My Hotshot, page 6
We watched in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward, though. Just quiet. She sipped her wine. I sipped my beer.
“I mean, it’s not what I would have picked,” she finally said, her voice softer now. She shifted slightly and leaned back into the cushions. “But it’s interesting.”
The longer the show played, the more she eased into the couch. We didn’t touch—not even close—but somehow, it still felt like we were wrapped in something warm.
The episode ended, and I looked over at her. “Want to watch the next one?”
She shrugged, lips curled slightly. “Sure, why not? Do you want anything to eat? I have some stuff left from the farmers market.”
“I could always eat, babe.”
She got up and disappeared into the kitchen again. I leaned back, finished off the beer, and listened to the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. A few minutes passed, then she returned with a wooden tray piled high with more food than I expected.
I leaned forward and looked at the spread. “This is more than a snack, babe.”
There were cut-up cake donuts—chocolate, cinnamon, powdered. Cubes of sourdough bread with a big scoop of soft butter next to them. Carrots and sugar snap peas nestled next to a small bowl of what looked like ranch or something. Bright red strawberries, fat green grapes, and a pile of salty-looking mixed nuts rounded it all out.
“It’s just what I had,” she said, and set the tray between us.
I raised my eyebrows. “You keep your fridge stocked as well as Adalee does.” I grabbed a grape and popped it in my mouth.
“Who’s Adalee?” she asked, and curled back into her spot on the couch. She didn’t take anything off the tray, just pulled her glass of wine close and tucked her legs underneath her.
“Fade’s ol’ lady,” I said.
“You really call her ‘ol’ lady’?”
I nodded and snagged a chunk of a chocolate donut. “That’s what she is.”
“Pretty sure she’s more than just being Fade’s… ol’ lady.”
I chuckled and took another drink of my beer to wash down the sweet. “Yeah, she is, babe. She can bake and cook anything. She’s opening up a bakery with Fallon.”
“Fallon is?”
“Compass’ ol’ lady.”
She took another sip of wine and studied me over the rim of her glass. “Do you have an ol’ lady?”
I shook my head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, babe. I’ve never had an ol’ lady.”
She didn’t look like she bought it. “Bullshit. You’ve never had a girlfriend?”
I sat back and looked her straight in the eyes. “Had one girlfriend in my life, and I’m looking at her.”
“Again, bullshit. You’re telling me you haven’t dated since we broke up?”
“I dated. But none of them ever stuck around.”
And that was the truth. I sure as hell hadn’t been a monk since Lainey and I broke up, but not a single woman had made me think about sticking. Not one made me wonder what color to paint my walls. Not one made me want to sit and watch tow truck drivers pull eighteen-wheelers out of ditches just to be near her.
“That is… surprising,” she said slowly.
I shrugged and pointed the remote at the TV. “It is what it is, babe.”
The next episode started up. Snow-covered roads, a truck jackknifed in a ditch, a driver cussing and flailing his arms around like a wild man. I grabbed more from the tray—bread, a carrot, one of those perfect strawberries. The whole thing was better than I expected.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lainey pull a blanket off the back of the couch and drape it across her lap.
“Want some?” she offered.
“I’m good, babe.”
She snuggled deeper into the blanket and, after a few minutes, inched closer to me. Not touching, but damn close. I could feel her warmth even through the space between us.
About twenty minutes into the episode, I noticed her wine glass tipping to the side. I glanced over.
She was out.
Head tilted slightly, hair falling across her cheek, and lips parted just the smallest bit as she breathed slow and steady. Her legs were still tucked under her, but she had leaned slightly toward me, like gravity couldn’t help itself. I took her wine glass out of her hand, and she didn’t budge.
I grabbed the tray and set it on the coffee table, careful not to jostle her.
This wasn’t how I thought the night would go. I’d expected her to either tell me to get lost or maybe toss some insults my way before booting me out.
Instead, she’d shared her wine, her space, and—hell—even her couch blanket.
I wasn’t going to complain.
Sitting next to a sleeping Lainey was a hell of a lot better than hanging around the clubhouse tonight. I loved my brothers. I loved the club. But being here, in this quiet little house, with a tray of food and Lainey breathing softly beside me?
It made me realize something.
Maybe there was more I’d been missing.
Chapter Ten
Dice
The word came out of my mouth before I even thought it. “No.”
Yarder nodded like he expected it. “Yeah, brother.”
“I’m not fucking doing it,” Throttle groaned, and threw his head back like a kid refusing to eat his vegetables.
Yarder’s eyes narrowed. That look alone could set fire to a grown man.
“You said we were done with the TV show,” I pointed out, crossed my arms, and leaned back in my chair. “Pretty sure we heard that.”
“Don called,” Yarder said, his tone clipped. “They need photos for promo. We’re the first season now. They’ve changed some shit up, and now they’re doing our club first. The Fallen Lords are getting bumped to the next season.”
“Fucking lucky,” Smoke grumbled. “They get to see how we got screwed and go in smarter.”
Yarder shrugged. “Probably. But it also means they’re not gonna come crawling back to us for another season.”
“Or,” Fade cut in, “the world’s gonna fall in love with the Iron Fiends, and the production company’s gonna decide to stick with us.”
Pirate leaned forward. “I can talk to Saylor and Mac. See if they’ve heard anything about what Don’s planning. Might give us a heads-up.”
Yarder nodded. “Do it.”
“Can’t they just use shit from the show for promo?” I asked.
Yarder threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking know, Dice. None of us want to do this anymore, but we signed the contracts. We’ve got to.”
“Tell them the rest,” Compass muttered from Yarder’s right.
Yarder sighed. “Also, when the show premieres, they want us there.”
“There where?” Cue Ball asked.
“Wherever they decide to do the premiere. They bring people in to watch the show before it airs on TV. I guess it’s a thing.”
“And when the hell is that?” Aero asked, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Two months.”
The room lit up with angry murmurs and curses. Chairs scraped. Boots hit the ground louder than needed. Smoke swore under his breath while Throttle groaned like Yarder had just told him he’d have to shave his head.
“What are we supposed to do if Boone and Gibbs are still on our ass in two months?” Smoke asked.
Yarder’s voice went serious. “Stretch has three more weeks to do whatever the hell he’s doing. If he hasn’t made a move by then, the Banachi are stepping in. By the time of the premiere, Boone and Gibbs are gonna be just a memory.”
Fade tipped his head and grinned. “I fucking really like the sound of that.”
Pirate bumped his fist against Fade’s. “Hell yeah, brother.”
That got everyone fired up. The noise shifted from complaints to celebration. Grins, fist bumps, excited mutters. Hope was a dangerous drug, and we were all getting a little high.
“All right, all right,” Yarder hollered over the noise. “Save the party for after. Right now, we gotta get through this damn photoshoot.”
The groans returned like clockwork.
Yarder nodded to Compass.
“They’ve got Aero, Cue, Pirate, Throttle, and Smoke scheduled at nine in the morning next Wednesday,” Compass rattled off, his voice businesslike. “Then at noon, me, Fade, Dice, and Yarder. And at four, they want the ol’ ladies.”
“Like, couple shots?” Fade asked.
Yarder glanced to Compass.
“Solo shots of the ol’ ladies, then couple and group ones,” Compass explained.
“Dove’s gonna hate this,” Throttle laughed.
“Sloane ain’t gonna be thrilled either,” Aero added.
“We’re just as surprised they want them,” Yarder said as he rubbed his temple. “But if the audience likes what they see, the network’s doubling down. As much as we hated the cameras, the money they gave us got us out of a tight spot. Let’s get through this. Hopefully, they won’t need us again until the next club gets their seasons.”
“This shit is gonna take all fucking day,” Throttle whined.
“Yeah, well, tough shit. I’ll send you the address. It’s an old warehouse on the edge of town. Bring your bikes, and try not to look like dumbasses, yeah?” Yarder said, already done with the conversation.
There were a few muttered “yeahs” and “fine, whatevers.”
“Anything else?” I asked, already tapping my boot against the leg of my chair.
“Not really. Unless you’ve talked to Stretch,” Yarder said, his tone a little too pointed.
I shook my head. “Haven’t called him. He hasn’t called me.”
“Anything new from Leo and Brynn?” Throttle asked.
“They’re keeping eyes on Boone and Gibbs,” Yarder replied. “Looks like they’re thinning their herd. Stretch is sticking closer to Gibbs now—Gibbs has three guys with him regularly. Boone’s down to two.”
“Trying to consolidate power,” I muttered.
“Exactly,” Yarder nodded. “Very few people in or out. Gibbs has a woman with him all the time.”
“Wife?” I asked.
“Nope. Not married, far as Leo can tell. Just some chick he’s probably got wrapped around his finger.”
I nodded slowly. “So… it just seems like Stretch flipped on us?”
“Pretty sure Boone and Gibbs don’t know he’s Iron Fiends,” Yarder said. “He managed to embed himself as one of their hired guns. Not sure how, but he did.”
“He’s still got time before Leo and Brynn move?” I pressed.
Yarder nodded. “As long as Boone and Gibbs don’t wise up before then. He’s got three weeks left to work his magic.”
Somewhat reassuring, but the knots in my gut didn’t ease.
“There is the matter of you,” Yarder added, eyes sliding over to me.
I straightened. “Me?”
“Yeah. What was up with the text last night? Smoke said it was a chick from your past?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was nothing.”
“A nothing that we might have to move into the clubhouse?” Yarder asked. “You’re the eighth one falling for a chick that ends up needing club protection.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Not sure, Yarder. As of right now, no. She’s just someone I used to know.”
“Sure that didn’t change after last night?” Smoke asked with a smirk. “I saw the way she looked at you when we finally found her phone.”
“Dice finally falling for a chick,” Throttle snickered. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t fall for her last night.”
Sixteen years ago, I had.
“Nothing to worry about right now,” I added, firmer. “Lainey’s not club business.”
Yarder watched me closely, and his face was unreadable. Then he gave a slow nod. “Fine. But let me know when that changes. I’m not much into being surprised.”
“Will do,” I said.
With that, Yarder banged the gavel on the table, signaling church was over. Everyone started filing out, some grumbling about the photoshoot, while Pirate was planning how to get out of the shoot.
I lingered in my seat, letting the noise drift out of the room with the guys. When the last of them was gone, I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen.
Lainey’s number sat in my contacts now. Simple. Easy. Too damn tempting.
I didn’t hit call. Didn’t type out a text. Just stared.
Maybe I wouldn’t be seeing her anytime soon. I hadn’t thought it through last night, not really. I’d let myself enjoy it—her, the quiet, the memory of what we used to be—but reality was crashing in now.
Boone and Gibbs were still out there. Still dangerous. And I was going to be tied up with this promo shoot and whatever else the production crew dreamed up in their quest to make us look good.
Bringing Lainey into all of this?
Might not be the smartest move.
She didn’t need this world and this chaos. And I didn’t need another weakness on the board—not right now.
Later might be better. Safer.
I tapped out a message to her and sat back in my chair.
I sat there and hoped like hell I’d figure out what to do before I lost my shot with her all over again.
Chapter Eleven
Lainey
I poured my third cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen island. One hand wrapped around the warm mug and the other massaging my temple like that would somehow make the dull ache go away. The caffeine was doing its best, but I was still one degree south of functional.
“Mom, I’m home!” Lottie’s voice rang through the front door.
I smiled, just a little. Something about hearing her call out like that always settled the chaos in my chest. “I’m in the kitchen,” I called.
Lottie padded in with her overnight bag and dropped it with a thunk onto the hardwood floor. She took one look at me and wrinkled her nose. “You look tired.”
I raised a brow. “Hello to you, too.”
She laughed and tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Sorry. Hello, Mom.” She paused dramatically. “You look tired.”
I took a slow sip of my coffee. “I stayed up late watching TV.”
“Really? I figured you would’ve been out by eight.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m thirty-four, Lottie, not eighty-four.”
She snorted and walked over to the trash, pulled a wrapper from her hoodie pocket, and tossed it. “You didn’t do anything else?” she asked casually, moving to the fridge and opening the door.
I kept my expression neutral, though a small flutter stirred in my stomach. “Just had Chinese, pigged out on stuff from the farmers market, and watched TV. I started a show about tow truck drivers.”
That wasn’t a lie. I just… conveniently left out that a six-foot-something, tattooed blast from my past had been on the couch beside me for most of it.
Lottie turned with a bottle of water and twisted the cap. “Tow truck drivers?” She laughed. “That sounds a bit out of the norm for you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really know what my norm is anymore.”
“Are you going to become a tow truck driver now?” she teased.
I rolled my eyes and took another sip of coffee. “That is a negative. I’m more than okay running my marketing business. Pretty sure I can’t be a tow truck driver from my computer in the spare bedroom.”
“Touché,” Lottie said, grinning. “I don’t think you could fit a tow truck in there.”
We both laughed, and it felt good. Easy.
“How was your night?” I asked. “Did you have fun at the movies?”
She nodded and leaned against the counter. “Yeah, it was good. We had pizza and tacos at Tiff’s and just hung out all night.”
“Did you go to bed at a decent hour, or are you going to sleep all afternoon?” I raised an eyebrow.
Lottie shrugged. “I mean, I’m not against taking a little nap later.”
“Lottie,” I warned playfully, “don’t sleep too much today, or you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight.”
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “I need to do my geometry homework, and then… do you want to watch a movie?”
“As long as you don’t expect me to help you with your homework.”
“I wouldn’t think of asking you, Mom.”
I raised a fist in mock triumph. “Death to geometry!” I had been known as one of the smartest girls in high school, but anything math-related had been hard for me.
“Mom,” she laughed and shook her head.
“Go do your homework, and then we’ll watch a movie,” I said. By then, hopefully, the pounding in my head would be dulled by caffeine and a couple of aspirin.
“Are you going to spend some more time with your tow truck drivers until then?” she teased, her eyes twinkling.
“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned. “Go.” I waved my hand toward the hallway.
She grinned and grabbed her bag. I heard her door click shut a few seconds later.
I turned back to my coffee, wrapped both hands around the mug, and let out a soft sigh. I always felt better when she was home. It was like a knot that had been twisted tight in my chest slowly loosened when she walked through the door. Safe. Here. My baby.
I took another sip and let my mind wander back to last night.
Duane.
He’d come over, just like that. After all these years. After all that silence and space and life.
And it had been… nice.
I had passed out halfway through the second episode of Highway Through Hell. I’d tried so hard to stay awake—mostly because I didn’t want to be that person who fell asleep during a hangout—but between the wine, the food coma, and the warm presence of Duane beside me, my body had tapped out.
He hadn’t made a big deal about it. Hadn’t poked or teased or made me feel stupid. He had just… gently nudged me awake. His hand had touched my shoulder, and I remembered his voice being soft, low. “I’m gonna head out, sweetheart.”
