Without a word, she came over to me. She slammed the Patrón bottle down on the bar. “In case you two want more.”
And then she stalked away. Alex glanced from Cheyenne’s retreating form over to me. “I don’t think she’s a big fan of mine.”
With a shrug, I replied, “Doesn’t matter.”
“When she looks at me like she wants to scratch my eyes out, it does matter.” Alex ran her finger over the rim of her tequila glass. “Are you seeing her?” she questioned softly.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Grabbing the bottle of Patrón, I poured us both another well-needed shot. Without answering her question, I raised my glass to her. “Bottoms up again.”
Alex took her glass and then clinked it with mine. “Cheers.” We then both downed the shots, shuddering a little as the alcohol burned our throats. “Now, answer my question,” Alex demanded in a no-nonsense tone.
“Okay, but you’re not going to like it.” I poured myself another shot. Surprisingly, Alex slid her glass over for a refill. Once we downed yet another one, I said, “I’m not dating Cheyenne, but I’ve been fucking her for over a year.”
Alex’s dark eyes widened at my summation. “I see.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“Actually, I see a lot more. She wants more from you, but you’re not willing to give it. Right?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you want to settle down now that you have Willow?”
“Willow doesn’t need some woman forced on her to play mommy. She has Mama Beth. Besides, Cheyenne isn’t mommy material. I’m not sure she’s even wife material.”
“That wasn’t exactly the question I asked, but your evasiveness about the subject of marriage and commitment speaks volumes.”
“Look, I’m always honest with the women I’m with. What bullshit fantasies they get about me is their own damn problem.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Well, well, who do we have here?” a voice questioned behind us.
Alex whirled around a little too fast, causing her to stagger on her feet. “I probably should have eaten something before having those three shots,” she murmured.
“Maybe you should have fed the poor girl something, Deacon,” Case’s wife, Kim, chastised.
“You know I’m more about getting them drunk than keeping them sober,” I replied with a wink.
Kim smacked my arm playfully before reaching over to hug me. As she pulled away, her green eyes shot me a questioning look. I knew she was wondering what in the hell I was doing partying with Alex, especially right in front of Cheyenne. As the president’s old lady, she was in charge of keeping the peace between the wives, girlfriends, and club whores. From her expression, I could tell she thought the whole situation had trouble written all over it.
Although I wasn’t one to ever want an old lady, Kim was one of the best. With her humor, over-the-top personality, and heart as big as her natural double Ds, she made a hell of a president’s wife. Case had fallen head over fucking heels for her the moment he saw her dancing underage at the Lounge. At first the seventeen-year-old blond bombshell didn’t warm to thirty-year-old Case’s come-ons. Like me, she’d run away from foster care at fifteen and had been living hard the last two years. But once she turned eighteen and he started showing her his softer side, the one his brothers had no idea existed, he finally won her over. They married a year later, and they still couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, which was also evident in their five kids ranging from three to twenty.
Besides the wrath of Mama Beth, Kim was one of the main reasons that the Raiders never dealt in any prostitution. She’d been forced down that road for a period of time when she was on the streets, and Case respected the pain she had experienced too much to take anything on business-wise besides strippers.
“Where are your manners, Deacon? Introduce me to your friend,” Kim said, interrupting my thoughts.
“This is Willow’s teacher, Alexandra Evans.” Motioning to Kim, I said to Alex, “This is our president’s wife, Kim.”
Alex extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Kim replied with a smile.
Tiny strolled up then with a clipboard in his hand. “Hey, boss man. We just got some deliveries that need taking care of.”
I nodded. “Excuse me, ladies.” After I hopped off my stool, I turned to Rev. “Keep an eye on her,” I said in a low voice.
“Sure thing,” he replied.
It took a good fifteen minutes to take care of the inventory. It needed a little extra care supervising it out to the warehouse, considering what was inside—the latest gun shipment we were holding for our Tennessee chapter of the Raiders. Once it was secured inside, I headed back to the clubhouse.
Music blaring out of the jukebox, along with the sounds of whistles and catcalls, met me when I came back in the door. I couldn’t imagine what the hell was going on. Then I did a double take at the sight of Alex on top of the bar, dancing with Kim. But she wasn’t just dancing. No, she was singing off-key as loudly as she could with Kim to “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”
“Well, fuck me,” I muttered under my breath.
About ten of the guys encircled the bar, watching and cheering them on. Of course, most had their perverted gazes fixed on Alex. Her limber body served her well in ballet as well as bar dancing. Each sway of her hips and slide of her hand down her body caused my dick to swell. It was either cut and run or get Alex the fuck off that bar. Of course, there was also a third option, which had me getting her off the bar and taking her to my room to fuck her brains out.