J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [168]
She walked away, and as she went the crowd parted for her, men big as football players getting out of her way. As John watched her go, he felt a sharp shooter in the front of his trousers and looked down. He was rock-hard. Thick as his frickin’ forearm. And as he shifted in the seat, the friction of his pants made him bite down on his lower lip.
He put his hand underneath the table with the intention of moving things around down there so he could get some more room behind his fly…but the instant he came into contact with his erection, the image of that security guard popped back in his mind and he nearly lost it. He whipped his palm back so fast it banged into the underside of the table.
John rolled his hips, looking for relief but making the burn worse. He was itchy and dissatisfied, his mood quickly getting a dangerous edge. He thought about the release he’d given himself in his bed and decided that he could use another. Like now.
Like right now, before he came again.
Shit, maybe he could take care of himself here. With a frown, he looked over to the hallway that disappeared into the back and had doors on either side.
One of which happened to open.
A small redheaded woman who looked like a professional came out fluffing her hair and rearranging her bright pink getup. Right behind her was…Phury?
Yeah, that was definitely him, and he was tucking his shirt into the waistband of his slacks. The two didn’t say a word to each other: The woman went to the left and started talking up a group of men; the Brother kept walking forward, like he was on his way out.
When Phury looked up, John locked eyes with him. After an awkward moment the warrior lifted his hand in greeting, then took off for a side exit, disappearing outside. John swigged up some more beer, utterly stunned. Sure as hell that woman hadn’t been in a bathroom with the guy because she was giving him a back-rub. God, he was supposed to be celi—
“And this is John.”
John jerked his head around. Whoa. Blay and Qhuinn had struck gold. The three human women with them were all very pretty and mostly undressed.
Qhuinn pointed to each of them. “This is Brianna, CiCi, and Liz. Girls, this is our man John. He uses sign language to talk, so we’ll translate.”
John finished off Blay’s beer, feeling like a jerk as the communication barrier reared its ugly-ass head again. He was thinking about how to word his I’m-going-to-bail speech when one of the girls sat next to him, trapping him in the banquette.
A waitress came by and took orders, and after she left all this chatter and giggling sprang up, the girls’ high notes mixing in with Qhuinn’s deep voice and Blay’s shy, low laugh. John kept his eyes down.
“God, you are so good-looking,” one of the girls said. “Are you a model?”
The conversation abruptly lagged.
Qhuinn rapped his knuckles on the table in front of John. “Yo, J. She’s talking to you.”
John lifted his head in confusion, meeting his buddy’s mismatched eyes. Qhuinn nodded pointedly toward the girl next to John, then bugged out his peepers, a kind of Would you get with the program here, my man?
John took a deep breath and glanced to his left. The girl was staring up at him with…shit, absolute starstruck devotion.
“ ’Cause you are, like, so beautiful,” she said to him.
Holy Christ, what did he do with that?
As the blood hit his face and his body tensed, he signed quickly to Qhuinn, I’m going to have Fritz pick me up. I’ve got to go.
John beat feet out of the banquette, half trampling the girl who’d sat next to him. He couldn’t wait to get home.
Chapter Thirty-eight
When Jane’s alarm went off at five A.M., she had to hit the snooze button. Twice. Usually she was out of bed and in the shower