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It was depressing to consider that he’d said he wanted her to be his girlfriend only for her to ruin it in the proceeding moments.
Picking at the eggs, Angel ate as much as her shaky stomach would allow before forcing herself to get out of bed. She couldn’t just sit around thinking all day. She’d drive herself crazy and, from her experience, she’d reach all the wrong conclusions. Drama wasn’t her style, at least not in action. Her thoughts were a different story. They tended to get a touch carried away.
Distraction. She needed a distraction.
Ambling from her room, Angel crossed the hall and knocked on Rena’s door before shoving it open and peeking inside. She hadn’t heard her come in last night. Looking peaceful, Rena was sprawled out on her stomach, one leg curled up to her side and the other hanging off the side of the bed, arms extended above her head, and a light snore filling the air.
Reminded her of the way she used to sleep as a small child. So sweet and perfect. Until she woke up.
“Hey,” Angel said, her voice sharp enough to hurt her sensitive head and loud enough to wake her sister. “Wanna come do laundry with me today?”
The suckiest part of renting an apartment? The lack of a personal washer and dryer. While most used the complex’s communal laundry room, she preferred going to the laundromat where things were cleaner and more up-to-date. It was inconvenient but more comfortable than sticking closer to home, and she’d just run errands while the machines did their thing, like she always did.
A bunch of grumbles and muttered words came back as Rena rolled around and kicked at the blankets, waking up slowly and with a lot of attitude.
“It’s the freakin’ weekend. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping in?”
“Laundry waits for no man,” Angel joked, wondering where she got the energy to manage it with as crappy as she felt. “Come on, sis,” she said, not above whining and begging to get what she wanted, “I hate going alone.”
Pulling a pillow over her face, Rena mumbled “Go away,” but Angel wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She had one more, surefire trick up her sleeve.
“I’ll buy you ice cream…”
There was a pause, and breath held, and then the pillow was tossed aside. Rena stared at the ceiling for a moment then said hopefully, “Robin Baskins?” like she used to as a child. It had become a kind of joke they shared over the years.
Smiling, Angel said, “Yep. And last week I saw they had chocolate dipped waffle cones too.”
There was a flurry of activity as Rena untangled herself from the bedding and her feet hit the floor. She scrambled for clothes saying, “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
Angel nodded and hurried back to her room to get ready too, because even though her sister was a girl when she said five minutes, she meant five minutes. That was the nice thing about having a tomboy for a sister.
Now all she had to do was survive the day with the little hellion.
seventeen
Things were unusually quiet at the clubhouse today. Everyone had been dispersed to the wind. The prospects were around, but each had their own assignment designed to keep the place running smoothly and efficiently. Basically, things were getting handled.
The women were in short supply too. Most were at work or taking classes at the community college since the men liked their ladies empowered and with more than a few brains in their head. Call them weird or feminists or whatever, but as far as Moose was concerned, the mark of a good man was directly tied to the quality of the woman by his side.
Most of his brothers felt the same. It just made sense. Like begot like. If a man carried himself like trash, he was going to attract trash, and vice versa. A person had to consider the kind of company they kept.
Moose had hung back today because…well, what did an enforcer do when they had nothing to enforce? Things had been so quiet lately that his knuckles hadn’t had a good bruising in forever. He was starting to feel like Rocky by the last movie—old and washed up, no longer useful. It wasn’t as if he was a violent man by nature, and he sure didn’t relish getting his clothes bloody, but what did a guy have to do to get a little action around here?
As if the skies had opened up and the angels began to sing, the front door swung open, and a contrite Country came walking in, his gait wide and awkward as if he’d suddenly gone bowlegged and got his ass kicked and still had the guy’s boot shoved way up where the sun didn’t shine. He had his hand shoved down the front of his pants and was cussing up a storm.
“What’s wrong, little buddy?” Moose asked with a smirk. “Someone spur your ass or what?”
“Don’t you start with me,” Country warned him as he stormed past him on the way toward the wing that held the bedrooms. “Fuckin’ pants are chaffing my balls.” His hand got to working overtime.
“Are you wrestling a squirrel or somethin’?” Moose taunted, unable to help himself.
“Or somethin’,” Country barked, clearly not in a mood to play. “I swear to Christ. Can a person suddenly grow an allergy to jeans?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Moose replied smoothly. “Maybe polyester in your panties?”
Country swung a death glare over his shoulder. “They don’t even make polyester anymore. I think…”
Moose drummed his fingers on the table. “But they do make this nifty powder substance that can sure make it seem like it.”
