“No need to apologize, my dear. I appreciate an assistant that isn’t afraid to speak up,” he says with a wink.
We spend the rest of the day figuring out a routine together. Dr. Henson is an easy man to work for, and the workload for the clinic isn’t hectic in the slightest. Most of the people who come in are “ol’ ladies,” who are the girlfriends or wives to the club members, and their children who are here for checkups.
Some of the patients are women who Dr. Henson refers to as “close friends” of the club, and I can definitely tell those women are not ol’ lady material. Something about them doesn’t sit well with me. They look a little strung out, possibly on drugs, and they aren’t the friendliest to me, although I’m not sure why.
Most of them are tested for STDs and to refill birth control. He tells me to get used to seeing them because they are regulars in the clinic. They come in every two weeks to be tested. Talk about overkill!
At the end of the day, I walk the short distance to the clubhouse and take a quick shower. I’m still shocked the shower has been scrubbed clean — so much so that when I get out, I decide to do something nice for Jake. I can admit I’ve been a bitch the past couple of days, and while he did screw me over before, it was a long time ago. If I try to punish him for it for the rest of our lives, I’ll be one miserable woman.
I order an Uber and pull on a pair of jeans and an old tee. I slide on a pair of flip-flops and go outside to wait. I’m pleased to see it’s the same driver as before. At least he knows the drill. Just like last time, the car and driver are both inspected by one of the Bastards, but just like last time, the driver tells me that he doesn’t mind.
We make small talk while he drives, him telling me about his wife and kids; he has two boys and one girl. I tell him about my job as a nurse and that I’ve recently relocated here to Birmingham. I don’t go into a lot of detail when he asks why I relocated. I simply tell him my dad died, and I moved to be closer to my brother. It’s nice to chat with someone who has no stake in my life.
I ask the driver if he can take me to the closest grocery store and wait while I run inside. I promise him I won’t be long. I make quick work inside, grabbing the items I need. I’m not sure how much these men eat, but I want to get enough for everyone, so it doesn’t appear I’m only cooking for Jake.
I’m full of excitement as the driver, whose name is Don, takes me back to the clubhouse. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked, but I’ve never forgotten Jake’s favorite meal. Hopefully, he’ll see this meal as a peace offering.
“You’re the one who ordered the wrong fucking size boards!” I accuse Munsey, untying my toolbelt and tossing it on the back of the truck. “A whole fucking day’s work down the damn drain!”
“I ordered what I was fucking told to order!” he argues.
“Then the shit would’ve been right! Do you have any idea how that fucks with our books?” I ask him, giving him a hard shove.
He shoves me back, and I take a swing, connecting my right fist to his jaw. He stumbles and mumbles a curse, coming up ready to fight. He may only be a prospect, but he won’t take any shit, even from me. That’s one of the reasons the club is ready to vote him in.
“Enough!” Hunter yells. “We’ll fix the damn books!”
Munsey glares at me, and I’m practically snarling at him. Finally, he stomps off, going to the truck to unload the tools and restock with Dash. I hear Hunter tell the two of them they’ll have to leave early enough in the morning to pick up the correct size boards before we start the workday.
I’m typically not such a hothead, not with the brothers anyway, but any time Hunter wasn’t in sight, all I’ve heard was how Dash jacked off to Skylar’s panties. The fucking douchebag hasn’t returned them to me, and now I don’t fucking want them. I want him to destroy them so he can never rub one out to them again. Sick bastard.
It took all I had not to kick his ass, but then he would’ve wanted to know why, and so would everyone else, and technically, he didn’t touch Skylar.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Hunter asks me, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “When was the last time you had some pussy?”
I shrug his arm off. “He fucked up.”
“Go find a woman’s legs to get between and burn off some of that frustration,” Hunter suggests, opening the door to the clubhouse. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
The scent of bacon and pancakes assaults my nose, my mouth instantly watering. Skylar stands behind the bar with Allie, an assortment of food on display. My favorite food. She smiles over at Hunter and me while she places another plate stacked with pancakes on the bar, and Allie starts placing beers out for everyone.
She cooked for me, just like an ol’ lady would do. This incredible fucking woman cooked for me. Yeah, there is enough food here for the whole club, but I’m dead fucking certain she didn’t forget breakfast food is my favorite meal.
She has it all, too. Bacon, eggs, sausage, grits, and pancakes. Christ, I love her damn pancakes. A man can get used to coming home to this. She takes a pitcher out of the fridge, and my jaw nearly drops. She even made sweet tea! Forget the damn beer!
“I hope this is enough for everyone,” she says almost shyly.
Hunter rounds the bar and encloses her in a hug, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Is it wrong to be jealous of him right now? He can freely show his appreciation for her while I have to pretend every part of me isn’t dying to touch her.
“Allie helped,” Skylar says, nudging Allie’s side.
The blonde shrugs nonchalantly. “Not really.”
But she still blushes when Hunter gives her a kiss on the cheek, thanking her. I almost laugh at how fucking blind he is. She’s practically drooling, and he doesn’t even notice.
“You want me to fix you a plate?” Skylar asks him.
“I’m going to shower, and then I’m coming back to eat,” Hunter says, and then he yells a warning out to the brothers, “There had better be some fucking food left when I get out of the shower, or I’m kicking some ass!”
Without bothering to shower first, I go take a seat at the bar. Skylar is still smiling happily, and it makes me smile — something I’ve realized I rarely do.
“Can I dig in?” I ask her.
She hands me an empty plate, and Allie walks off to help everyone else. “Of course.”
I take a generous helping of everything, pretending to fight over the pancake she’s trying to put on her plate. She grabs the syrup and comes to sit beside me, stealing a piece of bacon from my plate.
She leans over and says quietly, “Thank you for the bathroom. I appreciate it.”
“Thank you for cooking.”
We start eating, and a few minutes later, Hunter joins us. The brothers make no qualms about thanking her for the meal, hinting that she is welcome to do this every single day.
“Don’t get used to it,” Hunter warns. “Her place will be ready on Saturday.”
I do a good job of masking my reaction. I knew she would be leaving this weekend. Fuck, I intend to buy her childhood home so she can leave Birmingham altogether. I shouldn’t feel disappointed that I won’t be seeing her every day. Getting her away from here is what’s best for her.