Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,28

focused I was on Joker, my entire body nearly turned to face him, until I saw three pairs of eyes watching us curiously.

Joker’s flush deepened and he cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”

Gunnar nodded in agreement. “It’s not nothing, it’s a great starting point for us,” he said. “I think you’re really onto something with this sunken living-space idea.”

Joker took a sip of his beer and shook his head in a mixture of pleasure and disbelief. I grinned and nodded my agreement.

“All right, I’m tired!” Coop yelled. “Someone else tag in, this tree is huge!”

“All right, all right,” Joker said, standing up. “Jonah, come help me figure out where to cut the sign slab from?”

Jonah nodded and stood up as well.

I leaned back in my chair to watch Joker use the chainsaw. He rolled his sleeves up before he revved it, and the image sent a thrill down my spine—he was so fucking sexy like this, competent and focused, the muscles in his forearms standing out as he easily carried the heavy chainsaw and watched Jonah measure out the best place for the slab to come from.

“Ahem,” Blade said pointedly as he took the seat Joker had vacated. I felt my own cheeks burn as I tore my gaze forcibly away from the strong line of Joker’s back.

I thought he might have something to say, but Blade just grinned and raised his beer to mine in a cheers.

Joker revved the chainsaw again, drawing my attention back to him. Blade just laughed as I stared openly at Joker’s ass as he bent over to guide the chainsaw through the log.

God, I wanted to put my hands all over him. Badly enough that I was willing to stare like a fool in front of the guy technically responsible for paying me. I had the sense that working with Joker in my workshop was going to be fun in a lot of ways—but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy.

11

Joker

I pulled off my helmet and leaned against my still-warm bike. I was parked outside Brennan’s shop again, the freestanding building behind his simple, modern house. His home was mostly windows—big, clean panes of glass and warm-toned wood. I wondered how much of it he’d built himself. And I also wondered what the fuck I was doing here, thinking I could keep up with a professional like him.

It’d felt so good to hear my club members light up at my suggestions for the living space renovations. Sure, I had my ideas, and I’d tossed one out half expecting it to be rebuffed or laughed at. They never went at me from a place of cruelty—at least, I didn’t think so. It was just the role I played in the club. I was the funny one, the dirty one, the horny one. The one who wanted to party and get laid, not couple up and start interior-designing living rooms.

And even if I felt like I was starting to change, I didn’t know how to express that to the club. Expressing myself wasn’t really my strong suit. I’d gotten used to being invisible most of the time. So I’d been shocked when my ideas had been met with… excitement. And then Brennan had to go and say I was talented.

I’d been privately pleased in the moment, but now those reactions felt a lot like pressure. If—or when—I fucked up this project, everyone would just be more disappointed with me. I’d finally prove I really was a failure. Part of me wanted to give up before I even began. Better to just disappoint everyone by flaking on the project rather than try and screw it up.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Embarrassingly enough, I felt the same way about Brennan.

When I’d first met him, I thought he would be the perfect guy to fuck and forget. But the more time I spent with him, the more he kept setting himself apart from other guys I’d messed around with. He kept acting like he wanted to know me. And his eyes always found me in the group, and he always ended up at my side, even when I wasn’t trying to be the center of attention.

But why? What was I missing? What did he see in me that kept him curious, kept him around, when I’d acted like a dick to him so many times?

And what would he do if he did get to know me? When he found out I was just a dumb dropout who