How about a sneak peek?
Atticus knew he was making a mistake leaving with Spencer. He knew it, and he did it anyway.
Or, at the very least, he was considering it with his final decision weighing heavily on the getting laid side. For that to happen, he had to go with Spencer.
So why the hell was he even second-guessing himself?
Because going will be a silent “fuck you” to Slade.
Goddamn. Why the fuck did he go and grow a conscience now?
Did he really give a shit about Slade?
The answer to that was not really, but even so, Atticus had no business getting in between Slade and his family drama. Which meant decorum dictated that he cut his losses and either go home alone or go back inside the bar and get shit-faced.
Shit-faced or laid?
Shit-faced or laid?
Which is it gonna be?
Atticus squared his shoulders. Decorum could go fuck itself because tonight he was thinking solely with his dick.
“Follow me back to my place. That’s me right there,” Spencer said, pointing toward a candy-apple red Camaro.
“Where do you live?”
With one last chance to do the right thing, Atticus looked at the bar. He recalled the look on Slade’s face when Spencer rubbed it in that he’d fucked his wife. It was a dick move; that was for damn sure. Worst part was Spencer wasn’t the least bit apologetic. In fact, there might’ve been a glimmer of victory in Spencer’s eyes. Atticus was all for bucking the system, but did he want to go down that road? Where he no longer gave a shit about other people’s feelings?
“You comin’ or not?” Spencer called out as he opened his car door.
Could he do that to Slade? Could he put a rift between them so early in their relationship? They were only co-workers, but it wasn’t like they worked in an office building and would only see each other on occasion. Atticus would have to see the man every damn day. And hell, there was a good chance that one day, he might have to rely on Slade to have his back.
Atticus found himself shaking his head. “Actually, no. I’m not comin’.”
In more ways than one, he thought as he started toward the bar.
“Your loss,” Spencer shouted after him.
Yeah. It probably was, but Atticus’s dick had gotten him into trouble more than once. Only once when it had mattered, though. A couple of years ago. Turned out the guy he’d gone home with had been helping a friend evade arrest. Atticus ended up losing a large bounty thanks to thinking with the wrong brain.
Sure, sex was a great way to take the edge off, but it wasn’t a requirement. He didn’t need to get fucked. He simply wanted to.
With a sigh of regret that he’d missed an opportunity, Atticus opened the door and stepped inside. A round of greetings echoed, and like usual, no one looked up. Had they, they might’ve said, “Welcome back.”
He scanned the room, looking for Slade or Brantley. He found Slade standing near the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He had a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face.
Atticus made a beeline for him. With each step, his frustration grew until he found himself up in Slade’s face. He ignored the fact that he had to go up on his toes since Slade was several inches taller.
“The next time you wanna protect my fuckin’ virtue, don’t.”
Slade stared at him, his brown eyes glittering. “Virtue? Among other things, that’s one thing you’re lackin’.”
Great. And now Slade was going to take his anger out on him.
Atticus rolled his eyes. “And to think, I gave up gettin’ fucked for you.”
Slade’s expression changed, and for a moment, Atticus thought he saw a hint of remorse. If he had, Slade had no intention of apologizing because he walked away, heading back to the table where Ethan and Beau were once again watching them.