Razor hates lying to his club; even more so when the President knows something’s up. He hands Miles the folder with the documents about the club funds, then walks away.

He doesn’t want to deal with the explosion that is inevitably going to happen.

He strides over to the pool table, where you’re bent over playing a game with one of the new Prospects. It's nice to see you making friends with the club, but it's even nicer to see your ass in those jeans.

Taking a moment to admire the view of you in that outfit, he whistles, then steps over to put his hands on your hips, his lips brushing your ear.

“Damn, baby, lookin’ good.”