Black and White (Storm's Soldiers MC Book 1) by Paige Notaro Page A

to be playing a very tense game of split-the-bill. Marissa crouched amongst them, snapping her head from face to face like a bookie taking bets.
    “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go. But keep an eye out. I might need reinforcements.”
    “What do you think they’re going to do to you?”
    “Nothing good. Best case, I’m getting tipped in meth.”
    I took Jeannie’s drinks outside to people waiting, then headed back in to their corner. Their attention had drifted, but as I came up, the gruff little one locked on to me. He tracked me like an unexploded bomb all the way up to their table.
    “Hey boys,” I said. “What can I get y’all today?”
    “We ain’t boys,” the guy sneered.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, keeping up my beaming facade. “Gentlemen, then.”
    “We sure ain’t gentle either,” the other guy piped up. He turned his eyes on me. They shone turquoise in the dark booth and chilled the frustration right out of me.
    “Well, whatever noun you’d call yourselves, I’m figuring one of the adjectives right now is thirsty,” I said. “Can I help you fix that?”
    “No,” the short guy near growled at me.
    The other one kept his lean face blank, but I didn’t get a peep out of him either, just a terse shake of the head.
    “I can see you need a few minutes,” I said. “Just give one of us a toot when you’re ready.”
    I went back to the bar, feeling their gazes like heat on my back. The short one, I could tell he just plain hated me. It wasn’t a surprise. Black president or not, people around Georgia were keen on traditions and for some, that still meant hate. If hate kept him less parched than a pint of lager, well, he could just drink me in deep.
    The other one, though, just seemed to turn into a wall with me around - a tall rugged wall, with just enough cracks to reveal a flash of him here and there. I chanced a look back while they were in conversation and saw him nodding to the other guy. The hard features of his face imprinted onto my mind as his brow sank and lifted. He picked up my stare and looked my way. Our eyes met for a second before I could hide. He didn’t seem so simple as his friend.
    Or maybe that was just me hoping.
    Kiara came back out in jeans and a tight black top. The pitch-black fabric really set off against her pale skin. She looked like a tall glass of milk and I didn’t even like milk.
    “God,” she said, stretching at the bar. “I think I should just call it a night after that. That was some serious psychological trauma.”
    “If guys aren’t hitting on you, then you’re not gonna make ends meet in this gig,” Jeannie said.
    “Hitting on me, ok, that’s like one thing. Taking me by my bra strap and pulling me into his beer? That’s so not the same.”
    “Shit.” Jeannie perked up. “Should we kick them out?”
    “Na.” Kiara glanced at a booth. A bunch of college boys popped their heads back down like prairie dogs. “I think they’re the sort that tip big when embarrassed. Just annoying, is all.”
    “Come on, sweetie,” I said. “That’s the third time it’s happened. I think half our regulars come here just to spill something across that chest.”
    She threw me a massive eye roll. “Ha ha, Meagan. If we’re hosting a wet t-shirt contest, then why are you so dry?”
    It was a fair question in more ways than one. I wasn’t too proud to admit I looked good these days – in many ways I looked better than even before my bout with depression had packed on weight. The only part of me that remained supersized was my bust.
    So why did I getting nothing more than a few drunken advances here? I should have every male eye in this bar on me. Maybe that’s why I was so taken by the attention from that murky white boy sitting with his angry buddy.
    Or imagined his attention. That would be better anyway. The real deal would be nothing but trouble, and I’d had enough of that for a life or two.
    Right then, the biker snapped his fingers. I made every