “My daddy was in the club. My uncle. My older brother.”

“Your brother who’s in prison?”

“And my daddy is dead.”

She searched his face for a sense of how he felt about that. “But your uncle is okay?”

He shook his head. “No, he’s a bastard.” They shared a laugh.

“You know, I didn’t really have a choice about being a lawyer. My mom and dad both work in law, and they pushed my sister and me into it.”

“Your sister’s a lawyer?”

She shook her head. “She used to be. She quit practicing to have a family.”

“Hmm,” he said. “That’s nice.”

“She seems happy.”

“I don’t see you as the settling down type,” he said.

“No?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t seem your style.”

“What is my ‘style?’?”

He exhaled into the night. “Well, you’re smart—not just a little. You’re brilliant, like I said.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“You’re good, but you’re too good. I mean, I bet you work all the time, even when you don’t have to. I bet you take work home with you every night and on weekends.”

“Have you been stalking me?” she said.

“Yeah, I mostly hang out around your bathroom mirror. You’re out of toothpaste by the way.”

They shared a laugh. “You’re right. I pretty much live my job. I have to.”

“Because of the assholes.”

She nodded. “Everything I do is a test, and if I screw up, they’ll hold it against me.”

“I used to think like that,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Still do—to be honest. But I try not to. Look around some time. Those guys you’re competing with, how many of them are divorced?”

She considered this. “Most of them.”

“How many have kids they don’t see?”

She nodded.

“They’re miserable. Right? Same with the club. Everybody’s miserable, trying their damnedest to get a bigger slice of the misery, so they can take it home and say,
Look! I won!
But, what did they win?”

“So, you’re saying I should join the Peace Corp?”

He laughed. “No, probably not. I’m just saying that I try to enjoy the process as much as I can.” He sipped his beer again. “Let me tell you something about yourself you don’t know. You think you’re tough, and you’re an ass-kicker, and you are; but, you’re also modest. The way you laughed when I complimented you…it’s like you don’t believe you could actually be smart and capable. Face it, you’re a human being. And that’s one thing those assholes you’re trying so hard to impress aren’t. They don’t even know one when they see one.”

She studied his face, causing him to look away. Then, she dropped her head.

“You ever think about getting out of the club?” she asked.

“All the time.” He laughed. “But what would I do? It’s my family.” He said it without emotion. “You see stuff on TV about it or whatever, but it’s not like that. It’s family. Most folks are there for most of the other folks.”

“So, why’s your dad dead and your brother in prison?”

He glanced at her with a hint of annoyance but then nodded. “Yeah, well, sometimes family does bad things. Sometimes they fight, even. But that doesn’t mean they’re all bad.”

“Yeah?” she said.

He shrugged. “You do the best you can.”

“That’s true.”

He looked off across the parking lot. There was a sadness in his gaze that struck her.

“You can still choose. It’s your life.”

“You know, I always just wanted to be a dancer,” he said.

“No shit?” she said.

He gave her a cock-eyed glance and laughed.

“You fucker.” She hit him on the chest, a little surprised at how firm it was.

He hopped up and did a mock pirouette, spinning around with his beer over his head, and lifted his leg to point toward the parking lot. She laughed, hard. He spun again and attempted a moonwalk into the parking lot, making her guffaw.

He stopped and took a drink. His jacket came open, revealing a white tee shirt that was tight in all the right places. She got a hint of his smell, cigarettes and a touch of leather. However, underneath that, there was a musk that made her shudder a little. She drew her arms closer and played it off like it was the chill in the air. This was the first time she’d been close to a man who wasn’t a client—not anymore—in so long she couldn’t even remember the last time.

“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and put it on her shoulders before she could stop him. She considered refusing the jacket, but it was already on her. She breathed in his scent and found herself staring at his muscular chest. “Want to see something?” he asked.

She blushed, but before she could get too embarrassed, he rolled his sleeve up to show her a tattoo of the MC logo: a bulldog face with devil horns and the name
Devil Dogs
written below it.

“My dad got that for me on my sixteenth birthday.” There was something in his voice she couldn’t quite identify, somewhere between wistfulness and regret.

“Nice,” she said.

“You got any ink? You’re not one of those girls who’s afraid it’ll hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a little something.”

He grinned. “Show me.”

She shook her head. “It’s private.”

His grin spread and his eyes twinkled. “I tell you what. I’ve got one or two in, uh, private places. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. I’ll go first if you’re embarrassed.” Before she could answer, he turned and slid the right half of his jeans down, revealing a tanned cheek and a tattoo. She had to bend closer to make out what it was.

“Pac Man?” she asked.

He laughed and pulled his jeans back up. “Yeah, there’s an old Pac Man arcade game at the clubhouse, and I had the high score for a long time. So, one time, I got drunk and this happened.”

“Why is it on your butt?”

“Because that’s where I was dared to put it.”

“Ah.” She paused for a moment, checking out the outline of his butt in his jeans, imagining what the other half must look. She told herself to stop thinking like that, but she felt so good from the shot and the beer that she didn’t want to return to reality.

“Your turn,” he said.

“All right. I’ve got two. But I’ll only show you one,” she said.

“Ah, the public defender has a wild side.”

She glanced around, but there was no one to see. She turned and slid her skirt down to reveal a butterfly tattooed on her lower back. “My mom called it a tramp stamp.”

As she bent over, she heard the crunch of his shoes on gravel. She didn’t know what he was going to do, and the anticipation was thrilling. She felt one finger touch her skin with a tingle that was almost an electric shock. He traced the outline of the butterfly, causing her to shiver.