Anna nods. “Yeah, we woke up to soggy carpets. We had to pay a shitload.”
I cringe. “I’ve never drunk gin again, to this day. Besides, Anna, that whole hotel setup was so you could hook up with that guy you liked without Adam finding out.”
“Which he found out anyway,” Lana adds, eyes twinkling.
“If he hadn’t joined the Wind Dragons, he should have been in the FBI,” Anna grumbles, sitting back and rubbing her full tummy. “I think I need a break before dessert.”
Lana looks up from her meal, eyes on the door. “Looks like we have some gate-crashers.”
I follow her line of sight to see Arrow and Tracker walking up to us. With them is a guy I don’t remember seeing before, with dark hair and a scar slashed down his jaw and neck. Arrow walks straight up to Anna and kisses her hungrily in front of everyone, not caring who sees. Tracker lifts Lana in the air and sits down in her chair, putting her on his lap. He then too kisses her like they’re both alone. The other man sits next to me and smiles, flashing straight, white teeth. I think the smile is meant to reassure me, but to be honest, it kind of scares me.
“I’m Irish,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”
I glance at Anna, who rolls her eyes. “Irish, don’t scare her. Bailey, ignore him.”
Shifting in my seat, I feel a little uncomfortable. If I’d known I was going to be a third wheel tonight, I wouldn’t have come out.
“What are you guys doing here?” Lana asks Tracker, making me feel better that they didn’t know the men were going to show up.
“We were on our way to Rift, wanted to know if you all wanted to come,” Tracker says, nuzzling Lana’s cheek.
Irish moans. “Just tell them to come and let’s go. I need a fuckin’ drink.”
The women both look at me. I guess they’re letting it be my choice.
“Pretty sure Adam told me never to step back into that place,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Adam?” Irish asks, looking confused. “Ohhh. Rake. Why doesn’t he want you there? You’re a sexy woman. He should be all over that shit.”
“Been there,” Tracker says, looking amused.
I throw him a dirty look, for which he replies with a wink.
Irish puts up his hand. “Wait a damn second. Rake has fucked her and doesn’t want her at the club? Which means . . .”
“He actually cares about a woman other than our women? Yeah,” Tracker says, grinning wolfishly. “Another one bites the motherfuckin’ dust.”
I shake my head. “How does his not wanting me there mean he cares? That makes no sense.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Arrow says in that gruff, deep voice of his. “If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t give two fucks about where you showed up.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re wrong. And it doesn’t matter. Is he going to be there? If he isn’t, I’ll come; otherwise you guys can go and I’ll take a cab home.”
Tracker studies me, a little too closely for my liking. He pulls out his phone, hits a number, then puts his phone to his ear. “Rake. Where are you, brother?”
He listens, then replies, “I want to take the women to Rift with me. That gonna be an issue?”
Tracker glances at me then, those blue eyes looking directly into mine.
“Yeah, I’ve got you. All right. ’Bye.”
“Well?” Anna asks, looking at him expectantly.
Tracker grins at Anna. “All good, Anna Bell, so we going or what?”
Irish puts his arm around me. He smells good, like leather and mint. “We’re in, right? Let’s go. My dick is hard and I need to find someone to take care of it. Unless Bailey is offering?”
“Ummm. Yeah, probably not,” I mutter, taking his arm off me and standing. “I guess we’re going dancing.”
“Don’t say probably,” Lana suggests, narrowing her eyes on Irish. “Say no. They don’t take subtle hints; you need to be firm. Let him know you’re not playing games, which is what most women try to do with him.”
I look at Irish, who is busy flashing Lana an amused look at her analysis.
“Irish,” I say, getting his attention. “No way in hell will I ever be taking care of your dick. I don’t care how hard it is. Guess we better go to Rift so you can find a substitute.”
Everyone except Irish laughs.
Lana nods in approval.
Rift, here we come.
EIGHT
WHAT’S your real name?” I ask Irish, watching as he sips his beer. I pick up my Coke and take a sip, waiting for him to answer. There’s no way I’m drinking tonight, not when Cara has dance class in the morning.
“What makes you think it’s not Irish?”
I make a face. “My common sense?”
He smirks, then licks his lips. “How about a kiss? I’ll tell you then.”
I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose. “I already fell for that one with Talon.”
Irish scowls, his fingers tightening on his bottle. “You kissing men from other clubs now? Where’s the loyalty, Bailey?”
“I don’t belong to anyone, and I wouldn’t have even met any other bikers if it wasn’t for Anna and Lana, so you take that up with them,” I reply in a curt tone. Speaking of . . . I look to see both of them on the dance floor with their men. Arrow isn’t dancing, just watching Anna shaking her ass in front of him, but Tracker’s grinding behind Lana, pressing his penis against her ass.