“You gonna go cut in?” I ask.
He watches the girls and seems to be considering it. The music changes and Remy, of all people, slides up to Anya and whisks her away. Ice throws them a glare that could melt a glacier. After a few seconds of watching them all but fuck standing up, he storms off.
Jigsaw wanders over with his eyebrows raised and cheeks puffed out. “Holy fuck.” He whistles and shakes his head.
I’m not as amused as he seems to be. “Our support club shouldn’t piss off the president of the charters we visit,” I say as we watch Remy and Anya grinding away in the middle of the party room.
“How’s Remy supposed to know?” Jigsaw shrugs. “She’s not patched.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s in another club’s house. He needs to learn better manners.”
Jigsaw steps back and slaps my chest. “Do you think Shelby re-virginized you or something?” He squeezes his eyes shut and taps the side of his head. “I think…no I’m positive I remember you doing something similar when you were a prospect.”
I groan and smack his hand off my chest. “That was different.”
“It was worse.”
Even if I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. “Thank fuck Hopper retired. Z wants me to stop by Washington eventually. Hopper would probably shoot me on sight.”
Jiggy—asshole that he is—doubles over laughing. “You dodged a bullet.”
“Several of them,” I grumble.
“No, seriously. I hear his daughter has like four kids now.”
“Yeah? Hopper shoot their daddy?”
“Probably.” He clasps his hands under his chin. “Please, let me come with you when you show your face in Washington.”
“I’m really not that worried about it.” I honestly try not to dwell on that time in my life unless Jigsaw brings it up. Maybe Shelby has scrambled my brain. Sometimes it feels like nothing else existed before we met. Her presence in my life creates a glow that chases all the shadows of my past into the holes where they belong.
Murphy ambles over with a wide-eyed face and tilts his head toward Anya and Remy. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Probably. Why don’t you go collect your boy?” I suggest.
“He’s not my boy,” Murphy growls.
“Forget Anya.” Jiggy slaps both of us on the shoulder and lifts his chin in Shelby and Heidi’s direction. “Everyone’s staring at your ol’ ladies anyway.”
Murphy rams an elbow in Jiggy’s side. “Quit being a creep. They’re having fun.”
Creep or not, Jiggy’s not wrong. The girls are playfully performing an innocent country-type dance together. Or rather, Shelby’s patiently showing Heidi some steps. There’s more giggling and twirling going on than dancing. A damn welcome sight after the last few days. Still, they’re drawing a lot of attention. Heidi’s patched, so no worries there. Everyone’s seen me with Shelby and knows who she is, so I’m not too stressed about the attention they’re receiving. Yet.
I bump Murphy with my shoulder. “Thanks for bringing Heidi with you. I think Shelby’s really liked having the girls here.”
He cocks his head, studying me for a minute, like maybe I’m trying to bust his nuts instead of sincerely thanking him. “Anytime, brother.”
My gaze lands on one of the local brothers who’s now eying Shelby too close for my comfort. While keeping his gaze on Shelby, he leans in toward another brother and says something they both share a laugh over. The easy smile slides off my face. Imagining whatever filthy comments they’re trading nudges me forward. As I step into the crowd, Jigsaw’s rumbling laughter follows me.
Shelby’s moving fast. Her body brushes mine and I catch her mid-twirl, wrapping my arm around her waist and yanking her closer.
I lean down, inhaling her soft, powdery scent and kiss her bared shoulder. “You’re a beautiful blur out here.”
She tips her head back, staring up at me. Wide eyes, pink cheeks, sweat misting her skin, and a happy glow curving her lips. “Hey, there.”
In front of us, Murphy has Heidi in a similar hold. She laughs and teases him about teaching him to dance.
Shelby turns, looping her arms around my neck and swaying her hips from side to side. “I’ve lost two dancing partners. Now, you have to dance with me.”
I rest my hands on her hips. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I happen to know you have excellent rhythm.”
“That’s different.” I lean down and press my forehead to hers.
“How was your meetin’? You’re not in trouble with Ice, are ya?”
“Not at all.” The opposite, actually. Ice wanted to cut me in for a percentage of Anya’s profits from the site. After all he’s done—loaning me vehicles, putting Jackson on Shelby’s case right away, personally helping me search for her, offering to monitor Suggs as he moves through the justice system—I told him I couldn’t accept. He left me with the impression he might go to Z and offer to kick that percentage up to my charter, which is fine. I got no control over whatever arrangement the two presidents decide.
Murphy—that big, ginger fucker—disappears with Heidi, leaving the Remy situation to implode. I scan the room for Dex, who might be able to talk some sense into Remy, or Wrath, who might be able to beat it into the kid. Can’t find either of them.
I lead Shelby over to a quieter corner of the room, claim a chair and pull her into my lap.
“Were you okay earlier? Out here with them, I mean.” I lift my chin toward Remy who’s still slow-grinding with Anya in front of everyone. Griff’s too absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his phone to pay attention to the girls who keep approaching him or notice the ass-kicking his buddy’s about to receive.
“Oh yes.” Her lips pull up. “Trinity’s one badass bitch. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.”
My blood simmers. “Who hassled her?” Not that Trin can’t handle herself, but I don’t want anyone harassing my brothers’ women.
“No one.” Shelby waves her hand in the air between us. “Remy had some questions and she told him the appropriate place to find that information.”
I sense she’s not giving me the whole story but if it’s important, I’m sure Trinity will relay it to Wrath and he’ll handle it.
“You’re okay, though?”
“I’m fine. Remy asked about their patches.” She ducks her head. “Why I don’t have one.”
No wonder Trinity took exception. That’s not a question a biker should ask. And definitely not something he should talk about to my ol’ lady. Little fucker.
I wasn’t ready to talk about this with her. Buy an RV to tour the country? Sure. Take a chance she’ll balk at wearing something that proclaims her my property? Not so much.
“Does it bother you?” I purposely leave the question vague, waiting to see how she interprets it.
“No,” she answers quickly. “You told me that for your club it was equivalent to an engagement ring.” She squeezes my arm. “I’m not expecting…that’s a big step.” She tilts her head toward the front door. “You just bought me a freakin’ house.”