“You said he’s the prez, but the guy at the bar had a president patch. How does that work?”
“He’s the prez of this chapter. Best way to explain it is we all belong to Royal Bastards MC. The head honcho is Jameson. He’s the prez of the mother chapter, but other clubs in other cities have a prez that members answer to if they belong to that particular club. Murder, your uncle is the prez in West Virginia.”
Biker life is confusing. “So, he’s like your boss. But here the guy at the bar is in charge?”
“Yup.”
“What are you, like a headhunter or something?”
“Nope. I’m the chaplain.”
“So, you’re like their priest?” I laugh. The thought has me erupting in a fit of giggles. There is nothing pure about him. I can’t fathom it.
“Babe. Not really. I give counsel. One of the brothers is having an issue they come to me, and I advise them.”
“You’re their therapist?”
“Enough about club shit.”
I lick my lips. A different topic has my curiosity piqued. One thing I know about bikers is they are k
nown to keep a harem of slutty women. Women who are ready and willing to do whatever they are told. No questions asked. “Are you seeing anyone?” I phrase the inquiry as delicately as I can without being overly obvious.
“Looking at you right now.”
“Lame. If that’s a pickup line that was terrible. You know what I mean. Are you with anyone?”
“Nah.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing serious.”
“Ah. There is someone then.”
“How about you stop running your mouth unless you’re going to wrap those lips around my dick.” He grins. I allow him the subject change, but it doesn’t ease my concerns.
“You said you have whiskey cock or whatever.”
“You’ve killed my buzz now. I think my ol’ buddy can be persuaded to perform with enough effort.”
“Your ol’ buddy. Really of all the things to call your dick that’s what you pick?” I roll my eyes.
He shrugs. “You’re old friends.”
“Oh my god. I can’t with you.”
“Any chance you’re going to shut up and suck my dick?”
“Seriously?” Ugh. Men.
“Good night, Hazel.” He chuckles.
“I can’t sleep like this. My hand is numb. At least I don’t know cuff me to you. That way I can at least move around and not lose all feeling in my arm please.”
He grunts, making an annoyed sound from deep in the back of his throat.
“Pretty please with strawberries and whip cream on top.” I pout. “Bennnniiii,” I drag his name out in a whiny tone.