Page 8 of Triplets for the Rival MC

The couple is friendly and welcoming, and the guys invite them to join us. I’m surprised when Flint tells them who I am to them and why I’m here. I cringe inwardly, wondering if they will now act differently around me, but they don’t.

“Oh, you poor thing, living with that piece of shit,” Shelly says. “I suppose you’ve got nothing with you, and these boys won’t have thought of sorting out a wardrobe for you.”

The guys all wear matching expressions of realization and sheepishness that what Shelly has said is true.

“Yes,” I admit.

Shelly beams at me, happy to have something she can help with. “Well, you’re in luck, doll. I just had a clear-out of some things that no longer fit me, I’ve put on a bit of weight,” she says, patting her belly, seeming totally unbothered by her weight gain. “And I reckon they would fit you perfectly.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to be rude but worried that they won’t fit. “I don’t know, you and I are probably the same size.”

Shelly chuckles. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. No need to spare my feelings, doll. I’ll nip home and grab the bag for you now.” With that, she gets up and leaves.

However, when Shelly returns with the clothes a short while later, she insists I go try them on and follows me upstairs. The thought of doing show-and-tell with anyone fills me with dread. I hate shopping and trying on clothes alone, let alone with an observer. However, it turns out to be surprisingly good fun. Even more surprisingly, her old clothes actually fit. I took one look at them and wasn’t even going to try, thinking they were too small, but Shelly insisted. “They’ll fit, trust me.”

Now, as I stand admiring the way a pair of tight jeans hug my curves and skim over my stomach, I actually feel I look pretty good.

“There, see how much better you look?” Shelly says, standing behind me with a smile. “No offense, but you were wearing far too big clothes for your frame. I used to do the same when I was your age. I thought big baggy clothes would make me look thinner, hide all the lumps and bumps I didn’t want on display, but I realized a well fitting bra and the right size clothing that show off your curves are the best.”

I have to admit that maybe Shelly is right. All the clothes she’s given me fit me better and are more flattering than anything in my home wardrobe. “Thank you, Shelly,” I say, feeling emotional.

Shelly pulls me into a warm, perfumed hug, and I allow myself the simple comfort of being shown affection and having made a friend.

When we return downstairs, Hank lets out an appreciative whistle. “Well, look at you, my Shelly’s worked her magic. You look as pretty as a peach, Tori.”

I blush, aware of the guys’ appreciative gazes. “Thanks, Hank.”

“Good enough to eat,” Hunter says with a wink, flashing that carnivorous, seductive smile that promises to do just that.

“You look beautiful, Tori,” Cyrus offers kindly.

When Flint doesn’t say anything, Shelly nudges him. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Pres?”

Flint glances up at me before looking away again quickly. “Yes,” he grunts.

I try not to let his dismissal get to me. What do I care if Flint thinks I look good or not? Still, I can’t help wishing he’d look at me the way Hunter does, or even how Cyrus does. His ignoring me hurts. It feels too much like being home. I push that aside and focus on having fun, flirting back with Hunter. He might not be serious, but it feels good to bask under his attention, to feel wanted, like a desirable woman. By the end of the night, I start to feel that maybe I’m not so hideous and unlovable after all.

Chapter 6

Tori

The guys had to go out to work today. They wouldn’t tell me where they were going or what they were doing. When Cyrus opened his mouth to tell me, Flint elbowed him sharply in the ribs and glared at him. Flint’s distrust of me hasn’t lessened, not even after the intel I shared with them last night that I presume they’re acting on today. Flint practically ordered me to hang out at the bar with Shelly while she works. I was correct earlier about the clubhouse set-up. Most of the women working here are either club girls or old ladies, and the men are prospects.

It was fun hanging out and chatting with Shelly. Although she’s twenty years older than I am, we get along well and have a lot in common. But as the lunch rush comes in, she’s too busy to talk, and I soon become restless. I watch as she rushes around, and I overhear her grumbling to Candy about how someone didn’t show up for their shift today.

“I can help,” I offer brightly. Shelly’s been kind to me, giving me her clothes and chatting to me like I’m a normal person. I want to help her, to give something back as a way to thank her.

Shelly turns to me in surprise, and she waves away my offer with a flick of the dishcloth she’s been using to bus tables. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking me to, I’m offering,” I say. I want to be useful while I’m here. “Please, let me help,” I insist. “Considering it a thank you for the clothes,” I add, gesturing to the jeans and cute t-shirt she gave me that I’m wearing.

Shelly contemplates this for a moment, but as another table walks in, she nods. “Alright, thanks hon, grab an apron from the kitchen, you can bus tables for me.”

“Sure thing,” I reply with a smile, heading to grab an apron. “I can bus tables in my sleep.”

It doesn’t take me long to get into the swing of things and figure out where everything is.

“Wow, you’re a natural,” Shelly says appreciatively when we get a spare second. “Most of the newbie twenty-one-year-olds we hire don’t know their ass from their elbow,” she says, throwing her head back and laughing.