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I had a moment to wonder what freaking alternate universe I had stepped into before I was fully inside the door to a room with a complete back bar, pool table, living room area, and massive TV.
But that wasn't what had me pausing one step in though.
No, that would be the group of bikers all lounging about.
Maybe part of it was surprise because they hadn't been what I was expecting. Generally, when you thought 'biker' you thought older guys with long unwashed hair, bad tattoos, in leather they had no business wearing because they were all severely overweight, with chains hanging everywhere.
I certainly could never have expected this reality- a bunch of men from mid-twenties to late thirties, each more attractive than the last. There wasn't an old dirty man in leather and chains in sight.
"Draga mea," one of the men said, looking at me, his voice barely more than a rumbling sound.
He was tall and strong-looking with dark eyes, brows, lashes, and long dark hair that he had pulled back into a bun.
Devilishly good looking.
Exotic, almost.
"Draga mea?" I asked, looking up at Lazarus.
"'Dear' or 'sweetheart' or 'my love' or whatever kind of endearment. Edison is a gypsy," he supplied, making me jerk my head to look over at the man in question again and seeing exactly that in his darkly intimidating looks- gypsy, Romanian.
Hot.
He was incredibly hot.
Plus, when was it not insanely sexy that a man called you endearments in another language.
"Edison, Bethany," Lazarus said and I realized the man in question was coming closer.
"No wonder he's been hiding you away," Edison said, his voice still just that rumble sound and it was amazing I could even make the words out his tone was so deep.
Hiding me away?
I looked up at Lazarus, seeing him running a hand across the back of his neck, looking sheepish. And I understood. That was how he had been with me for pretty much three days straight- he had told his club mates or biker brothers or whatever they were called that he was shacked up with me.
I noticed all the other men were looking in our direction too and I realized this was it- this was my chance to make a first impression. And seeing as I was really hoping to keep Lazarus around as a friend, I knew I had to get on with his buddies too. That was how it worked.
So I let my lips curl up slightly as I moved into Lazarus' side, wrapping one arm around his lower back, placing my other palm flat on his stomach.
"Oh, this one," I said, feeling my lips twitch and not trying to fight the smile. "I needed like... six bottles of electrolytes this weekend."
The laugh positively exploded out of Lazarus, making my head angle up to find him with his head thrown back like kids do when they laugh, the rolling noise reverberating through his body and into mine, spreading like a warmth through my veins.
I was vaguely aware of his friends whooping it up, but my focus was completely on the man connected to me- the sound of his humor, the way his smile threatened to split his face, and when he looked down at me- the eyes that were full of appreciation, amusement, and if I wasn't completely mistaken... affection.
I did it.
I was in.
It was then that I heard Edison's laugh that was somehow darker, more primal than any I had ever heard.
"Angel," another male voice broke in, grabbing my attention. The owner was tall like the rest of them and fit as well. But his attractiveness ran toward the light- light eyes, blond hair, blond beard. His hand reached out toward me, his smile of the charmingly boyish variety which I knew from experience usually belonged to the biggest horn dogs. "Cyrus," he supplied. "Nice to finally meet the girl who was good enough for this schmuck," he said, jerking his chin toward Lazarus whose hand was sliding up my spine slowly until the weight of his arm pressed down on my shoulders. Possessive. That was a possessive gesture. And I found I liked it way too much. "Can I get you a drink?" he offered, nodding toward the bar.
"Oh, I, ah," I stumbled, mildly uncomfortable. "I, um, I don't drink," I finished, the words new and therefore clumsy on my tongue.
"Bun meci," Edison said, nodding his head like he approved before moving away.
"Don't look at me," Cyrus said, smiling while he shook his head. "I don't understand a fucking word of Romanian."
So then my head turned up toward Lazarus, finding him already watching me. He answered the unasked question. "Good match."
"How do you know Romanian?"
"Growing up, had a Romanian family across the hall," Lazarus shrugged. "When mom had to work, which was pretty much always, I hung out over there. Some of it stuck."
