Page 32 of Thug

I laughed. “Nope. Bar was empty that night.”

“So, he squeezed your tits and then what?”

“He left.”

He rolled his eyes. “He came in, said nothing, walked behind the bar, squeezed your tits, and walked out?”

“From what I can remember of it, yeah.”

“He didn’t speak?” he asked. “I know he can, because earlier he told you he had a big dick.”

“When he left, he said, ‘There’s one of us in charge here, and guess what? It isn’t you.’ Then, he walked out. I took his wallet back to him tonight, and when I did, I said, ‘I’m going to meet someone tonight, and guess what? It isn’t you.’ I thought that was a nice little touch.”

“Wait.” He shook his head. “Back up. He left his wallet?”

“Yeah, he got a toothpick out of it and set it aside. While he was picking his teeth, the tit talk started. He said, ‘show me your tits’, I said, ‘no’, and he came behind the bar and accosted me. When he stomped off, he forgot it.”

He laughed. “I thought biker’s wallets were attached to their hips with chains?”

“Not all of them.”

“Not all wallets, or not all bikers?”

“Probably a little of both.”

“Well, chain or no chain, I doubt he forgot it.”

“He did,” I argued. “I took it back to him. That’s where I was when I texted you.”

He raised his brows. “Describe him.”

“Tall, muscular, tattoos, long black hair. Not nasty long. Just, I don’t know, longer than the norm. He’s rough-looking, but in a sexy way. Confident walk, and he’s got a confident tone to his voice that makes you listen when he talks. It’s raspy-ish, or whatever. Oh, and he’s got crazy serious eyes.”

“A self-confident biker doesn’t forget his wallet. At least not for long. He left it to see if he could trust you.”

“Do you think so?” I asked excitedly.

“It was a test,” he responded. “A guy like him doesn’t forget his wallet.”

I gazed blankly at what remained of my wine. “You’re probably right.”

“Based on everything you said, I think he’s interested in you.”

“Oh, really?” I sat up straight. “You don’t think he’s just toying with me?”

He chuckled. “Oh, he’s toying with you, there’s no two ways about that. But I think there’s interest. The first night he came in, you intrigued him. I’m guessing on that night he wasn’t alone?”

“No, there were several people in there, some of which he wasn’t friends with.”

“Okay. Then, on the second night, you challenged him, claiming that his dick wasn’t big enough to garner your interest. He tried to prove otherwise by shoving your hand down inside his pants. When you said it was too small, that questioned his manhood. He reacted by proving to you that it was, in fact, large enough to ride the ride. It wasn’t his idea—nor was it his original intention—to fuck you in the bar. You provoked him.”

“This is all my fault?”

“I’m not laying blame. It’s no one’s fault. I’m making an observation based on what you’ve told me.” He took a drink of his beer and collected his thoughts. “Then, acting on the combined interest that originally caught his attention and his obvious interest in the sex the two of you shared, he came in and asked you to show him your tits. I’m guessing he didn’t see them when you had sex?”

“He didn’t.”

“When he asked you to show him your tits he was seeing if you were a pushover. If you could easily be coerced into things. Your ‘no’ response prompted him to come behind the bar and show you who was in charge. In case you didn’t understand what he was doing and why he was doin it—and you obviously didn’t—he informed you when he left that he was the one in charge. For clarification, at that moment he took ownership of the ‘relationship’ the two of you are in.”