Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,57
eyes, watching me carefully, like he was trying to figure out if I was lying. I met his gaze steadily, and finally Dawson sighed and leaned forward to set his beer down on the coffee table. He rubbed his chin in his hand, then looked at me again. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Didn’t mean to, honestly. It just happened.”
“This is so annoying,” Dawson said. “Your taste in dudes is so annoying.”
“I’m not asking you to start fawning over him,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I just want you to give him a chance, okay? And don’t attack him at the bar again?”
“All right, all right,” Dawson said resignedly. “One chance. And only because you asked nicely.”
I nodded. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Dawson flipped back to the game, and I settled back into the couch a little more comfortably. It definitely made all this easier, knowing I wouldn’t have to keep them from going at each other’s throats next time they were in the same room together.
“So what about you?” I asked. “You had any fun these past few weeks?”
It’d been so busy, between the jobs at the Elkin Lake clubhouse, and my budding relationship with Joker, that I hadn’t had my usual catch-up sessions with Dawson. I saw him plenty on the jobsites, but we did our best to keep it professional for the sake of our crew when we were at work.
“Not a bit,” Dawson said, keeping his eyes fixed on the television.
From the set of his shoulders, it was clear he had, and it was something he didn’t want to tell me about. Well, he didn’t get to pester me about my dating life and then expect me not to pry about his.
“Oh?” I asked. “None at all?”
“Nothing,” Dawson said. “Zip. Zilch. No action.”
“So, who was the lucky guy?” I asked.
“Piss off,” Dawson said without heat. “Nothing happened.”
“Did you go out to Monterey?” I nudged him. “Or pick up someone in town?”
“Neither.”
“So it was in town.” I tapped my forefinger to my chin, and then it hit me. “Oh my God. It was at Ballast, wasn’t it?”
Dawson bit his lower lip. “Ugh.”
“It was.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you hooked up with someone from the club.”
“So what if I did?” Dawson said, echoing my own defenses right back at me. “Apparently that’s the thing to do these days.”
“Who was it?” I asked. “Seriously, tell me.”
Honestly, these days, with Dawson’s escalating drinking, I didn’t quite trust his judgment. If he had messed things up with one of the club guys—or just made things a little awkward—that could complicate the contract. And I wanted to stay ahead of it.
After a long pause, Dawson finally sucked his teeth and admitted, “Nix.”
“Nix?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah. After that night at Ballast.”
“The night he took you home because you were hammered and fighting?” I clarified. “That night?”
“Well, the morning after,” Dawson admitted. “But that’s it. It was just a one-time thing.”
“You sure about that?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Dawson pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was a mistake, anyway.”
“I just don’t want things to get more complicated than they are with this contract,” I said. “Just tell me if things get weird, okay?”
“If anything gets weird with this contract, it’ll likely be because of you and Joker,” Dawson said with a teasing edge to it.
“Aw, come on,” I said. “Don’t jinx it. I really think this could go somewhere.”
“I can tell,” Dawson said. “That’s what scares me.”
19
Joker
On Monday, just four days after I’d brought Brennan to meet the kids and told him all about Parker and the charity, I ambushed him in the kitchen of the Elkin Lake clubhouse and kissed him silly, tugging at the straps of his fucking stupidly sexy toolbelt, until we got caught by a cackling Raven.
Over the next week, as I was working on the sign in his workshop, Brennan wandered down each night with his laptop and sat with me, just answering emails as I worked. We’d listened to music and chatted about nothing; I just liked having him around, even when we were both wrapped up in our separate activities.
A few more days later, I spent the night at his place, and impulsively brought my straight razor with me. He’d seemed interested when I’d mentioned it before, and I wanted to show him how it was really done. I’d slid my blade expertly over his face while he watched in the mirror, and