Gumby relented first, shifting his attention to Jazz.
Fucker.
If he couldn’t use physical violence to take the guy down a few pegs, maybe there was another way. “You look good Jazz. Gorgeous.”
And she did. A bit thinner than she had the last time he’d seen her, which could be concerning because she’d always been very trim. She still had the pixie haircut she preferred. The one that made her look chic and sassy at the same time. For some reason the hot pink highlights stirred his cock the same way they always had. Jazz was this incredible combination of sweet and edgy that just fucking revved his engine.
“Thank you,” she said giving him a soft smile as her cheeks turned only a few shades lighter than her highlights.
“Damn, I sure have missed you.” He made sure to add a little intimacy to his voice. Let the brute beside her wonder about that.
Sure enough, the guy’s face twisted into a sneer.
“Don’t you think it’s time to properly introduce me to this asshole, Jazzy?”
The nickname grated on Gumby’s nerves like steel wool, but he fought to keep his expression neutral. They were playing the same passive aggressive game; injecting little digs and subtle jabs in their words and he’d be damned if he lost.
Jazz sighed again then rested against the back of the booth. Almost instantly, Screw’s arm dropped, coming to lay across her shoulders. She shot him a death look and he removed the offending limb with a chuckle.
Interesting.
“Screw, this is Will. He goes by Gumby. Gumby, Screw.” As she spoke, she waved her hand between the two of them unnecessarily. It wasn’t exactly brain surgery to figure out who was who since they were the only two men in the place. She had no idea what Screw’s real name was, so she went with the handle.
When neither made a move to greet the other or shake hands, Jazz rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she said, disgust filling the space between them. Then she rolled her eyes again and mumbled, “Stubborn fucking bikers.” Straightening her shoulders, she made eye contact with Gumby and his stomach fucking flipped. She was just so damn pretty. Sharp angles, big dark eyes, long thick lashes as dark as her hair. So damn pretty. And he’d never had her. Never been granted so much as a taste.
And God did he want one. Maybe now more than ever.
“Screw is the enforcer for the Hell’s Handlers MC.”
When Gumby nodded, she shifted her attention to Screw whose suspicious stare hadn’t left Gumby since they sat down.
“Screw, Gumby lives in Arizona, where I came here from.”
The guy didn’t even blink.
“Screw!” Jazz snapped. Finally, Screw turned to her.
“Yeah, babe?”
She rolled her eyes. “When I lived in Arizona, I ran the front desk for an auto body shop owned by the No Prisoners Motorcycle Club. Gumby worked there and is patched in the club.”
“Huh.” With one eyebrow raised and a shitty fucking grin, Screw said, “Never heard of ’em.”
At the rate Jazz was rolling her eyes, the things were gonna start spinning in her sockets. “And you know every MC in the country?”
Laughing probably wasn’t the smartest move, but Gumby couldn’t help the bark that left him. At least until Jazz turned that disapproving frown his way. Damn, that thing was lethal. “You his ol’ lady?”
Her shouted, “No!” came so fast and strong, Gumby had to bite back another burst of laughter.
Jazz didn’t stifle hers though. Instead she nudged Screw with her elbow, but it did nothing to quell the expression of absolute horror on the man’s face. “You about to break out in hives over there? I know you’re allergic to the phrase ol’ lady. I think I have some Benadryl in my office.”
Screw’s jaw ticked and his eyes glittered with the promise of retribution. But not directed at Jazz, no, that was all aimed Gumby’s way. He wanted to tell the guy to bring it. Sure, he didn’t have the muscular bulk of Screw, but he could damn well hold his own and cause some damage.
“The fuck you want with her?”
Gumby shrugged. “Just here for a visit. Want to catch up. Been a long time.”
She bit her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his gaze. Guilt? Regrets? Or discomfort over his presence?
Leaning forward, Screw rested his forearms on the table. “She’s lived here for over a year. Not once has she mentioned you or anyone else from Arizona.”
He said the word as though she’d allegedly moved from there.
“Pretty sure she’s not interested in catching up,” Screw practically snarled.
Man, this dog was in full-on junkyard mode.
Jazz put a hand on his arm. “Look, Screw, I can promise you Gumby is no threat to me. He’s not here to hurt me. No, I haven’t talked much about my life before I moved here, but it’s not because of him. I’m completely safe with him. Could you please give us some time alone to catch up?”