“That’s what I like to hear.” Tiny nodded from his seat at the head of the large oak table. “Anyone got something to add?” He glanced around at the other members. “My old lady’s ready for some downtime. I’d like to give it to her.
They all chuckled. The one-woman cyclone Prez married had a temper you didn’t want directed at you. Though petite in stature, she had the personality of a hockey player and a mouth to match. Of course, that might have been due to her city of origin.
“All right I think we can adjourn this meeting. Keep your noses clean. We have a ride next Tuesday for the children’s hospital in town. Let’s raise some money for the kids, shake hands, do photo ops to prove we aren’t that scary and come back to party. The boys are about ready to blow off some steam.” There were murmurs of agreement.
“I’m calling the meeting at two twenty-five,” Moose bellowed as he brought down the gavel.
“Fastest meeting I ever been to,” Hawk said, his black brows drawn into a point.
“You wanted to stay longer and sing campfire songs?” Tiny asked.
“Just an observation.” Hawk shrugged.
“Careful, Moose, Hawk’s looking to jump ship.” Tiny snorted as they all stood from the table and made their way out of the room.
“You headed out now?” Moose asked.
“No, figure I could use a few more drinks and try to get my head straight.” Shooter rubbed his forehead.
“Hah. Good luck with the latter. The drinks we can provide you,” Moose said.
“Smart ass, sometimes I think they misnamed you,” Shooter said.
“I’m fine with Moose, thanks. Why do you think I always tell that story? Last thing I wanted to be stuck with was Mounty or some other lame Canadian reference.” Moose rolled his eyes.
“Clever.” Shooter tilted his head. People frequently underestimated Moose. It was the worst possible thing to do.
“I know, eh.” He grinned and flagged down Red for drinks.
Shooter loved his life—he just wondered if there was room in it for a woman like Juliette. She’d grown used to Moose and a few of the other more lighthearted brothers, but he’d never brought her to a club function. You already jumped the gun. It’s time to rip the Band-Aid off. This weekend I’ll bring her to a party and introduce her to Prez.
* * * * *
The phone jangled and the couch scooted forward as the girls all jumped. Sons of Anarchy was engaging, bloody, tense and full of scrumptious men. A glance down at her phone told Juliette that Shooter was calling as promised.
“Is it him?” Joey asked.
She nodded. “I’m going to take this out on the deck.”
“I bet you are.” Hilary winked. “Enjoy your real-life M.C. member.”
Answering the phone, Juliette tried to forget the gratuitous pictures of violence and scantily clad women who’d appeared on the television.
“Hey.” His deep timbre curled her toes in her sneakers.
“Hi,” she whispered, opening the sliding door and walking over to sit on one of the maroon-and-white cushioned lawn chairs.
“Are you still wearing my clothes?”
“Just the shirt.”
“Good. Wear it to bed tonight and nothing else.” Her sex tingled in anticipation. Focus. “Are you alone right now?” The words sent up a red flag.
“No, I have some friends over right now,” she said.
“When do you think they’ll head out?” His easy acceptance made her heart sing. There was no interrogation about who she was with or why they’d come to visit.
“Probably late, why?” She toyed with the cushions.