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“Good. We got some new jobs. One of them is Micah Poletti. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” I might have thrown in there that my dad owned his own construction company. I didn’t think Micah would actually seek him out, though.
I shrug. “He knows what you do.”
Mom and Dad know what I do and who I’m around, but they don’t ask many questions, for which I’m grateful. I can't answer everything, and they know it. We just pretend I have a regular job, which is fucking laughable. They would have heart attacks if they knew the shit I’m currently involved in.
“What do you do, Bridget?” Mom asks.
“Oh. I’m a personal stylist. I specialize in makeup, hair, and clothes.”
Mom runs her hands over her hair. “I may need one of those,” she says with a laugh.
“I can hook you up.” Bridget's phone starts ringing; she looks at the display and excuses herself from the room. I saw Alexey’s name flash across the screen before she stood up.
Mom watches her walk around the corner and out of earshot. “She’s gorgeous, Roman.”
“Mom,” I say in exasperation. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“You bring all your girl friends to meet your parents?” Mom retorts. “Because I’ve never met one.”
They had me there, but I couldn’t explain why I brought Bridget with me. And it wasn’t just because I’m her bodyguard today; for whatever reason, I wanted her to meet my folks. “It’s not like that.” And I couldn’t explain she is currently considering dating all of us and that she’s already with Lex and D. I turn to Dad, trying to change the subject. “When do you start the Poletti job?”
“Next week.”
“If you need some extra hands, I’ll send some.” Some of the Vipers are more than qualified and never pass up money. Plus, they’ve worked for Dad before.
“You should come help me. It’s been a while.”
“I can do that.”
Bridget walks back in and sits beside me on the couch. “Sorry about that. If you have the supplies, I don’t mind doing your hair.”
Mom raises a brow. “Really?” Mom usually keeps her hair perfectly styled, but I know money has been tight, which is why I keep sending work Dad’s way. Mom never could do shit with her own hair.
“For sure. I’d love to.” Bridget follows Mom out of the room, and Dad turns to me.
“Your mom is never letting that girl go now.”
After Bridget finished Mom’s hair, we left, and I drove to an abandoned lot, holding up my end of the bargain. Dad is right. Mom is never letting Bridget go. We could hear them laughing and talking in the kitchen the whole time. Mom is as hooked as we all are.
We switch seats, and I take a second to appreciate Bridget behind the wheel of my car. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, but I’m going to let it go. Yes, I do. Les taught me.”
“Cool. Drive then.” I sit back in the seat, bracing one hand on her seat so I can watch her. “The clutch is tricky in this, so take it slow.” She shifts into first, and it jerks, but she pulls out, not at all bothered by it. I have her go around the lot several times so she can get used to it. “Take it to the highway.”
She jerks to look at me, then back out of the windshield. “Aren’t guys supposed to be super protective over their cars?”
I shift in the seat and lean my elbow on the console. “Baby doll, if someone as hot as you wants to drive my stick, I’m going to fucking let them.”
“And there’s the joke,” Bridget laughs. She pulls to the end of the lot and pulls onto the main road to take us back to the highway. “How fast am I allowed to drive?”
“Drive it like you stole it,” I answer, making her laugh again. Fuck, I could listen to that sound all day. We hit the highway, and she hesitates. Traffic is thin, and this is the perfect time to get a feel for what this car can really do. “Open it, Baby doll. Show me what you’ve got.”
She looks at me to make sure I’m serious and stomps on the gas, slamming through gears. It’s not perfect, but she has an ear for when she should shift. It’s sexy as hell.
She whoops. “This is awesome!”
She swerves in and out of cars having the time of her life, and I can’t help but smile at her. Ten minutes in, we hear sirens wailing. Shit. I glance in the side mirror and see the patrol car flying up behind us. The car starts to slow down, and I look at Bridget. “Don’t stop.”
