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“Well, a lot of the girls did look like they’re barely out of high school.” My lips curl into a sarcastic grin.
He narrows his eyes. “Everyone we hire is of legal age.”
“I wasn’t saying otherwise. It’s just…research shows human brains aren’t fully developed until about twenty-five. So, their decision-making skills might not always be the greatest.”
“They’re fucking adults. That sounds like a way to excuse a lot of bad behavior.”
“Not excuse,” I clarify. “To understand or explain.”
He’s quiet for a second as he seems to roll that thought around. In the meantime, his phone buzzes again.
Renee (W, F, Su): new tires n rims r here look good thx 4 ur help.
I hand him the phone. “Renee’s not a fan of capital letters and punctuation, huh?”
He snorts. “You and Wrath are definitely going to end up getting along.”
Strange comment for several reasons, but I let it slide. “No hair color for poor Renee?” I pull a teasing sad face. Unfortunately, he doesn’t laugh.
“It’s different every time she shows up for work.” He shrugs. “So, there’s no point.”
“Why is she telling you about her new tires?” What if that’s code for something more nefarious?
“I don’t know.” He glares at the screen, then flicks it off without answering either text. “I probably suggested a set she should buy or something. They’re always asking me about car stuff.”
“Why? Because you have a penis?” That they all probably want to ride. Thankfully, I keep that last thought in my mouth.
He snorts. “That, or you know, the road captain thing.”
“Oh, yeah,” I mutter, feeling dumb.
“It all falls under the umbrella of work stuff for me, Emily.” He passes his phone to me again. “My code is 2-0-0-7. Open it and read my texts whenever you want. All you’re going to find are more dumb texts like hair mishaps and my-llama-ate-a-sock-so-I-can’t-come-to-work-tonight excuses, cranky messages from Wrath to get my ass to church, bizarre porn links from Ravage, and normal shit or kid pics from the rest of my brothers. A few club group texts, including a weird one with Rooster, Shelby, Heidi, Murphy, and Jigsaw that I somehow got looped into.”
“You’re a popular guy.”
“Why do you think I keep it on silent most of the time?” More exasperation creeps into his voice.
My gaze drops to the top of his text list.
Firecracker. The corners of my mouth lift. I click on it and as I suspected, it’s our chain of messages.
“You don’t have me in here with my name and hair color?” I ask in a slightly teasing tone.
“You’re not some random girl I can’t remember.” He glances at the screen. “Anyone special is listed by a nickname.”
My gaze scrolls farther down the list. It’s true. Wrath, Zero, Murphy, I recognize some of his brothers’ road names. Ruthless, Stonewall, Vapor. Those don’t ring a bell, but I assume they’re brothers I haven’t met. “Who’s First Lady?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“Rock’s wife—Hope.”
“Ah, president’s wife. Got it.” My lips twitch. “Little Hammer?”
“Heidi.”
It feels weird to keep scrolling and asking questions. I hand the phone back to him. “I’m not going to spy on you.”
“It’s not spying if I’m giving you permission to look whenever you want.” He closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and pins me with a sincere expression. “I’m not an idiot. I get why you don’t enjoy random women texting me out of the blue. I’m not trying to hide anything from you, Emily.”
Honesty bleeds through his every word, so I try to set aside all the warning bells clanging in my overactive head. “Well, all you’ll find on mine are texts from Libby, hairstyles my friend Celia wants to try out on me, Serena sending me baby pics, and angry messages from my supervisor.”
“Hey, how come you’re the only one who gets pictures of Lincoln?” A slow, teasing smile spreads over his face. “Godfathers don’t get baby pics too?”
“I’ll share.” I reach over and rest my hand on his leg, squeezing lightly.
He cocks his head. “Why is anyone sending my girl angry texts?”
The possessiveness woven into his question does strange things to me. “I don’t want to talk about work.”
“Do I need to have a talk with someone?” he asks, not letting it drop.
“No. Nothing like that.”
Another electronic buzz interrupts us. This time, it’s my phone. “I better get that.”
I release him and grab my phone off the counter, quickly scanning the text from my sister. “Ah-ha! The princess is ready for her carriage.”
He chuckles. “Do you want me to go pick her up?”
I stop and consider the offer. We drove here in my car. I figured I’d just bring him back to his place when I picked Libby up from her friend’s. “You don’t have to do that. It’s going to be a bit chaotic around here anyway. She has to get ready for tonight’s show.”
