Page 72 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
“Fuck, Hawke! Why’d you bring her?” Rocket asks tossing his cards down as I make a show of pulling all the chips in the pot toward me, playing it up as Hawke throws his head back and laughs. And it’s such a good sound after last night and the state he came to me in and the confessions of his past on his lips that I glance over and hold his eye, my own smile widening.
“Ah, poor sports!” I grumble with a smirk. “Good thing we’re not betting on pink heart tattoos tonight or Hawkin right there just might be getting one!”
Vince howls out in laughter that turns into a coughing fit when Hawkin gives him the evil eye. “What?” Vince says innocently before turning those hazel eyes of his back to me.
Hawkin’s phone rings and breaks up the moment. He furrows his brow before he scoots his chair out to take the call. I watch Hawke’s broad back as he disappears into the darkness of the backyard, then turn back to three beseeching pair of eyes.
“I want to see all of your hearts,” I tell them, pointing to my wrist so they understand what I’m talking about. I inspect them all, Vince’s is the smallest, Giz’s the largest. “What gives, Giz? You like pink or something?”
“The right kind, in the right place I do,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows that causes me to blush.
“He’s just gullible as fuck and will bet on anything,” Vince clarifies, earning the middle finger Gizmo lifts at him.
“So tell me, boys, what’s the last thing you guys bet on?” The three of them fall silent as they glance at one another, and I realize that they think I can’t handle it. “Oh come on, I won’t be offended.”
Vince clears his throat and looks down at his tattooed heart before looking back up. “Last bet was getting a woman into bed within a certain amount of time.” He purses his lips, eyes intense on mine, waiting to see my reaction.
“Well, considering it’s you guys, a rock band with women who’ll spread their legs for you at the drop of a dime, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. Besides, it’s not exactly something easy to prove. Anyone can stand on the opposite side of a closed door and moan, right?”
Rocket abruptly scoots his chair back and excuses himself while Giz leans back, effectively removing himself from the discussion to let Vince and me continue. “You make a good point. That’s why this bet entailed that another member of the band be able to partake to make sure the parameters of the bet were fulfilled.”
“Partake?” I say with a laugh, my mind firing suddenly and an alcohol-fogged memory coming to the forefront. Another night where Vince talked about threesomes. Is this something that’s a norm with the band? Is that what Hawkin’s used to? Is it something I have to do if I even have a chance at being on his long-term playing field?
The idea is definitely a turn-on, no doubt—being with two men at the same time. My imagination toys with the thought momentarily before I remember that Vince’s eyes are scrutinizing my reaction.
“You make a threesome sound so damn sexy,” I tease to dispel the sudden awkwardness I feel because I wonder just what he and Hawkin would be like together. “So who won?”
“What are you guys talking about?” Hawkin asks as he walks up, pulling me from my lascivious thoughts and making me realize what a lucky girl I am to be sitting here right now. And shit, I’ve been with him all damn day—from going out to breakfast to pretending to be tourists and walking hand in hand along Muscle Beach where we people watched and laughed all day long—and the man still makes my heart stutter at his sex appeal and good looks. Because a man can be sexy or good-looking, but when he’s fortunate to possess both attributes and they’re all rolled into one package? This woman’s a goner.
“The last bet you guys made,” I answer. Hawke coughs, choking on the sip he just took before shooting a warning glance over at Vince.
“No worries, bro,” Vince says. “I didn’t spill our secrets. What happens in the band stays in the band.” He taps the neck of his beer against the one in Hawke’s hand. “It’s all good. How ’bout you?” He lifts his chin at the phone Hawkin sets on the table. “Everything okay?”
“Fucking stellar,” he replies. “Hunter needs money.”
“Hawkin, you can’t—”
“Drop it, Vinny,” he snaps, silencing the conversation despite the glances some of the guys angle his way. I can tell he’s upset by something, but at least I have a much better understanding of the dynamic now. “Are we going to play or what?”
The night wears on, hands are dealt, big wins and big losses are had, but I’m enjoying the competitiveness because it’s fun to see Hawkin around the people he’s most comfortable with. He’s definitely the closest to Vince, but the love he feels toward the other two guys is just as apparent. The band has invited me into their inner circle without the begrudgery I’d expected.
We’ve all had some alcohol, and every once in a while Rocket disappears and comes bac
k with the distinctive scent of dope clinging to his clothes. I can see the distaste on Hawke’s face and the random disapproving glances his way.
After the third or fourth glare, Rocket finally says, “Relax!” before tossing his cards on the table and scrapping his hand. “Don’t act like you’re the saint here. Back in the day you had no problem taking a toke.” They stare at one another in an unstated challenge. I’m slightly uncomfortable but notice that no one else at the table is even blinking an eye so this—either Rocket smoking a joint or him challenging Hawkin—must be a regular occurrence within their group hierarchy. “I’m not him and he’s not me, so knock it off, will ya?”
And my assumption that Rocket’s talking about Hunter is confirmed when Hawkin’s phone rings again. He spits out a curse as he shoves the chair back with force. “He’s fucking everywhere,” he mutters as he stalks off.
Rocket starts to stand to go after him, just like I want to. Then Vince advises, “Leave it, man. Hunter’s probably pulling his shit right now.”
Rocket stands there in momentary indecision before shaking his head at Vince and following after Hawke.
And the act makes me fall a little bit more in like with Rocket for worrying about Hawkin when he could have let it go. I’m not sure why it brings me such comfort. Probably because I can sense how much Hawke craves normalcy, and I love to see that he’s succeeded in surrounding himself with a family of his own creation.
“Well, since it seems like we’re taking a break, I’m gonna take a piss,” Gizmo says as he knocks his chair backward before wandering inside.
I watch him go and when I look back toward the table, Vince is eyeing me again. We stare into the silence for what feels like forever, snippets of Hawke’s conversation drifting over to us occasionally.
