Page 12 of Unruly

She scowls, but I catch a flicker of amusement. It’s different than it was with that Tyler guy earlier. I respect her boundaries, but push her ever so slightly. That’s the difference.

That’s something he will never understand.

Her boot kicks out and connects with my thigh. “Lean. Back.”

My dick instantly throbs at her command, but I laugh under my breath and obey. She leans into me, and pours the shot first. It’s a smooth, but strong liquor. Before I can even swallow, though, she dumps the water straight onto my face.

I sputter, laughing, water running down my neck, soaking my black T-shirt. Before I can even wipe my eyes, her hand comes down in a stinging slap across my face.

The whole bar loses it with cheers, whistles, and laughter. My cheek burns from the slap, but it’s nothing compared to the heat roaring through the rest of me. My cock is rock-fucking-hard, straining painfully against my jeans.

I’ve never wanted anyone like how I want Halle. I love women—all women. Multiple women at once. But the way I want to grab her hips right now, drag her off the bar, shove her shorts down, and fuck her in front of every single person here just to let them all know she’s mine … I’ve never felt that way about anyone else.

This is the kind of woman who could absolutely ruin me.

“Good joke,” I say, breathing hard.

“Jesus Christ, Halle, he has to ride home in my truck!” Dawson yells over the noise.

Halle spins around to the other side of the bar and lands lightly on her feet, immediately reaching under the bar. She tosses a clean, folded bar towel at my chest with a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” she says, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “It’s just harmless fun. You okay?”

Harmless.

I catch the towel and drag it slowly over my face and down my soaked shirt, mostly so I have something to do with my hands besides reach for her. “Yeah, I’m good. Might need another one of those shots later, though, just to make sure I’m fully hydrated.”

Halle rolls her eyes, already turning back toward the register like she’s ready to move on. “You’re relentless, kid. Go dry off before you drip all over my floor.”

There it is again. Kid. That word lands like a bucket of ice water every single time. She says it so easily, so casually, like she’s drawing a line in the sand I’m not allowed to cross.

I want her so fucking bad I ache. Not just her body—though, God knows I’ve imagined that a thousand times. I want the fire in her. The way she puts me in my place and still leaves me wanting more.

But she doesn’t want me back.

I squeeze the towel tighter in my fist, forcing a lazy grin.

Dawson claps me on the back, laughing. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s get you home before you embarrass yourself any more.”

I don’t argue, I just steal one last look at Halle as she moves down the bar.

One day, she’ll stop calling me kid.

One day, she’ll see me the way I see her.

I follow my brother out of The Bar, still half-hard and half-dazed. I’m cutting across toward Dawson’s truck when I stop dead. There’s a pink sports bike parked toward the back of the lot with a white helmet hanging on the mirror. It’s the same model and custom paint as the one I was chasing down the road earlier today.

What the fuck?

Dawson honks from the truck. “Cash. Let’s go.”

Colt walks up beside me. “You good, bro?”

I shake my head, then nod toward the bike. “Whose bike is that?”

Colt glances over. “Oh, yeah. That’s my sister’s.”

His sister. His sister Halle. My Halle.