Page 33 of Thug

I was confused. At no point in time did I mutter the “R” word. I arched an eyebrow. “Relationship?”

“It might be unorthodox, but it’s a relationship, nonetheless.”

Mentally, I winced in pain. It wasn’t the term I was hoping for. At least not yet. “Okay,” I murmured.

“Now,” he said. “Tell me who he is.”

I finished half of my remaining wine. It didn’t make it any easier. Landon would see Price in the same light everyone saw him—as a criminal.

“Price McNealy,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat. “Price McNealy.”

“Price McNealy!?” he screeched. “Price McNealy? As in, Price McNealy, the head of that motorcycle gang?”

“It’s a club,” I said dismissively.

“Club?” He burst into a laughing fit. “A club?”

“They prefer you call it a club.”

“Who? His thirty-two friends? That makes sense, now, by the way.”

“The men in a motorcycle club,” I explained. “As far as they’re concerned, it’s not a gang. It’s a club.”

He laughed. “The group that jumps into the freezing water in their swimsuits each winter? The Coney Island Polar Bear Club, or whatever they’re called? That’s a club. The Lions Club? That’s a club. Or, the debate club? Those are clubs. Calling Price McNealy and his thirty-two-motorcycle riding brethren a club is like calling the Sonora Drug Cartel a club. Or the Crips, Bloods, or MS-13. They’re not clubs, and neither is Price’s bunch. They’re a gang, no matter what you call them.”

“Gang, club, whatever,” I said with a flippant wave of my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

He grabbed his fresh beer and took a drink. Several long seconds of silence followed. After a few more sips of beer, he looked up. “Why did you and your father have all the problems when we were in school?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not,” he reasoned. “You like men like Price for the very same reason you detest your father. Neither you nor your mother could please him, so you now seek—”

“Enough, Freud.” I turned my palms to face him. “I don’t need the father complex speech.”

“There’s no way this will work,” he said. “You know that, right?”

I was well aware that all relationships eventually dissolved. Thinking mine would be any different was ludicrous. “I don’t care if it works,” I said. “I’m only after his dick. It’s magical.”

He scowled. “His bare dick?”

“I’ll make sure he wraps it next time.”

He gave me a side-eyed look. “If there’s time.”

Price may have thought he was in charge, but I had news for him. He wasn’t. The next time we had sex, he was going to do two things whether he liked it or not.

One, he was going to wear a condom; and two, he was going to kiss me.

10

Price