We played two more games. Beau backed out after the first and left the room, presumably going after Lily, playing his choices down the middle—don’t piss off the senior club guys by supporting her, but don’t spoil his chance of getting lucky, either. Another guy took his place. When that game finished, I excused myself to use the restroom. I came out to find Beau waiting.

“All yours,” I said.

His gaze slid over me and he grinned. “Really? Well, I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not sure Ricky would approve.”

He said it as “Rick-ee,” drawing out the diminutive with a sneering falsetto. I hadn’t seen him drink much in the clubhouse, but the stink of booze rolled off his breath. I resisted the urge to retort, and brushed past with a simple, “Excuse me.” His arm shot out to stop me.

“You handled yourself well in there,” he said. “It sure got me all hot and bothered. Is that what Ricky likes? A girl who can stand up for herself?” He smirked. “No, I bet Ricky likes to be the one on the floor with your heel digging into his chest. Am I close?”

“Not by half. Now move—”

“Oh, come on, tell the truth. We all know which one of you wears the pants.”

“Ricky prefers me in skirts. Easier access.”

He choked on a chortling laugh. “No, sweetie. If anyone’s wearing skirts, it’s the pretty boy. Everyone knows he’s soft. They just don’t know how soft. But now that he’s got himself a ball-busting, smart-mouthed girlfriend, his secret’s out.”

“Move. Now.”

“Did I mention the tough-girl act turns me on?”

“Yep, and if that’s a threat, may I remind you that you’re in the middle of a clubhouse full of bikers? The only one you need to worry about, though, is Ricky. Lay a finger on me and he’ll want you all to himself. And if you think that’s nothing to worry about, you’re even more clueless than you seem, which is damned clueless, having spent the last couple of minutes yapping without noticing the switchblade at your gut.”

He looked down and saw the knife.

“A present from Ricky,” I said. “Yes, he does like a girl who knows how to take care of herself, because he can’t be there all the time. Very sweet, don’t you think?”

“No, very stupid. You know the problem with giving a girl a knife? The second someone takes it—”

He grabbed for it. I slashed, and he fell back with a yelp.

“Did I mention he showed me how to use it?” I said.

He dove at me, snarling, “You bitch.”