was falling for your sister."
"It's not like that."
"Yeah, think I remember him saying something like that too. Now look at them."
Living up in Jersey.
Gus was shacked up with a member of the mother chapter of our club, after he'd come down to help us set up our chapter.
But it wasn't like that.
Was Harmon hot? Yeah. Did I want to see her bent over in bed, that amazing ass of hers just begging to be smacked while I fucked her? Of course.
But that was it.
I wasn't the settling down type.
Nothing—and no one—was going to change that.
I liked my life exactly as it was.
Or, you know, so I thought.
Chapter Seven
Harmon
For all my original objections, staying with the guys wasn't actually that bad.
When they weren't partying, they were a pretty chill group who hung out, ordered take out, flicked around at the TV while paying most of their attention other phones.
You know, just like normal people.
Except I knew, of course, that they weren't mindlessly scrolling through social media or reading stupid puff piece articles with clickbait titles.
I caught Huck shooting off texts to some guy named Reign about how things were fine.
As if getting shot at and attacked was just status quo.
Hell, maybe it was.
No one seemed overly anxious about the whole thing. Not even Seeley who'd come home from the hospital the day after he'd gone in after being there for observation because of his concussion.
He didn't seem the least bothered by the wound on his shoulder, or the one to the side of his temple, the stitches going back into his hairline that they'd needed to shave slightly to put the sutures in.
I figured he would come home, lounge around for a few days, take advantage of the sympathy he would find from his friends.
But, nope.
Seeley was usually the first of everyone up, sweeping up the floor, putting on coffee, even going out to freaking wash the bikes.
"He should be taking it easy," I objected, watching him out the window for the third day in a row, cleaning already clean bikes.
"He wouldn't even if you told him to," McCoy informed me. "He's hungry to prove himself."
"Hasn't he done that already?" I asked, shaking my head. "What do you guys want from him? The promise of his firstborn son? He can't even lift his arm, but he's out there washing your bikes and making your meals and cleaning your clubhouse."
"Pretty sure you've been taking some of those tasks away from him," McCoy said.
"Yeah, because he should be taking it easy. And he won't do that if there are tasks to be done. Because your opinion matters to him."
"Not so much mine, Harm," McCoy said. "Huck's."
"Yeah, well, when he shows his face, I am going to tell him, too."
"Tell who what?" Huck asked, rolling out of bed at ten in the morning.
"You missed breakfast," I told him, more frustrated than I should have been over the fact. But a little voice in the back of my head reminded me that the main reason I'd made a big breakfast spread in the first place was as a sort of truce with Huck for my surly behavior when he'd forced me to come over. And then when I thought he'd screwed up my computer when he brought it over. And, you know, most mornings before I had time to properly wake up and get my coffee. He'd taken it all like a champ. And I wanted to do something nice because of that over the past several days.
Hence the breakfast.
And the fact that I was a little bitter about the fact that he'd missed it.
"You cooked?" he asked, stopping mid-stride to turn to look at me, eyes wide.
"Yeah. We had waffles and omelets and homemade hash browns..."
"Those were bangin'," Remy said, nodding. "Dunno what you put in there, but it was pure magic."
"You cook?" Huck asked again, looking at me like something wasn't adding up.
"Yes, I cook. That's why my ass is the size that it is," I said, trying for a joke. Or so I was telling myself. A part of me just wanted his attention on my ass again.
Considering he'd been doing some heavy flirting up until he'd installed me in his bedroom, it had all oddly fallen away since then. I swear he barely even looked my way now, let alone made comments about thongs or knowing I wanted him like he wanted me.
"Why didn't someone tell me?" he asked, sounding almost upset about the whole thing.
"You were up late," Remy said,