"Ladies," he greeted, walking up behind Autumn and biting a noodle out of her hand as she lifted it to taste it herself. "What are we all... oh," he said, trailing off when his gaze landed on me. His smile faltered, changed a little. His eyes went knowing. Like... knowing knowing. "Hey Reagan," he greeted, something in his tone confirming my thoughts. That he knew who I was. Not Reagan, Nixon's date. But Reagan, the stalker.
"I, ah, hey," I greeted.
"You've met Atlas before?" Scotti asked, sounding a little put-out, like she was upset she didn't get first approval.
"No no," Atlas said, shaking his head. "We just know of each other, right?" he asked.
"Right," I agreed even if my knowledge of him paled in comparison to his knowledge of me.
"She drives a nice car. Rush is going to want a tour of it when he sees you're here," he added.
"Oh, when you see Rush," Lea started, eyes mischievous, "ask him if he's read any good books lately."
There was a collective snicker, shared smiles, and I was clearly out of an inside joke.
"Stop book shaming him," Peyton piped in.
"You don't get to play innocent little librarian with the horror porn you read, you perv, you," Fiona teased.
"Girls in glass phone sex operation buildings don't get to throw dildos," Peyton shot back."That doesn't work out logically, but it sounded cool," she added.
"Babe," another male voice joined, making me turn to find a good-looking guy with a leather biker jacket on. "How the fuck long has there been a pink vinyl pussy stuck to the back of my bike?" he asked, holding up the sticker in question.
"You put Janice right back where you found her," Peyton demanded.
"Janice?" Autumn asked, smiling.
"That's Sugar," Fiona offered. "He's Peyton's guy. And he puts up with a lot from her."
"I don't see the problem," Peyton insisted, shrugging. "Isn't that the ultimate chest-banging, dick-swinging, biker thing to have?"
"Baby, guys don't think pink pussy stickers are masculine at all."
"Fine. I'll stick her on my car instead."
"She'll be right at home beside the cock sticker," Sugar told her, sticking Janice to the back of his woman's arm before rounding the counter again.
"He knows his name is Herbert," Peyton said, tsking her tongue as she moved to slip the sticker into her purse sitting on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
"You'll get used to it," the blonde who had been introduced as Dusty told me, offering me a warm smile. "I know it feels like a lot at first. Sometimes, I still get overwhelmed."
"It was worse when all the kids were little," Autumn added.
"Don't remind me that all my kids are pretty much grown now," Fiona pleaded, running her fingers through her daughter's hair.
"Speaking of your girls," Lea said, nodding her head toward the back door where a pretty early-twenties-something girl was charging up the back deck. Everything about her gait and the tightness to her jaw said something was wrong.
A second later, she flew in the back door, long hair waving behind her, eyes sparking off as she slammed the door behind her.
"Uh oh," Dusty said under her breath.
"I. Am. Going. To. Chop. His. Balls. Off," she declared, tone sharp; if words could cut, we'd all be bleeding.
"I have a really sharp butcher's knife," her grandmother supplied calmly, casually, not missing a beat, actually gesturing toward the drawer where I imagined it lived.
"I have handcuffs you can use to restrain him," Autumn offered.
"I got a garage you can string him up in," one of the Mallick sons- the biggest of them, I would imagine, with his rippling muscles- chimed in, walking in the room, face serious.
"You don't even know what this is about," Lea, presumably his woman since he moved in behind her, objected.
"Heard something 'bout chopping off balls. That's all I need to hear. I've never shied away from a little bloodshed."
Surely that was the case with his profession.
"As much as I love the wrath and vengeful badass look on you, Becca," Fiona started, head dipped toward her shoulder as she looked over her daughter, "perhaps we should know the situation before we start talking about neutering a man."
"So, you know that job I have been busting my ass trying to get interviewed for over the past three months?" Becca asked, hopping herself up on the counter, jaw ticking.
"Yes," Fiona agreed.
"The job I was born for? The one I have been dreaming of for, oh, I don't know, ten years, give or take?"
"I am aware of the job, honey," Fiona agreed. "What happened? Did the interview guy grab ass? Was he a creep?"
"The interview never freaking happened. They called and cancelled. The position had been filled. You'll never guess by who," she added, and I was sure her eyes were getting a little glassy.
"Oh, Beccs," her mother said, clearly starting to put the pieces together. "No."