Sugar (The Henchmen MC 12)

"Savvs, hand me a washcloth so I can get this shit off," I demanded, waving at the glitter all over my neck and chest and, as it melted its way down, my tits and the top of my stomach.

"Good luck with that," Jamie said, smiling. "That shit isn't coming off until mid-winter at the earliest. So tell Savea here about the hot biker since the details do nothing for me."

"Right. So he's a Henchmen. And you know how they are."

"Each one more delicious than the last," Savvy said, clutching her chest dramatically.

"Exactly. They are all smoking. But this one had something extra. First, he has maybe a like upper Jersey or maybe Long Island accent. It makes him drop off his end sounds, which is panty-melting in and of itself. And he has this James Marsters bone structure with dark hair, gray eyes, and this sexy as hell scar through his lip. From - get this - a jealous boyfriend at a bar wielding a broken-off piece of beer bottle."

"Hot," Savvy agreed.

"I know," I said, pouring bubble bath onto the washcloth to scrub my skin raw if that was what was required. "So why didn't you close?"

"Two words. Mallicks... and Rivers."

"Oh, talk about dreamy," Savvy said, eyes going soft - something that she was not known for when it came to men. But, well, homegirl had a crush on the Rivers brothers. Every last one of them.

"Ew," I said, small-eyeing her. "So not dreamy."

"Oh, shut up. If they weren't practically your brothers, you know you would have boned at least two of them by now."

Maybe she wasn't wrong about that.

They genuinely were some of the hottest guys in town. Which was saying something since this town meant you couldn't turn around without bumping into some hottie. All were tall, built, dark-haired, dark, soulful-eyed, and ex-criminals. Well, the jury was still out on if all of them were as ex as they claimed, but that wasn't the point. The point was that they had that confident, mysterious, slightly dangerous vibe to them.

It was catnip.

All the pussies in town came sniffing around.

Hell, I had flirted a bit with Rush the first time I met him. And Kingston was the stuff that wet dreams were made of. But as soon as they became family, it was like someone poured ice water over me when I thought of them being attractive.

"Regardless, this guy gave them a run for their money."

"What's his name?" Jamie asked, not into the looks talk.

"Suga."

"As in Baby Bash?" she asked, reminding me why I loved her so fiercely. She simply got me. And all of my references, no matter how vague or obscure they were.

"Yep," I agreed, managing to get the sparkles off my stomach and most of my tits, but figuring that Jamie was right about my chest. I'd be picking flecks off for weeks.

Leaning back, I wet my hair to get the sweat out, reached for the shampoo, scrubbed it in, and leaned back again.

"So you are going to let a tongue-lashing from the Mallicks and the Rivers stop you from taking a ride on the biker?" Jamie asked.

Savvy made a low, whimpering noise, making Jamie's lips curve, her brow raising. "What, hon?"

"Just... you know... tongue-lashing and Rivers. What!" she shrieked when we both openly laughed at her ridiculous ass. "I haven't gotten laid in two years, guys. Years."

"Babe," Jamie said, still grinning, her eyes lit up. "That is because your come-hither look is a dead ringer for your I'll-stab-you-in-the-balls look."

"I can't help it if I have ball-stabby eyes, damnit!"

"And let's not forget that if any guy gets close to you, he gets covered in various critter hairs. Like I bet the guest room sheets are," I said, shaking my head at her.

"And that you refuse to date a guy who doesn't have a pet," Jamie piped in.

"Even though you yourself don't have a pet," I added.

"How dare you!" Savvy said, mock insulted. "We share Hannibal!" she argued, meaning my dog. Which, to be fair, was somewhat accurate. If I was working and she was off, she usually dropped by to take him for a walk, to play catch, or to the local dog park. And she was constantly bringing him treats and toys and new beds - since he was a fan of destroying them - home from her work.

Hannibal, who slept like the dead and made the worst watchdog in the history of canine-kind - even though his breed was supposedly good at such things - was a favorite of anyone who met his usually lazy ass. How could you not like his long, dopey ears that literally swiped the ground when he walked? And his half-hearted howl from his position on the couch when a stranger came to the door.

He was the kind of dog who would watch you steal my television, stereo, and computer, without so much as lifting his head from his bed.