Not a Role Model (Battle Crows MC 4)

My mouth watered when I saw that shapely figure, one that’d always had the power to drive me to my knees, sitting on a barstool about ten feet away.

Swallowing back my anger at the situation, at what I’d done myself, I headed for the woman that always seemed to be the center focus of that anger.

The woman that could set me off faster than anyone on the entire planet earth.

“… and he was just standing there, watching me on the ground, as if he hadn’t just tripped me in front of the entire school. I should’ve hated him, but I didn’t. I loved him. If he’d have given me half a chance in high school, I would’ve been on him like white on rice. He was so beautiful, and his angry eyes were so…” Ethel’s eyes turned to find me standing there with my arms crossed over my chest.

Her mouth opened to interrupt Coreline, but she was on a tangent.

“… wanted to punch him straight in the mouth. Then I wanted to hop on his cock like a… why are you looking like that?” Coreline asked, bringing half a margarita up to her lips and sucking a quarter of it down in one go.

It wasn’t a large margarita. It was one of those small ones that likely didn’t have enough tequila in them to knock a normal person on her ass. But when it came to alcohol, Elvis wasn’t normal.

Elvis was a lightweight that tried really, really hard to drink, but just couldn’t.

Never could.

My bet was that she’d had half of that margarita over the length of an hour or two based on the way the glass was sweating, and there was no more ‘rock’ to her ‘on the rocks’ margarita.

Before I could tell her not to ask her anything, because Elvis was talkative when she was drunk, Ethel turned to her friend and said, “Do you love him, Coreline?”

I would’ve laughed had her words not felt like a dagger straight to the heart.

“I should hate him,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I should despise him for how mean he is. But every time he’s mean, like this morning, it just makes me love him even more. I’m such a dumbass, aren’t I?”

“You’re not a dumbass..” Ethel glared at me. “He’s just a man with a really bad attitude who needs to get his shit together.”

Ethel stood up. “I have to run to the bathroom.”

Ethel stopped next to me and said, “I can’t afford rent if you take her right now. You need to give me two more months, and then I can look for something more affordable.”

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with my wayward woman.

“I should really stop drinking this.” She put it down on the table next to the pizza box.

Then she lifted the lid and stared at all the leftovers—which wasn’t all that much.

“I shouldn’t eat you,” she explained to the pizza box.

I chuckled, which had her back stiffening.

She slowly looked at me over her shoulder and said, “What are you doing here, Roll Tide?”

The name, as well as the attitude that she dished out upon seeing me, despite knowing what I’d just heard, caused me to grin. “I’m here for you, obviously.”

She sighed and reached for a piece of pizza. One that looked as if it’d already been nibbled on a bit before being put back down.

Taking a bite, I watched as multiple pieces of hamburger rolled off the slice and into her lap.

Uncaring that it was staining her skirt with grease, she swept it off her lap and made an even bigger mess.

My lips quirked.

“Why are you here?” she asked between unchewed bites of pizza.

I grinned. “That’s my brother that has issues with mastication, not me.”

Price, my brother, couldn’t stand to hear someone eat. The noisier, the worse that it was for him—or so he said.

He got downright awful if he thought you were eating too loud.

“Mastication sounds naughty.” She raised and lowered her eyebrows in a leer kind of way. “How naughty are you, Dr. Crow?”

Why did hearing her say that make my dick thicken in response?

I tilted my head. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve always wondered.” She paused. “In high school, you got caught with that girl under the bleachers.”

Her eyes narrowed as if she was pissed, and it finally dawned on me how I’d been caught.

I’d been very careful when I’d led that girl under there. I’d also made sure that what we were doing—which was the girl I couldn’t even remember the name of giving me a blow job during a football game—was hidden.

At least, somewhat.

I got off on the voyeurism thing. I liked the knowledge that anyone, at any time, could find me.

Yet, it’d been a kink that I’d been super-duper careful about doing because it wasn’t something that everyone wanted. And it wasn’t something that I could have on my record if I was caught doing it.