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Still bleary-eyed and a little dazed, she shakes her head. “I have all my crap to carry in.”
“I got it.” I offer her my hand. “Come on.”
She jumps out of the truck, a soft huff passing her lips. I grab her bags and guitar case, not comfortable leaving it in someone else’s truck overnight with all these people.
“I’ll show you around tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”
“All right.” She slides her hand in mine and follows me in the front door.
“Cock-a-doodle-fucking-do!” Jigsaw shouts from the bar. “Where ya been?”
I tilt my head at Shelby. “You knew I was going to pick her up.”
“Oh, yeah.” He slides off his stool. “Hey.”
“Hey, Jiggy.” She reaches up and hugs the asshole.
He hangs on to her long enough to annoy me, then adds an eyebrow wiggle to really piss me off. “Welcome to Port Everheart, chickadee.”
“Why are you calling my girlfriend that?” I infuse enough menace into my tone to make my irritation clear.
Jigsaw pulls away. If he had feelings, I’d worry I’d hurt them. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to use her name.” He lowers his voice and casts a look around. The music’s not the usual drown-out-conversation level. Plenty of couples are inside. A few brothers are scattered around the bar sharing drinks and stories. “Thought you might be worried someone would recognize her.”
Shit. Yeah, I probably should be concerned about that. “Thanks, brother.” I really need to calm my territorial urges when it comes to Shelby. “We’re headed to bed. You’re still coming with us tomorrow, right?”
“Fuck yeah.” He gives me a hug and slaps my cheeks a few times. My hands are full so I tolerate the abuse. Barely.Shelby
My confused brain tries to make sense of my surroundings. I vaguely remember arriving at a clubhouse.
What the heck am I wearing?
Rooster must have undressed me. I run my fingers over the soft blue T-shirt. Smells like detergent and Rooster.
“I didn’t want to rummage through your bags last night.”
I turn and find him awake, staring at me with a soft a smile. “Have you been watching me sleep again?”
“Feels good waking up next to you. I like to enjoy it.”
“Same,” I whisper.
An alarm chirps and Rooster rolls over, scooping up his phone. “Time to get ready.”
“Ugh, I don’t wanna.” I grab one of the pillows and shove it against my face.
“I’d rather have you get more sleep. But you can’t miss stuff because you’re with me, either.”
“I’m not dressing up,” I protest, even though I doubt Rooster really cares about my wardrobe issues. “And the only makeup I have with me is a couple tubes of lipgloss.”
“It’s radio.” He throws the covers back and I yelp.
“Yeah, but they’ll want to take photos and post ’em online and probably make fun of me. Say I look nothing like my pictures and I’m a hag in real life.”
He stares down at me. “If anyone says that about you, they’ll be eating through a straw for the next six to eight weeks.”
“Careful, Logan. You’ll be taking me to all of my appearances if you keep up the sexy talk.”
He hesitates, the menace sliding off his face. “You know I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”
“Yeah, I do.”
I end up squeezing myself into a pair of skinny jeans, a teal tank top with a flamazing flamingo on the front, and my electric teal cowgirl boots.
Downstairs, people are scattered everywhere. I vaguely remember a party last night, running into Jigsaw…and not much after that.
“Do you want breakfast?” Rooster asks, checking his phone.
“After the interview.”
He searches the bar area. “Where the fuck is Jiggy?”
We continue outside, Rooster furiously tapping on his phone.
I head for his bike.
“Hey, Rooster!” a high, feminine voice calls out.
I spin around so fast, my hair sticks to my gloss-slicked lips. I sputter, spitting out hair and trailing sticky gloss down my chin.
A tall, slim blonde jogs over to us. I should ask her what kind of bra she’s wearing. Her giant boobs barely even bounce as she navigates over the uneven ground.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” she says in a breathless rush. “I really appreciate all your help this week.” She hands him a tiny green envelope. “I wanted to give you this to say thanks.” She’s so completely focused on my boyfriend, she doesn’t even seem to notice me standing there. Holding his hand.
“Thanks, hon.” He slides the envelope in his cut pocket without opening it and squeezes my hand. “Anya, this is my girlfriend, Shelby.”
Finally, her dizzy eyes swing my way. She smiles even wider. Damn, she’s pretty. Has at least three inches on me too, with those freakin’ flamingo legs of hers.
“Oh, hey!” She yanks me into her arms, crushing me against her chest and huggin’ the stuffing outta me.
“Uh, hey,” I mumble around a mouthful of her blouse.
