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Rolling onto my back, I murmured, “Like a lead balloon since pretty much all of my friends are connected to the club.”
“Yup, but I said it was a girl we went to school with who you hadn’t talked to in a while but was cool even though she didn’t have many friends.” I was about to thank my sister for her quick thinking when she added, “He backed off, but he must’ve called Dad as soon as the appointment was done because he popped in like five minutes after the client left.”
“Crap.”
“So you’d better send Mom a text or something so she can keep Dad off your back, at least for a few more days,” she suggested.
“Will do. Sorry you had to lie to Dad for me.”
“I’m sure you’ll have to do the same for me someday,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, Dad is lucky we didn’t rebel harder, considering how overprotective he is.”
“True.”
We chatted for a little longer, and then when we hung up, I fired off a quick message to my mom, letting her know that I was fine and to talk my dad off the ledge if he couldn’t handle not knowing where I was. Then I raided Maverick’s dresser for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Just when I finished with a shower and was dressed, he came stomping back into the room.
“What’s wrong?”
“Fuck.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I gotta go for a bit. Fox has to leave on a run, so I have to deal with some shit.”
His explanation was vague, but I knew better than to ask any questions about club business. “Don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t leave right now if you didn’t have to.”
“My princess is so fucking perfect,” he murmured before giving me a deep kiss.
When he finally lifted his head, I nudged him toward his closet. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back.”
While Maverick was showering, my cell dinged. Glancing down at the screen, I smiled.
Mom
Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell him it’s girl stuff, and you’re still in touch with me, so you’re good. That should hold him off for at least an hour. LOL
It’d better be longer than that…or else Maverick and I were screwed. We needed time to figure out what happened next. I frowned as I thought about what I’d do when Mav was doing club business or out on a run. I was going to be stuck twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do.
Maverick pulled on a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt, then strode over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just,” I heaved a deep sigh. “What am I supposed to do while you’re busy? I’m not the kind of person who can sit around all day.”
Wrapping his hand around my arm, he pulled me to my feet. “I can’t do shit about having shit to do for Fox, but I can fix this.”
7
MAVERICK
Iheld up my vest for Molly to stick her arms into, and when she did so without hesitation, I brought her close for a deep kiss. When I pulled back, I couldn’t help grinning smugly at the dazed expression on her beautiful face. I wanted to take her back to bed and turn the simmer in her green pools into an inferno. To kiss every inch of her skin, lick every adorable freckle, and spend a fuck of a lot more time playing with her sexy as fuck piercings. But I had shit to do before I could take her back to bed.
Taking her hand, I walked with her through the clubhouse and out the front gate onto the street. Iron Inkworks was only two blocks away, so we were there in a few minutes.
I held the door open, and she stepped inside, then stopped and breathed, “Whoa.” Her eyes scanned all around, taking everything in, and even though I’d had nothing to do with the business, I couldn’t help feeling proud at her awed reaction. Mostly though, I was relieved, because if she’d hated it, it would have made shit much harder.
The style was industrial, with concrete walls and floor, exposed beams, pipes, ductwork, and even metal grates separating the workstations. It would have been very stark and bleak if not for the rich, brown leather furniture, sepia-toned photographs on the walls, and other touches like a vintage jukebox, potted plants, and an old wood-burning stove “fireplace” in the waiting area.
“The vibe here is awesome,” Molly murmured.
“Maverick.”
I tore my gaze away from Molly to meet Whiskey’s light brown eyes as he walked toward us with a scowl on his face—basically his permanent expression. Whiskey was our sergeant at arms, managed Iron Inkworks, and was an unbelievably talented artist. He wore his cut with a white T-shirt underneath that showcased his full sleeves on each arm, going all the way down to his fingers. His neck was also covered in ink, a design very similar to mine. We’d served in the military together, and the tats had meaning only to us.
“Whiskey,” I said with a lift of my chin. “This is my woman, Molly.”
