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I knew that when I did, Lulu would most likely be laughing it up with some of the old ladies as they watched over their kids. I hoped to be part of that someday.
"And don't bring anything!"
Laughter exploded from me at her not-so-subtle reminder of my first time attending one of the MC's cookouts. I'd assumed that it was something like a potluck, but I’d been the only one to take anything—a watermelon, which had ended up being used for target practice. Apparently, all the food was provided by the club and prepared right there in the kitchen.
"I gotta go, hon, dinner's done, and my man is sitting at the table with a hungry look on his face. See you tomorrow!"
I barely got out, "Okay" before Lulu hung up. Smiling, I set my phone down and picked up my wine glass.
I really loved Lulu. Our friendship had formed fast after our first meeting. Brody had been shot, and Lulu had been taking care of him. Liam had asked me to help nurse him back to health. It had been one of the few times that he'd ever asked me for help. I'd never learned the full scope of what had been going on during that time, and I'd quickly learned the meaning behind "club business," a phrase that the Desert Rebels used all too often when they didn't want to explain what was going on, especially to their old ladies.
Lulu had been a club girl with the Desert Rebels for something like ten years, so she knew a lot of the lingo and explanations for them and had been a valuable source of information for me. Not that I aspired to becoming anyone's old lady, but you never knew what life would throw your way. There were a lot of hot, sexy bikers in that club, and while Liam ran the other way whenever he saw me, there were a few others who'd shown interest.
I had to get over Liam's rejection or I was never going to move on.
I finished my wine and took a shower before heading to bed to read for a little while. Reading always helped me wind down and get to sleep. Right now, I was in the middle of Stephen King's "The Stand", one of his earlier books, and one I'd read many times. He was my absolute favorite author, and I had quite a library of his first editions.
As I settled the pillows behind me and prepared to read, I knew that it wouldn't take long before Mr. Sandman paid me a visit.
Wine and reading were my sleep aids.
Chapter 3
Doc
I rolled over, hit the alarm, and then settled on my back with a heavy sigh. My head was pounding like a fucking drum. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for some relief. Too much fucking alcohol the night before. I had to stop doing this to myself. It wasn't me. Sure, I liked to get a buzz on like most of my brothers did, but one mention of Harlow's name, and I'd gone into a tailspin of angry self-destruction.
It was pure fucking hell loving a woman you couldn't have.
I knew I should just call Demon and tell him that I wasn't going to make the cookout. If only the crafty bastard hadn't conveniently scheduled church first thing this morning. Unless you were shot up and on your way to the hospital or dead, you didn't miss church. Especially not if you were an officer. And since I'd given up my practice and was spending more time at the clubhouse these days, I'd been given Sgt. At Arms patch.
Had to admit, I was proud as fuck of that.
Cole was the Enforcer. Some folks—civilians mostly—thought the two patches meant the same thing, but there was a difference. While Cole protected the patch holders’ and club's reputations and assisted during conflict and combat, I was responsible for making sure that the bylaws and rules of the MC weren’t violated, and that orders that were given out were executed quickly. I was also tasked with keeping order at meetings and club events. Cole and I worked closely together.
My cell rang. I swore and reached for it blindly. "Yeah?"
