I chuckle. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours. You keep giving me a reason to come home and I won’t have any reason to touch club pussy.”
“If she looks at you any harder she might pop a blood vessel.”
I glance back at Oaklyn and shake my head when she winks at me.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
I slide out of the booth and hold my hand out. Oaklyn is beautiful and I could be an asshole and send Ainsley home so I can fuck her, but I find that tonight I want my wife.
“What for?”
“Because I want to fuck you.” I can’t get any realer than that for her.
Cheeks blooming pink, she joins her hand with mine. “I have a better idea.”
“What could be better than fuckin’ you?” I murmur, pulling her body against mine.
Ainsley stares up at me with soft eyes and a warm smile that holds hope. “I meant what I said about us trying. I think we should do this right and take things slow. Become friends first.”
“Can we be friends with benefits?” I thrust my hips into her.
“Abel.” She laughs. “I’m being serious.”
“Me too, baby.”
“I’ll play you for it. You win we do this your way. I win you have to date me.”
“Date my own wife?”
Going up on her tiptoes she mocks, “You scared?”
Closing the distance between our mouths I press my lips to hers and confess, “Terrified.” Ainsley has no idea how deeply she drives me wild. She’s gorgeous and I know I could be crazy for her. If only the old man has sent me down in Axel’s place things would be different. “What are we playing?”
“Pool.”
“You any good?”
“I’ve never played, so you’ll have to teach me.”
“There’s a lot to learn.” I tug her toward the tables. My wife should look out of place standing next to me, but she looks like she belongs. And hell, maybe she does.
Trucker practically falls over his own feet as he rushes to introduce his idiot-self. “Hello, darlin’. They call me Trucker.”
“Hi, Trucker. Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure is all mine.” He grins at her like a damn fool.
ATL smacks the back of his head. “Quit drooling over Prez’s old lady and show some damn respect. Ignore Trucker. Motherfucker needs laid. I’m ATL, that ugly fuck over there is Snoop, and over there is Harlem. You already know Murphy’s crusty old ass.”
“Who you callin’ old?” Murphy grunts, rubbing a hand over Teagan’s ass.
“You fuckers clear out. This is a private game.”
“You heard the man. Everyone out of the bar. You might not want to go home but you can’t stay here,” ATL announces, cupping his hands around his fat mouth.
Everyone scatters.
“You didn’t have to make them all leave.” Ainsley skips her fingers down the side of the cherrywood table. Her brown eyes meet my baby blues.