“Because I’m a fucking hostess,” she grumbled as her brother strode away. At least she wasn’t alone with Stefan.
“So tell me, Nimway, are you single?” Elder Hubbard asked.
“Excuse me?” She blinked at the older lady.
“A smart girl like you. I mean to attain your position, you probably had to work twice as hard as a male. Plus, I’ll bet you had to prove you were the best and not just the boss’s sister.” Elder Hubbard beamed.
“I guess,” she mumbled. What the old lady said was true. She’d had to work her ass off to show the pack she deserved it more than anyone else.
“What a fine example you are. I’d love for you to meet my daughters.”
“Er, what?” Stefan appeared as surprised as she felt.
“It’s important for young women to meet other women who’ve achieved success through dedication and a good work ethic. You’ll make someone very lucky, won’t she, boys?” Nanette Hubbard said, flipping her gaze between her two sons.
“Mom, this is not the time.” Stefan groaned.
“It’s never time according to you. You’re getting old, Stefan. And I’m not getting any younger. I need grandbabies,” Elder Hubbard snapped.
“I’m sure Dominick is working on that with Anika.”
To which Raymond muttered, “Thank fuck they were banned from the house. I swear if I caught them in the kitchen one more time…”
“Raymond!” Elder Hubbard huffed.
“What? It’s true. I’m sure Dominick will have Anika knocked up in no time, and then you can change all kinds of shitty diapers and leave the rest of us alone,” Raymond stated.
“Being a parent is a blessed thing,” Elder Hubbard insisted.
“If you say so,” was Nimway’s hushed reply.
Stefan glanced at her and grinned. It brought out a dimple in his cheek. Dear God, she was pretty sure an ovary hiccupped.
“Since you two seem to be getting along so well, Raymond and I will go check out the buffet table. I think I saw those little crustless sandwiches he likes.”
“Really?” Raymond’s gaze tilted, and once he caught sight of the food table, the man practically dragged his mother toward it.
Nimway arched a brow. “Not subtle, is she?”
“Gee, did you notice? At least she left. Five more minutes and she’d have planned our engagement and named our children.”
“You and me, married?” She laughed. Hard.
He didn’t appear as amused as her. “Are you done?”
“Depends. You going to make another joke?”
“No because you might hit me again.”
“You deserved it. That wasn’t a joke.”
He sighed. “No, it wasn’t. I was being intentionally mean.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to like you.”
Well, that was unexpected. Both his reply and, judging by his face, the fact he’d not meant to admit it. They stared at each other, the moment awkward.
She shuffled first. “Don’t worry, baby, even if you were in love, it would never work because I can’t stand the stench of you.”
His jaw tightened. “You’ll have to deal with it a bit longer because I want to talk to you about spying on my family.” Raucous laughter brought a crease to his brow. “Can we talk somewhere a little quieter?”
“Not right now we can’t.” Nimway shook her head. “The barbecue is coming out as we speak, and I am not missing out on the best meal of the year.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked, as he finally appeared to notice her shirt.
“Don’t tell me this wasn’t your favorite cereal growing up.” She stuck out her tits to show off the cartoon stretched across, lots of orange and blue. The frosted crunchy stuff was a must-have in her home.
“It’s processed crap. My mom usually fed us pancakes or French toast, eggs, and sausage.”
“Mmm, that does sound good. Can you cook?” She couldn’t have said why she asked.
“No.”
Probably a good thing. She didn’t need him to become even more appealing.
She led the way to the backyard, and he stuck close to her side. “I’d say someone stalking my family is more important than food.”
She cast him a glance. “It is, which is why it’s being handled.”
“By who?”
“Who do you think?” she drawled.
“Your brother?”
Sexist ass!
She hip-checked him and sent him careening.
7
Nimway stalked off. It took a moment before Stefan caught up to her. “Why are you pissed again?”
“You seem to think because I’m a woman I can’t do shit.” An attitude she’d been fighting her entire life.
“Well, excuse me. It’s not like you said, hey, I’m in charge of security. Or whatever it is you do.”
She grabbed a disposable plastic plate. It would be washed and given to Herb, who’d melt it and use it with his 3D printer to make simple stuff for the pack.
“I’m pack beta. That means second in command, in charge of keeping the pack safe whether from outside or inside forces.”
“How?” he asked, shuffling with her in the line heading for the many barbecues set up on the stone patio. Some powered by propane but a few by the more aromatic charcoal.
“How do we prevent someone from telling the world our secret?” She held out her plate for a steak. “We make sure no one talks.”
“You threaten them?”
As she headed for the rib station, she shrugged. “Sometimes.”
He went silent, and she got the impression he finally understood how serious the pack took threats.
They loaded up some plates, because one just didn’t have enough room to do justice to the many side dishes. There were many varieties of salads, and not just the crisp vegetable kind but also creamy potato and pasta. Balancing two heavy plates, she led the way out of the backyard into the park that formed a courtyard of sorts for the houses surrounding it. All around, the homes had barbecues going, voices raised, and lights strung. There were no fences here.
He glanced around before noting. “Every single place around this park belongs to your pack.”
“Yup. Safety in numbers.”
“You’d think it would draw more notice.”
“We protect each other.”
“And fuck outsiders.”
“Pretty much,” she agreed.
She chose a spot under a spreading oak, sitting cross-legged on the ground and balancing her plates in her lap.
He sank close by, and they ate for a bit in silence until he groaned and said, “Don’t tell my mom, but these ribs are delicious.”
She smiled through sauced and greasy lips. “Told you so.”
They worked their way through the food, until she wished she’d worn leggings instead of jeans. Would he notice if she unsnapped the button?
She was just about to try and give herself some room to bloat when Charlene ran up. She was five years old and cute as a button, huffing as she exclaimed, “They’re bringing up the pig.”