Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Where else?”
“Well, I just got off the phone with Z.”
I flick my gaze to the clock on the kitchen wall. “Bet he loved you calling in the middle of the night about Stella.”
“Oh, yeah. He was ecstatic,” Rooster says, dragging out the words. “Pretty sure he’s baking me a fucking cake as we speak.”
I chuckle at the thought of Z doing anything in the kitchen.
“But he never let me give him the details,” Rooster says. “We need you down here tomorrow afternoon for church.”
“I figured.”
“We need to discuss at the table, and we don’t need to involve Upstate,” he says. “Rock’s pretty sick of Stella.”
“It’s not their action, either.”
“Exactly.” He sighs. “Sorry, I know it’s a longer ride for you.”
“It’s not a problem, brother. I’ll probably stop by the house first to grab some clothes and my bike.”
“All right. Good.” He hesitates. “She didn’t call you, did she?”
“Who? Stella? I don’t think so.” I pull my phone away from my ear and scroll through my calls. “No.”
“Good.” He growls into the phone. “I spent thirty fucking minutes on the phone with her, listening to her lecture me about the ‘merits of her proposal,’” he finishes in a pretty decent imitation of Stella’s snotty voice.
“Z should bake you a cake for listening to that.”
“Heh. Yeah.”
We plan a time to meet at the house, then end the call.
I check the rest of my messages, take care of a few issues, then close my laptop. “Tomorrow’s problem.”
“Murrrp.” Gretel rubs her head against my chest.
I set her on the floor and head into the bedroom. Margot’s still sleeping on her side, her breath steady and even. I strip down to my shorts again and slide into bed, careful not to disturb her.
Margot
“You feel better this morning?” Jigsaw asks as soon as I walk out of the bedroom the next morning.
“I do. Thank you.” I hold the kitty heating pad up. “I think she stayed warm for longer than thirty minutes.”
“Good.” He closes his laptop and shifts off the stool.
My mouth goes dry as he prowls closer in those low-slung black sweatpants and no shirt. I force my gaze up to his face.
A half smirk tilts his lips as if he caught me admiring him.
“Uh, did you sleep?” Was he afraid to sleep in bed with me because I have my period? No. He’d been so kind and gentle last night, not disgusted.
“I did. Guess that means I didn’t wake you.”
“No.” I yawn and stretch.
“Good. I was on the phone with Rooster late. I tried to be quiet.” He shrugs.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. Just some club stuff.” He gestures toward his laptop. “Which is why I was up early and not in bed with you.”
He pulls me closer, tucking me against his solid body, his palm warm against my lower back. “I need to get on the road early.”
“Oh.” I slide my arms around him to hide my disappointment. Resting my cheek against his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat.
From my bedroom, my alarm dings. I sigh and pull away. “I have an early consult this morning.”
“Pre-planning or…” He pulls a face.
I let out a dark chuckle. “I wish more people pre-planned. It’d be so much easier on their families. But no, this is an elderly woman. Her niece was her only family, and she said it shouldn’t be too much.”
“That’s good, I guess.” He reaches for his T-shirt draped over the barstool and slips it over his head. “I’m stopping at my place to meet with Rooster and get my bike.”
I glance down at my sloppy sleep clothes. “You want me to walk you out?”
“No. Get ready for your appointment.” He leans down and kisses my cheek, then catches my lips.
I curl my fingers in his T-shirt and hold him. His kiss is slow and deliberate. “You know I hate leaving you, right?” he says against my lips.
I nod quickly.
He lingers for a moment, like he has more to say, then gathers his things and presses one last kiss to my temple.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jigsaw
“All right. Settle the fuck down,” Z rumbles, running his hands over the polished wood of the table. He pulls his coffee cup closer and takes a slow sip, like he’s mentally preparing himself for the bullshit about to go down. “Been a while since we sat down at our own table.”
“You gotta admit, Upstate’s clubhouse is much classier,” Hustler snort-chuckles. “No wonder we don’t wanna meet here.”
Z shakes with silent laughter and inclines his head in agreement. Prez is walking a fine line not to outright insult our clubhouse since he hasn’t been our president for that long.
Hustler has a point, though. When Z took over our charter, he kicked our asses into gear. We upgraded large portions of our compound. Still—it’s nothing like Upstate’s property.
Since most of the time my brothers treat our clubhouse like it’s an amateur porn studio, all the upgrades in the world can’t hide its seedy, cum-dumpster-esque charm.