Socks with little bears finish the outfit, and Burner grins as he sees them.
“I’ll never be able to understand how you can pull off an outfit like that,” Storm says, his eyes moving over her appreciatively.
“I don’t know where you’re going to put your weapons,” Arsenal grumbles as Storm closes the door.
Nick chuckles, carrying a good bottle of Irish whiskey and a sheet pan of coffee cake. I think bikers have our own special brand of pleasantries, and I prefer it to the darkness of others.
“Maybe skip trying to figure that out…Fuck.”
Marie easily draws a gun from her thigh, her sweatshirt barely brushing where the holster is. It’s a clean draw, and because the material of the holster is black and so are her leggings, it blends in perfectly.
It also manages to render Nick speechless.
“Damn,” Arsenal says, dropping to his knees. “That was fucking sexy, girl. Can I show you my guns now?”
“Please don’t let that be a euphemism for your dick!” Wilder calls out from the back of the house while I smirk.
My trigger finger is feeling very twitchy, and I can feel Lore’s amusement through the bond.
“Fuck no. Gross,” Arsenal says, standing. He hefts the bag beside him, rolling his eyes. “My dick is definitely bigger than whatever I have in this bag.”
“It’s nice to see you too,” Marie says, grinning.
Her hair is a mass of curls down her back after her nap, and I can see she didn’t wash it again. That’s probably why she insisted on taking her shower alone. We definitely would have fucked up her hair.
“Let’s see what you've been using for protection, Marie, and we can decide what you’ll trade out,” Arsenal says.
Nick passes the alcohol and dessert to Storm, and the alpha appears amused as he begins to leave to deposit the offerings in the kitchen.
“Let’s start drinking once the weapons are put away,” Storm suggests over his shoulder.
Yeahhh. I’m really hoping that no one starts shooting the way they did when Devon was last over. Ugh, no wonder I’m anxious.
“We got a new couch,” Marie says, padding down the rest of the stairs. “We apparently have a bad track record with guns in the house.”
“Who the fuck is shooting inside with you in it?” Nick asks angrily.
“Devon,” I grunt, and the guys groan as if that’s enough explanation.
I suppose it is.
“Are these holsters custom?” Arsenal asks, following Marie into the living room.
“They are,” Storm replies, returning through the other entrance. “I had them made here in Minneapolis.”
Marie turns away and pulls off the holster with one hand, handing it to Arsenal to look at.
“It feels really lightweight,” he says, examining it.
“I wore it to work, and no one could tell,” she says.
At Arsenal’s surprised glance, she shrugs.
“I wanted to see how wearable it would be, and the best way to do that is during a long day.”
“I was starting to wonder if your workplace was that dangerous,” Arsenal grunts.
“How many shifts are you working these days?” Nick asks.
