Running Game(128)

“Thanks, beautiful.”

Beautiful… It was nice to hear him say the word. Most of the people who called me beautiful were old enough to be my grandfather… Trent was anything but. He was handsome with a capital H. Even with his stupid clothes and his gelled hair, I couldn’t help but notice up close that he was built like a damn linebacker. I didn’t like it one bit.

Which means, of course, that I was practically salivating and wanted to touch him again…

As Trent curled his fingers around his fist and rested his elbows, I could see how thick and well defined his huge forearms were even as I grabbed a glass. A little higher up, his bulky, broad shoulders stretched his dark shirt. A simple medallion hung around his neck, draped over what were undoubtedly rock-hard pecs.

Ignoring his gaze – and his stupidly hot muscles – I whipped up a frothing, overflowing pint in a chilled glass. With a glance stained with disdain, I plunked the draft beer down in front of him.

“Enjoy.”

“Oh, I think I will,” he smiled again.

UGH.

While Trent began swigging it, I checked on the other patrons. They had been mostly ignoring us, which pleased me. Everyone seemed fine.

Well, almost everyone.

“Hey, Darlin’! Bring those sweet cheeks over here with another round of shots!”

I sighed internally. Fucking bikers.

“What’ll you be having?”

“More Fireball!”

I couldn’t help but grin to myself. Fireball. That was such a college kid choice.

As I turned for the bottle, I realized that they had seen my smile and were grinning lecherously among themselves.

Whelp. That was a mistake.

Now they think they’re amusing me.

I quickly poured their shots and brought them over, ignoring the way that the newly arrived stranger’s eyes traced the outline of my body.

God. What is it with everyone eyeballing me like a piece of meat tonight?

At least he was fucking attractive, unlike these old weekend warriors in their leather costumes...

“Thanks, Darlin’,” the lead biker told me. He placed his hand on my bare shoulder, his fingers barely brushing my hair as I dropped off their shots.

“Hey. Don’t touch me,” I flinched.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Trent stiffen up, his head cocked very slightly.

“She’s feisty, boys!”

The other bikers hungrily grinned at me. I didn’t like the looks on their faces.

“Alright, that’s it for tonight. I’ve gotta close down soon anyway. You ready to finish out your tabs?”

The leader scowled. “Cuttin’ us off, Darlin’?”

“It’s that time,” I pointed at the dusty clock on the wall.

I slipped back behind the safety of the bar, announcing last call. To my satisfaction, nobody raised their attention for a top-off, and I began closing out checks and dismissing the regular patrons with a weary, thankful smile.

After about two minutes, everyone was gone except the new guy and the bikers.

Trent hadn’t seemed to really care about my announcement. He continued working on his beer at the same rate, leaving over half of it still in his glass.

“I’m probably gonna need that glass back in a few minutes,” I smiled coldly, nodding towards the clock again. “Closing in five.”

“Understood,” he nodded, his traces of cockiness gone. Instead, he seemed a little on edge.

No idea why.

The bikers were bothering me, after all.

“Got a bathroom?” Trent suddenly asked.

I pointed him towards the doorway around the other side of the bar. He slipped off of his stool and sauntered towards the hall.

This left me alone with the bikers. Their lecherous leader called me over, and I reluctantly strolled to his side with the check.

“Here you go, lass,” he chuckled, dropping a few twenties onto the tabletop. One flittered down to the floor, and I begrudgingly reached down for it.

I only realized the mistake just as his hand smacked roughly against my ass.

“Ow!” I called out, quickly hopping back up and glaring menacingly at them. “I said, ‘Don’t touch me.’ I don’t give a flying shit how drunk you are. You can’t do that.”

“Sorry, Darlin’. You’re just too damn pretty.”

“I’m cashing you out, and you’re getting out of my bar.”

The biker stood up swiftly, grabbing me by the arm. He pulled me deep into his embrace, his thick, alcoholic breath stinging my eyes. He was an old guy, but he was built strong and mean.

I struggled, but I couldn’t pull free.

“I don’t know about all that, sweetheart,” his gravelly voice rumbled. “I think you owe me and my boys a proper apology.” His thick lips curled into a disgusting smile. I tried to scream, and a rugged hand clamped around my mouth.