Still Standing (Wild West MC 1)

Then I decided to drink the shot.

One shot of tequila wasn’t going to incapacitate me enough where I couldn’t drive my car.

And perhaps, if I took it, he’d let me say what I had to say, and I could get out of there. I needed to go back to Esposito, get my money and pay my rent before they kicked me out of my apartment.

My apartment was a dump, but it was an apartment, and without it I’d have nowhere to sleep but my car.

That was, if I managed to avoid my car getting repossessed.

So I put the glass to my lips and took the shot.

I liked tequila, if it was cut with margarita mix, but I wasn’t a shot kind of girl.

Therefore, even though I wanted to be ballsy and put myself out there as a cool customer, I couldn’t help but flinch then make a face when I took the glass from my lips.

I looked back at West Hardy and saw he was tipping his chin up at the young biker again. Then I turned my head and saw the young biker move forward quickly and refill both Hardy’s glass and mine.

Oh no.

“Mr. Hardy—” I started, and he turned his head to me.

“Buck,” he declared.

“Okay, Buck, um—”

“You play pool?” he asked.

My head jerked.

I then looked over my shoulder at the pool tables and back at him.

“Pool?”

“Cues, balls, felt table, babe. Pool,” he stated. “You play?”

“No,” I replied.

“Shoot that.” He dipped his head to my glass then went on, “And I’ll teach you.”

I was getting the distinct impression this wasn’t good.

“Mr. Hardy—” I began, and something happened to his body. It tensed in a way that made me quickly say, “Buck, sorry, um…I have nothing against pool, but I really don’t have occasion to play it very often and—”

“Toots, shoot the tequila and slide your ass off that stool. You’re gonna learn to play pool.”

I stared at him.

I then decided to try to bargain.

“If I let you teach me how to play pool, will you let me deliver my message and go?”

“Depends,” he answered.

“On what?” I asked.

“On how you do with twenty questions,” he replied, and my head jerked again.

“Pardon?”

“We’re gonna drink, you’re gonna learn how to play pool, and I’m gonna ask you twenty questions. Depending on your answers, I’ll let you deliver your message.” Once he’d stated this, he turned his head back to the young biker and ordered, “Give me the bottle and get Toots a Miller.”

“Oh no,” I stated quickly. “Beer is highly caloric, and I shouldn’t mix alcoholic beverages. That isn’t smart while driving.”

Or, say, ever.

Buck shifted his focus again to me, and his eyes moved down my torso then back to the young biker who was placing the bottle of tequila on the bar. “Miller Lite,” he amended his order.

“Buck,” I started again, and regained his attention.

“Shoot it,” he replied.

“But—”

“Darlin’, not gonna say it again.”

I stared at him.

I did this before I started to get angry.

“Maybe I should leave,” I said to him.

“You leave, what do you tell Esposito?”

I had to admit, he had a point there.

Enrique Esposito wouldn’t like that I didn’t deliver his message.

“Toots, listen to me,” Buck said softly, and my eyes focused on him to see he’d leaned toward me. “My guess is, you’re new to this so I’m gonna give you a free lesson. You entered this game, you gotta play it.”

“I’m trying to,” I pointed out.

“Right, so, right now, the game is tequila, beer, pool and twenty questions. Now be smart, drink that shot and slide your ass off that stool because we’re gonna play pool.”

I studied him a moment.

Right before I tried bargaining again.

“Just so I have this straight, I drink with you, let you teach me how to play pool and answer your questions?”

“Easy,” he replied.

“Do I get twenty questions?” I returned, and his brows shot up.

“You want ’em?”

“You ask me something then I should get something in return, so I ask you something. You like my answers, I get to deliver my message and go. That’s the deal.”

“Why do you want twenty questions?” he inquired.

I didn’t know the answer to that, so I said, “I just do.”

“All right, Toots,” he stated then lifted his shot glass toward me. “Let’s do this.”

I nodded my head, lifted my own shot glass, and keeping my eyes on him while he downed his, I downed mine. I repeated my flinch and making a face, and when I focused on him, he was looking at me and again grinning.

He twisted his neck and ordered over his shoulder, “Rack ’em up.”

The young biker had put a bottle of Miller Lite in front of me and Buck got off his stool.

I followed him, getting off mine.

He grabbed the bottle of beer and handed it to me.

I took it, he nabbed the tequila and shot glasses in one hand, his bottle of beer in the other, and he moved to the pool table.