The Midnight Oil is the kind of club that you end up at, not the one you start with. But when I get there, and I see him waiting outside to greet me, I know that I am in the right place. He offers me a hand to help me get out of the cab.
"I’d prefer to pick you up next time," he tells me. His warm skin on mine is enough to make it hard to think straight.
"It’s easiest this way," I reply, and he offers me his arm – I take it, sliding my hands around it, feeling the strength of him and wondering just how much more of this I will be able to take before I just have to throw myself at him bodily.
"So, you come here a lot?" I ask, and he nods as he pushes open the door for me.
"Whenever I get the chance."
"Surprised you did such a good job with my tattoo, then," I tease lightly, and he laughs. I like the sound of his laugh, and I know at once that I am going to do everything that I can to hear as much of it as possible over the course of this night.
Inside, everyone seems to know him. As in, everyone. The bartender grins at him, waves him over to the bar, hands him a beer before he’s even sat down – his arm slides around my waist as he introduces me, and it’s like he has always known how to touch me like that.
“Nova,” he tells the bartender, “this is Spring, look out for her, will you?”
Nova nods. “You got it, and I’ll spread the word.”
There is a sense of camaraderie here I wasn’t expecting, and it helps me relax. This is a biker bar, but the people here seem like they have one another’s backs.
Shotgun takes my hand, leading me through the crowded bar. I can smell his scent again, leather and pine, and it takes everything I have not to nuzzle into him to steal a little more of a hint of it.
By the time that we make it to the table, it seems like we have been stopped by almost everyone here – and my drinks are on the house, apparently, since I’m a first-timer.
I take a sip of my drink, trying not to grimace.
"You don’t drink much, do you?" he asks me playfully.
"How can you tell?” I ask.
"Just something about the way you drink," he remarks.
"Must be the daycare teacher in me," I admit.
"I wouldn’t have had you pegged for that."
"Not even the paint stains on my dress when I came in today gave me away?”
"I guess I wasn’t looking at those," he replies, leaning a little closer. I feel a heat burning in my belly, and I see his eyes drift down to my lips. Even though I’ve only had a single sip of my drink, I am starting to feel a little tipsy. Something about the way he looks at me makes it hard to think of anything else.
"Guess not. Can you give me a second?" I ask him. I can already feel the heat starting to grow inside of me, and I know that I need a break before I do something that I can’t take back. He nods to the restrooms, and I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. He doesn’t feel the need to pretend that he is anything other than totally into me. And, honestly, it feels pretty damn good.
I make it to the restrooms, check my make-up; my cheeks are a little more flushed than they were when I arrived, but that’s to be expected. Another woman is in here, slicking on a dark red lipstick, and she smiles at me.
"You’re with Shotgun, right?"
"Yeah, I am," I reply. I eye her – is she his bit on the side or something? I don’t want any drama...
"You be good to that boy," she remarks. "He’s one of the good ones."
"I will," I promise her, and I can’t help but smile back. So, it’s not just me who gets a good feeling off of him. Clearly, he has the right kind of reputation around here, and that comes as something of a relief.
By the time that I head back out to join him, some guy is leaning over the table to talk to him – he really is popular around here, huh? I slide back in beside him, and Shotgun drapes his arm over the back of the chair at once, like he’s staking a claim over me.
"I ordered you a whisky sour," he tells me, pushing a drink across the table to me. I cock my head to the side.
"And why’s that?"
"Because I thought a straight whisky might be a little too much for you to handle," he teases lightly. I reach out to take the drink from him, my fingers grazing his for the briefest moment. The shock of electricity that passes between us makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Can he tell? Can he feel it, too? I have no idea.
I take a sip of the drink. I already feel drunk on the way that he is looking at me. And I know that this night has only just begun. I don’t know where it’s going to take me – but I am sure as hell eager to find out.
5
Shotgun
She slips her hand into mine as the two of us make our way out of the bar together. She’s leaning against me, the smell of her perfume filling my senses all over again. Maybe it’s the couple of drinks I’ve had, maybe it’s something else, but I am buzzing
