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His actions and the filthy things he has been saying has turned me on more than I ever thought possible. I know there’s a difference in pretending and actually doing. Role play in the bedroom is pretty common, but the ultimate test will come if or when we’re there in the moment.
I plaster a smile on my face as I walk into the kitchen. It’s early enough that the people living in the surrounding houses haven’t made their way to the clubhouse, but the ones that live here are already sipping coffee and chatting.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to get any awkwardness out of the way.
A chorus of greetings filter my way as I inch toward the coffee pot.
Trenton is leaning against the cabinet not far away, and I give him a small smile as well.
Maybe I’m the one making things awkward. Do they see me as someone invading their space or altering their routines just enough to be annoying? It’s very possible there’s nothing weird going on and I’m just in my head too much, creating discomfort.
I grab a cup of coffee without saying a word to him and take a seat at the table. I’m not scared of any of these men. I know Kincaid would rip their heads off if they even thought of hurting me in any way, but even knowing that doesn’t stop me from sitting in a spot that allows me to see the entire room, including Trenton who is still leaning up against the cabinet.
Boomer, Aro, and Spade watch me, but they don’t speak. Yep, I’m not imagining the weirdness.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask, laughing to ease the tension as I swipe a hand over my cheek.
Calling them out works because they all look away and start chatting about motorcycles and other mechanical stuff. I’m just content to sit and listen. The chatter eases something inside of me, and not being the center of attention and being gawked at helps too.
Ugly walks in, his hips working back and forth with a swagger that speaks of pure confidence. I try not to watch him, but ignoring the man is impossible.
He winks at me when he notices me looking, and I have to duck my head, my cheeks growing warm. When I look back up again, I realize the other guys have stopped talking and are watching me once again.
Trenton is leaning close to Ugly who is making a cup of coffee with his back to me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he seems tense and agitated.
Ugly nods and whispers a few things back. They seem annoyed with each other, and I know that doesn’t bode well for us following through with this stupid plan. But when Ugly turns back from the counter, he’s got a bright smile on his face, and he doesn’t waste a second, sitting in the spot across from me.
Did Trenton just now tell him that he’s the pick for the challenge I’ve put in motion?
My face burns when I look up at Trenton, but the man is giving nothing away. He’s still scowling, but his eyes are focused out the kitchen window instead of where we are.
“Hi,” Ugly says, the first word he’s said to me since I first arrived at the clubhouse.
The women here have been great, and they don’t hesitate to approach and strike up conversation, but the guys have kept their distance. At first, I thought it was because they just didn’t want me around, but as time has passed, I get the impression that they don’t engage because they want me to feel comfortable.
I don’t know what to make of Ugly changing that tactic right now.
He knows about the threesome. I can see it in his eyes as he waits for me to respond. Does the man actually think I’m going to talk about it right now in front of all the other guys?
Fat freaking chance.
“Good morning, Ugly,” I tell him, my nose scrunching.
I know it’s his club name, but I feel bad even saying it.
“You can call me Isaac if it helps.”
I give him a quick smile, relieved that I no longer have to feel like I’m insulting him every time we speak.
“Good morning, Isaac.”
He hides a smile with his coffee cup as he takes a sip.
“I just don’t get it,” I say after a long moment of him just watching me. “Why Ugly? Because you’re not.”
“That’s the whole point,” Aro interjects. “He has to have at least one flaw. I imagine the guys who gave him the nickname couldn’t find one, so they had no other choice.”
Isaac shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “I’m far from perfect.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Sadler.”
“They could’ve called you Horse or something,” I supply, trying to be helpful.
“At least that nickname would fit,” he says with a wink, indicating he’s not talking about the link being to his last name.
