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“You know, I assumed college was going to be more drinking, less homework,” Dakota groaned as we trudged back to our dorms, our criminal psychology class having drained every little part of our brain cells. I’d only been back a little over a week, and I was already struggling.
I wanted to go home to my man at night. Tell him how much college life sucked and have him screw my brains out and make me feel better.
“How did you even survive high school?” Crew chuckled, shaking his head.
“Uh… just like everyone else did?” She skipped ahead, turning to face us and walking backward. “You know, illegal drinking, making out with boys at parties, and cramming the night before tests.”
I snorted loudly and threw my hands up in the air. “Why am I not even surprised?”
Dakota was just one of those people who could write assignments the night before, and cram until midnight and then get up the next morning and ace the test. As much as I loved Dakota, people like her annoyed me. It took me a lot of focus and time studying to really pick something up. And I worked damn hard at it. And I would continue to keep working at it until I got where I wanted to be.
“We have a month to write this paper. So unlike you, I’ll be going inside to…” my words trailed off as the path opened up to our dormitories, and I stopped at the curb, my eyes catching the light sparkling off the motorcycle which was parked in the loading zone across the street. With Huntsman leaning against it.
Crew stopped beside me, hiking his bag up further on his shoulder and standing a little taller, Dakota freezing also, and frowning at the obvious confusion on my face before looking over her shoulder. “You want me to tell him to go take a running jump off a tall cliff?” she sneered, my five-foot-nothing friend looking utterly unafraid of the deadly looking biker.
I took a deep breath, allowing my friends to flank me as we made our way across the road.
He spotted us coming but didn’t move a muscle, continuing to relax back like he didn’t have a care in the world. A pair of dark shades covered his eyes, and his mouth was set in a serious hard-line which seemed to be his signature look, and had other students who were entering the dorms look as though they might call the police.
“I’ll be fine. You guys go ahead.” I wasn’t scared of him. He didn’t intimidate me, and I definitely didn’t get the vibe at any time that he’d hurt me.
Maybe it was because I’d spent so much time with bikers—my uncle, Optimus, Blizzard—because they all had that exact look, that same stare and a don’t fuck with me aura.
“I’ll head up to the boys’ room in case you want some privacy,” Dakota noted.
Her and Crew both watched Huntsman with narrowed eyes as they kept walking and ducked inside the building, while I stepped up onto the curb and folded my arms across my chest. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to show up unannounced?”
He turned his head just slightly, finally acknowledging me before he stood to his full height. This man was the epitome of confidence and swagger. Just the way he held himself told you everything you needed to know about him, including how you should stay well the fuck away from him.
I was nothing like him. But I couldn’t help but wonder how I could have been different had I had him in my life.
He walked the few feet to where I was waiting, obviously completely unaware of all the stares and whispers and college students with their noses pressed up against the door room windows. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to disrespect your elders?”
“What are you doing here?” I fired back, not wanting to just stand around and make a scene. He obviously didn’t give two shits who looked at him sideways, but I didn’t need my entire dorm sticking their noses in my personal business.
He reached behind him, pulling a small white envelope from his pocket and holding it up.
I quickly snatched it out of his hand. “Can we do this inside, please?” I hissed. “People are going start assuming things.” I quickly made a beeline for the door. After a few tense seconds, I heard his heavy footsteps behind me. People eyed me warily as I rushed down the hall with him on my tail, and opened Dakota’s and my dorm room, holding the door and tapping my foot impatiently as he took his time stepping inside. I slammed the door behind him, but the man didn’t even damn-well flinch.
I finally took a deep breath and looked down at the envelope which was crumpled in my hand. It was still sealed.
“You haven’t opened it, yet?” I asked with a frown. I would have thought he would have wanted to know right away, and this visit would have been entirely different if he’d found out that I wasn’t his.
He turned to me, lifting his sunglasses and placing them on his head. His club cut was well worn, the patches fraying at the edges, the leather a little discolored and patchy in places due to how much sun it saw, and how it was probably the same club cut he’d been wearing since he was a prospect. His club cut wasn’t something that gets replaced unless it’s seriously damaged. The men were expected to look after it and respect it. Their colors were treasured. They were never tossed on the ground. They were never given to anyone else to look after or clean or sew on patches. They did it all themselves.
“I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that you’re mine,” he finally answered, his voice gruff but not as hard. The tone was different, and it was unexpected. I raised my eyebrow, but that seemed to flick his hard-ass attitude back on. “Just open the damn thing and tell me what it says.”
I looked down at the envelope. It was thin, there wasn’t much to it. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, so I knew immediately it hadn’t been mailed to him from a DNA testing lab. I pulled nervously at the sealed flap, tugging it open inch by inch.
“Where did you have this done?” I asked as I tore the last bit of paper.
“Does it matter?”
“It does if you gave my DNA to some dodgy fucking laboratory that’s going to use it to make an army of clones one day,” I rattled nervously as I slipped the letter from its packaging and let the envelope float to the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “You are your fucking mother. Have to question everything and talk shit about nothing.”
Before I could even unfold the letter and read what it said, I felt this warm wave wash over me. It initially made me smile, to think he and my mom had this three-day fling where she would have seen a different side of this man. The man who made her smile so wide in the photo and laugh and act so free. That he had that kind of effect on her.
