Okay, then. She put her drink down and did so until their shoulders were close but not touching.
He tossed the remote onto the bed between them. “Change it if you want.”
She glanced at the TV, then him. “Does the TV have Netflix?” She rolled her lips under.
He snorted and took a long pull on the bottle, then twisted his head to face her. His normally vivid blue eyes were now glassy and bloodshot between the mix of booze, dope and most likely mental exhaustion.
“Why? Wanna Netflix and chill? Think that’s smart? Got enough fuckin’ problems right now without addin’ fuckin’ you into the mix.”
“I’m not a problem.”
He threw his head back and laughed so loudly, she winced. When he was done, she was good and annoyed.
“Fuckin’ you would be a problem, buddercup,” he said seriously.
“You might have a problem fucking anyone tonight with the amount you’re drinking.” She leaned toward him and glanced at the open tin on the nightstand. “And also with whatever you smoked. Little Rev might not be revving to go after all that.”
He grabbed his crotch over his jeans and shook it. “Got no problem gettin’ it up.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you hard plenty of times. But not after putting away so much whiskey. Did you do anything else?”
One of his eyebrows lifted but it listed like it was drunk, too. “Whadya mean?”
“Like any hard shit. The shit Trip doesn’t like to see around the farm.”
He shook his crotch again. “Got somethin’ hard.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. And don’t offer something you aren’t willing to give. That’s just being a tease. Now light one of those fatties and puff, puff, pass.”
He grinned at her, shook his head and put the bottle down to remove an already rolled joint from the Altoids tin he carried. Most of the guys carried some kind of small container for their dope unless they preferred to smoke a pot pipe. But the guys who smoked tobacco found it more convenient to carry both types of hand-rolleds in a tin.
He lit a joint, took two puffs and passed it over to her.
“We probably shouldn’t be smoking in here,” she murmured.
“Shouldn’t be in my bed, either.”
“You or me?”
“Both. Same bed. You wearin’ that shit. Temptin’ me.”
“I’m wearing your shirt.”
“Meant what you got on under that.”
“PJs.”
“That ain’t no PJs. That shit’s whack-off material.”
His speech was getting thicker and his S’s were getting drawn out. Soon they’d turn to Sh’s and spit might accompany them.
Say it, don’t spray it.
She snorted and took another long hit off the joint before passing it back to him.
“Whasho funny, buddercup?”
Bingo.
Watching the Fury members get totally smashed during pig roasts was entertaining. Usually, the sisterhood got a little tipsy, too. However, they had more fun sitting around watching the guys party. Then they’d round up their ol’ men, drag them home and put them to bed.
Unfortunately, Reilly always went to bed alone. The club’s “do not touch” rule extended to even the damn hang-arounds. And it wasn’t like Manning Grove had a hopping singles scene. In fact, it had a completely dead dating scene. Unless you liked rednecks who still lived in their momma’s basements, or married men.
Occasionally a cute tourist would come into town. But it was hard to tell who was truly single and who was lying about it.
She was lucky to find that one guy she humped in the back of his car behind Crazy Pete’s. Maybe not so lucky, since he sucked at it.
Being a part of the club had both its positives and negatives. The biggest negative being that her sex life was pretty much non-existent due to being “property” of the club.
Maybe she needed to set up an online dating profile and do some distance dating. After Billy Warren tried to put her six-feet-under—twice—she was in no rush to get back into the dating scene. It wasn’t like dating and sex always went hand in hand. Sometimes a woman wanted a good sweaty sex session without any bullshit afterward. The same reason the guys used the sweet butts.
They got their rocks off and didn’t have to worry about being tied down. At least when they weren’t hooking up with Billie—the sweet butt Billie, not her burnt-to-a-crisp ex—then they got tied down, tied up and wrung out. She had seen a few of the guys have trouble walking after a night with that sadist.
She glanced over at Rev and let her gaze slide down to his nipple piercings. She pursed her lips, wondering what damage Billie could do with those.
Rev was staring straight ahead, not concentrating on the TV, not concentrating on anything. Probably deep in his head. Maybe even reliving what happened earlier at his parents’ house. Possibly even reliving his youth.
She glanced at the lit joint in her fingers and took another small hit before once again offering it to him. She nudged his arm with hers. “Here.”