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“Nope,” Candy disagrees. “The marquise.”
“Nu-uh. The princess cut,” Ebony objects.
My jaw ticks, frustration building with each second that passes. I have three women giving different votes. I should’ve known better than to expect a united front from the MC women when I asked for their input. Women are selective about whattheywant. I need an outside perspective.
I turn to Jared, Jo’s best friend and business partner. “What do you think?”
Jared sighs, annoyed. “Did you really invite me to give input on a woman’s accessory?”
Seriously?The man is more put together than any other guy associated with the MC. I eye him up and down, taking in his wrinkle-free clothes, perfectly kept hair, and clean-shaven face. Jared is like Mister GQ compared to the rest of us oil-encrusted leather bikers. Combined with my pretty-boy brother, Ziggy, he makes the rest of the crew look like trolls. Jared is fooling himself if he thinks he doesn’t have better taste than me. Confused, I ask, “Why shouldn’t I ask your opinion?”
“I’m a dude who likes masculine men. I wear Carhartt flannels and Wrangler pants and work in construction. Why would you theorize I liked feminine anything?”
I must give offare you kidding mevibes because Jared huffs, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. The emerald cut, obviously. It has a timeless beauty. I’m embarrassed for you not realizing that.”
Fuck me.That’s four different suggestions. Overwhelmed, I grab my head with both hands. “Which one should I choose?”
“None of those,” Jo says dismissively, waving her hand at the gems while running her free hand over her protruding baby bump. I still can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle to twins. Admittedly, I’m jealous of her and Atlas. As soon as I marry Opal, I’m going to beg for kids.
“I agree with Jo,” Simone says. She flips her sandy hair over her shoulder. “You need to pick a stone that speaks to you. Something that when you look at it, you say, ‘That’s Opal.’”
I run a hand over my face. This is harder than I thought it would be. Nobody told me the pressure I would be under to pick the perfect ring for my forever woman.
Opal and I’s relationship continues to grow stronger with each passing day. And with each passing day, I keep falling harder for my precious woman.
It’s been three months since the pervert approached Opal. I’ve determined he’s law enforcement, possibly FBI or CIA. No one can find Opal so easily and stay hidden so well unless he has a lot of resources to help him. Opal hasn’t mentioned who the bastard is, but I have a theory why. Hence why I’m here with all the MC ladies and Jared, sweating over picking out the ring of her dreams. She needs to know I’m not going anywhere—permanently.
Punk pipes in, “Why does it have to be a diamond?”
Annoyed, I glare at him. “Why are you here?”
“Because I’ve got taste,” Punk zings back. “This isn’t my first rodeo picking out a perfect ring for a perfect lady.” Punk immediately clamps his mouth shut, grimacing.
It’s not often Punk brings up his past and for good reason. His ex worked him over bad. For a second, I feel sad for my obnoxious brother until he opens his mouth again.
“Besides, I need to make sure you don’t fuck this up. Diamonds, Gauge? Seriously?”
“That’s what you get a woman when you propose, moron,” Simone chastises Punk.
Ha!I enjoy it when Simone challenges Punk. They’ve been butting head since day one. What makes it more comical is Punk’s best friend, Chase, is head over heels for his frenemy.
Punk puts a hand up in front of Simone’s face to silence her. “Not all engagement rings need to be a diamond, Miss Priss.”
Simone slaps Punk’s hand aside. Before the two can go to blows, I say, “No, Punk’s right.”
“I usually am,” Punk quips with a smug grin reserved for Simone. She bares her teeth at him.
“Do you have any other gems?” I ask the jeweler. “Perhaps an opal?”
The jeweler digs through his collection in his case, pulling out a selection of blindingly beautiful opals. Some are as dark as nighttime, others so pale they almost appear washed out. I rule those out. Opal would want a stone truly resembling a rainbow. My eyes keep returning to one stone in particular. Though it showcases hints of all the colors, there is a heavy prominence on the green. I pick up the oval stone, holding it up to the light to get the true kaleidoscope of colors.
“Opal does like to gush about how green your eyes are,” Punk murmurs low in my ear.
I flinch. “Dude, back up.”
“I agree with Punk,” another voice rumbles in my other ear, nearly making me rocket out of my seat. The stone pops out of my hand like a firecracker. I snag it in the air before it hits the desk.
“Jesus F Christ, Chase! Why are you in my bubble? How did you get in?” Sneaky fucker is always creeping up on people—in person and on the web.
