Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,4
song has stuck in my head for days. No matter how much I listen to it, I can’t get enough of it.
“Please stop. No country music.” He cradles his head in his hands, then peeks through his fingers at me and cocks his head. “Hey, Skirt?”
I toss the foil in the trash and take a clean fork from the drawer and dig in the pie. “Aye, Slingshot?”
“Is that a new skirt?”
I give him a twirl and lift my leg in the air like I’m some hottie getting kissed. “It is. Thanks for noticing.” I give him a slight curtsy. The guys like to give me shit for the kilts. Half the time I wear them because I like giving them shit and the other part of me actually warmed up to the idea of wearing a kilt. My brother, Conor, was right. The kilts are freeing.
And I’ve always not worn underwear; I like my dick being able to breathe.
Slingshot rolls his eyes and laughs. “Can I have a piece of pie?”
“Fuck off. Get ye own!” I hug my pie closer and turn around, giving him my back, then scoop another bite in my mouth. Apple, cinnamon, sugar, vanilla, and something else. It’s heaven.
“Please? I’m starving. I won’t ask again. And why is it that your accent isn’t as strong anymore, only when your mad? I kinda miss you bellowing your Scottishness everywhere.”
“First off, I don’t bellow.” I cut him a piece of pie and place it on a small plate, then pour him a big cup of coffee. “Second, I moved from Scotland to America when I was a wee boy. Ye know that, Slingshot. Now, it’s just there sometimes. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re not trying to hide it, are you?”
Slingshot hit a little too close to home. I’ve done my best to put Scotland behind me. I’m not trying to hide my accent, but I don’t want to flaunt it either. Being in America so long has diminished it naturally, so that helps.
“No, I’m not. The longer I’m around ye fucks, the weaker my accent becomes. It’s called acclimating to your surroundings.”
“Acclimating? Big word for a dumbass,” Slingshot teases.
As he dives his fork in to get a chunk of pie, I snatch the plate away from him. “Ain’t no man call me a dumbass and gets me pie.”
“Aw, Skirt. Come on. I’m sorry. You know I was just kidding,” he says, licking his lips as he stares at the pie like it’s his salvation. He’s practically salivating for it.
“Do I know? That’s not very nice, Slingshot. I’m sharing my apple pie, the pie Sarah poured blood, sweat, and tears into, then you insult me?”
“I hardly put blood, sweat, and tears in it.” Sarah enters the kitchen with a jollity smile on her face. Her hair is a mess, and she wipes her lips just as Reaper follows behind her with a glaze to his eyes telling me he just got lucky.
“Morning, Prez,” I greet. Slingshot reaches for the pie, and I lift it out of his reach, giving him a look that tells him not to even bother.
“Skirt,” he pouts.
Slingshot isn’t the kind of man to pout, so I’m enjoying this a little too much.
“Prez, he won’t give me my pie!”
“It was my pie first!” I defend myself, keeping the pie out of reach of Slingshot’s greedy hands.
Reaper groans and lays his head on Sarah’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Seriously, guys. Can’t you figure this out on your own? It’s pie, not a fucking check for a million dollars.”
“Might as well be. That pie is worth a million,” Slingshot sulks and slumps in the chair, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“Fight me for it.” I give him a shit-eating grin, knowing he’s never going to fight me. No one would. Recently, I’ve had to use my fighting skills for the club, and everyone has seen the beast that lurks beneath.
Reaper snatches the plate out of my hand that holds Slingshot’s pie and slides it across the table to him. “We don’t have time for this kind of bullshit today. Skirt, I need you and Poodle to make a local run for me. Okay? You’re getting a duffle bag full of money from the Circus, Circus.”
“Why the hell are we going to that dump?” I ask, shoving a bite of apple pie into my mouth at the same time as Slingshot. We stare at each other as we eat, unblinking. “You chew like a cow,” I