Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
“Whatever,” I mumbled, walking past him to get my jacket out of the closet.
“Jesus,” he said as I came back out wearing the beat up leather. “You needed to condition that about five years ago.”
“You worry about your leather, I’ll worry about mine,” I huffed.
It hadn’t actually been five years. We both knew the leather had been conditioned in the spring, and we both knew he was the one who’d pulled it out of the closet and spent hours rubbing oil into the leather. I hadn’t ever had to take care of my jacket or my boots. When he was in the mood to baby his leathers, mine got the royal treatment, too. It was like he couldn’t stand to leave them in the shape they were in.
I followed him to the garage and pulled on a pair of gloves while he opened the door, flooding the space with light.
“I’m glad we don’t have to go to the club tonight,” I said as he rolled his bike outside.
“You got lucky with that one,” Cam replied. “You know they only agreed to that because tomorrow is Christmas Eve and we’ll be there then.”
“I didn’t get lucky, I put my damn foot down. He wasn’t even a prospect when he went inside—he still belongs to me.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he said with a laugh. “Our boys were born belonging to the club. Only a matter of time before he’s wearin’ a cut.”
“Well, it hasn’t happened yet,” I said stubbornly. “Plus, I’m my dad’s favorite and everyone knows it. If I want to have a small family dinner for our son, without fifty people getting in my space, he’d never say no.”
“You keep sayin’ you’re the favorite and Leo is gonna get a complex,” Cam said, pointing at me as he grabbed our helmets off a shelf.
“My brother knows how the wind blows.”
“It’s all good,” Cam said, gently pulling my helmet onto my head. His eyes met mine. “Because he’s definitely your mom’s favorite.”
I laughed. “You’re right,” I replied. “I don’t know why. I’m clearly the better child.”
“You good?” he asked softly, resting his hands on my shoulders. “You didn’t forget anything inside? Got your ID?”
“It’s in my pocket.”
“Jacket or jeans?” he asked dryly.
“Jacket, smartass,” I replied.
Once, years before, I’d idiotically put my ID and bank card in the ass pocket of my jeans, and by the time we’d gotten where we were going, Sacramento maybe? I couldn’t remember. Anyway, I’d lost both cards somewhere on the highway. Back then, I was still getting carded and with no ID, it wasn’t a very fun road trip.
I climbed on the back of my man’s bike while he shut the garage door, and flexed my fingers against the cold. It may have been sunny, but it sure as hell wasn’t warm.
My heart raced in anticipation as I thought about summer. Barbeques and bonfires and swimming at the river and a thousand other things my baby had missed out on. We were going to make up for every missed opportunity if it killed me.
As soon as Cam was seated in front of me, I wrapped my arms around his waist and gently tapped the front of my helmet against his broad back—my version of a kiss when I couldn’t actually reach him with my lips. Then, with little fanfare, we headed toward the club.
I could see the clubhouse from our front porch, but because of the way the land was situated, we had to drive down our driveway and fifty feet down the road before we reached the gates to the club. On days like today, when I was anxious to get going, it drove me crazy—but most of the time, I liked that there was a little separation between our home and the common area for all of our friends and family. It gave us a little privacy, which we needed, especially since everyone knew everyone else’s business ninety-nine percent of the time.
Inhaling a long breath, I forced myself not to snap at Cam when he parked and shut off the bike instead of letting it idle. I didn’t want to stop. Not now. I wanted to go.
“I told you we had time,” I mumbled under my breath.
As my brother strode out of the clubhouse, I flipped up the face shield on my helmet and glared, gesturing with the universal motion of hurry the hell up.
He flipped me off as he sauntered even slower toward his bike, making me grit my teeth. I wasn’t going to start shit. Not today. It was a happy day. An exciting one.
I watched as the rest of our family poured out of the clubhouse, clocking a familiar set of shoulders before I saw my son’s bright eyes and grim mouth striding toward his bike. God, I was thankful that all of us would be under the same roof tonight, even if it was only temporary. I needed my boys, all of them. It felt like I was a balloon that had been filling up slowly with panic and sadness and rage—and if things hadn’t changed, I would have popped, spilling those emotions everywhere.