When they’re done, Demi turns and buries her face against Klutch’s chest. He holds her tight, murmuring something into her hair. After a few minutes, they wade back to the shore, and I can see the relief in her eyes. Like she’s finally let go of something that’s been weighing on her.
“Ready to head inside?” Morpheus asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Chief’s got the bar stocked for you guys.”
“God, yes,” Crazy Train groans. “My balls are sweating in my jeans in this heat.”
Cleo smacks his arm. “Babe!”
“What?” he asks, spreading his hands innocently.
I shake my head, unable to hide the grin on my face.
This motherfucker lives up to his name.
We follow Morpheus back to the clubhouse, climbing the wooden steps to the deck. Christmas lights have been strung overhead, and more palm trees strung with colorful bulbs line the perimeter of the property.
It’s festive in a weird, tropical way.
“You guys really go all out for Christmas, huh?” I comment as Morpheus pulls open the door.
He looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “The old ladies did this shit.” He pushes the door open. “Chief’s wife Cora got it into her head that we needed to,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘decorate for the season’. Next thing you know, Chief has the prospects out here hanging fucking tinsel.”
The door swings open, and the sound of music, laughter, and shouted conversations, hit us like a battering ram. Next is the smell of beer, cigarettes, and weed.
My eyes close and I breathe it in.
Damn I love this fucking smell.
It’s like being home away from home.
Opening my eyes, I follow Morpheus inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The main room is packed with people.
“Chief’s over there,” Morpheus says, gesturing toward a corner.
I turn my head to look where he’s pointing but stop in my tracks when my attention is snagged on something else entirely.
More specifically on someone else.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
There, in the middle of the room, dancing to aNickelbacksong pumping through the speakers, is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my fifty-three years of life.
She’s tiny, maybe five feet nothing, with a body that makes my mouth go dry. Tanned skin, toned legs, and curves in all the right places.
Goddamn.
But it’s her hair that caught my eye first—chin-length and dyed a pale fucking pink, styled up in two little buns on top of her head like some kind of punk rock Minnie Mouse.
She’s wearing cut-off denim shorts so short they barely cover her ass cheeks and a hot pink bikini top that’s making my dick twitch behind my zipper.
She spins, laughing at something one of the brothers says to her, and I get my first look at her face.
My heart stops.
Her eyes are a bright turquoise blue—the color of the ocean on those tourist postcards. Her lips are full and glossy pink, and when she smiles, she lights up the entire fucking room.
Time slows down. The noise around me fades to nothingness. It’s like someone hit the pause button on the entire world except for her.
She’s still moving, still dancing, completely unaware that she’s just knocked the air out of my lungs.
