“They’re not sure what to make of you,” Doc opened up conversation as he led me from the kitchen.
He was wrong. They knew exactly what to make of me. I was a stripper at a club where all their men were, by extension, part owners. I also knew from Daz’s rundown of who was who around here, “their men” meant husbands or pretty much the equivalent. Not one of those women was a casual girlfriend. They were used to being set apart from the other women who might be around. That was their place as old ladies.
Daz and I might have been trying this out, but I wasn’t his old lady. I was a woman who danced on a pole for him. A woman who every man here had seen essentially naked.
Baring all of that in mind, I got exactly the reception I expected.
It seemed only Daz—and possibly to some degree Doc—thought otherwise.
“They know what I do,” I pointed out.
He grunted back, “Trust me when I tell you those women are not bitches. They were, they wouldn’t fuckin’ cut it around here. Each one of them is a fine fuckin’ woman, and you’ll see that in time. That chill wasn’t about what you do, it was about them not gettin’ who you are to him. Only women Daz’s ever brought here served a purpose, and I don’t think I gotta enlighten you as to what that was.”
No, he really did not. I had no illusions when it came to Daz. I knew exactly what type of history he had, and I wasn’t the type to bury my head in the sand to try to pretend I didn’t hold that knowledge. He had a past. I did too. That was life.
Doc went on. “What I’m sayin’ is, these things aren't free-for-alls. Later tonight, things’ll loosen up, we’ll get more folks around. Right now is for the inner circle. Without Daz telling them, they couldn’t have known him bringing you wasn’t him pissin’ all over that. It was him bringin’ you into the fold.”
I didn’t doubt any of this. It all made perfect sense, and Daz had even said some of the same things about how there would be an open party later. Regardless, I wasn’t holding my breath that those women were ever going to want to welcome me in, even if Daz was in there making it clear that was what he was after.
“I get it,” I assured Doc, ready to get off this subject instead of dwelling on it.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him looking at me as he led us toward the back door that was propped open. I gave him a quick glance, keeping my expression neutral, as I had through that entire scene.
“Not yet,” he stated, “but you will.”
I didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t my place to argue with him. Clearly, he held a great deal of affection for the lot of them. I didn’t doubt they'd earned that loyalty by being all he said they were. It was their prerogative to extend me the same or not. Either way, I wouldn’t go challenging the way anyone here felt about them.
Out behind the clubhouse was a big lot. Seeing as the building itself was a converted warehouse, there’d probably never been much of anything there. Now, there was pavement for a bit, surrounded by a whole lot of grass. There were scattered picnic tables and chairs, a massive fire pit, and a set up right near the building with a huge grill and smoker—which was currently putting off some heavenly smells—several large coolers, a couple tables I guessed would soon be laden with food, and an impressive sound system.
It was a yard made for throwing a party.
At the moment, the contents of the smoker were being checked over by Stone, and one of the brothers I’d only met once or twice, whose cut confirmed he went by Tank. Stone was a big guy. The type who looked like he’d be perfectly at home in an active war zone. His hair had a bit of the salt-and-pepper coming in with the brown, but it worked. He kept it cut short—only adding to that soldier vibe—and he had an impressive, if unruly beard. Tank was less intimidating. He looked close to old enough to be my dad, and like he’d lived a good life that took its toll. His brown hair was longer, messier. Both it and his goatee had more than a liberal mix of grey in them, but this was not a man who would be sitting in a salon somewhere covering that, or even reaching for boxed dye. He lived his life to the fullest, and how he looked wasn’t important.
They both looked over as Doc and I emerged into the yard, and Doc spoke up. “You guys know Avery.” Both men nodded my way, and I gave an awkward sort of wave, feeling more out of place by the minute.
Farther out into the yard, there were two brothers chasing around three little ones. Two were smaller, a boy and a girl, coordinated enough to run around, but not gracefully. One was a little older and donning a whole lot of pink.
One of the brothers ran after the pink-clad little girl, checking his speed to stay just behind her as she fled for a minute, then scooping her up from the ground.
“Daddy!" she shrieked in response, her little girl laughter ringing through the air.
“The loud one is Emmy,” Doc explained, “Sketch and Ash’s daughter. Though, they’ll have another one any time now.”
I didn’t know a lot about pregnancy, but it was obvious from just looking at Ash inside that she had to be ready to pop. I hadn’t met Sketch, but I knew of him. Around Hoffman, it was hard not to hear about the incredible tattoos coming out of his shop.
“The boy is Gauge and Cami’s son, Levi,” Doc went on explaining, and I realized Gauge was the other brother there I hadn’t gotten a good look at yet. “The other little girl is Jules, Slick and Deni’s daughter.” Slick, I could recall meeting once. He’d put a lock on my dressing room door. He'd been quiet and quick, so I couldn’t say I knew him at all.
The rest of the brothers were all hanging around by the fire pit. It wasn’t lit now seeing as it was the middle of the day and hot, but there were a good number of chairs around it that seemed to make it the obvious place to gather.
Doc started walking toward the coolers, so I followed. I got the feeling that was going to be a lot of my afternoon: following around someone who didn’t make me feel like an outsider.
“What'll ya have, gorgeous?” Doc asked. “We got beer, soda, water. If you want somethin’ stronger, we gotta go back inside to the bar, but we can fix you up.”
“Beer,” I told him.
“What kind do you like?” He opened the first cooler as he asked, and I could see they stocked something for everyone.
“The cold kind,” I shot back.
Doc chuckled, grabbing two cans and handing one off to me.
“Old Style?” I read the label.
“Lived all over the place. Hit my late teens in Chicago. First beer I ever had was one of these. Plan is it’ll be the last one I drink before the reaper gets me,” Doc explained, popping his open. After taking a drink, he added, “Had to talk the owner of the liquor store we hit into ordering this shit for me.”
I opened mine and took a drink. It was fine, though I couldn’t say I understood going to any real lengths to get it in stock. Mostly, any cold beer would hit the spot in the summer sun. I was sensing Doc was a bit of a stuck-in-his-ways type of man, something age only solidified. But, hey, if he liked it, he liked it.
Before I could start awkwardly devising my next move, the women started coming out the back door. Deni and Cami first cast their attention over to where their kids were still playing. Ember—who dressed like a pin-up model—started heading my way, and I really wanted to tell her how awesome her whole look was, but she became sidetracked when a sharp whistle sounded from where the guys were sitting around. I looked over after she did to see the guy with the mohawk staring at her with not at all disguised hunger. I knew he was Jager from when he’d come into Candy Shop after the Disciples bought it to upgrade all the security and computer systems. Rick had introduced us, to which Jager had barely lifted his chin at me in greeting, then immediately turned away and got to work. He was definitely a quiet one, though it seemed he had his ways of communicating.
Seeing as I was getting second-hand turned on from that look he was spearing Ember with, I’d say he didn’t really need words.
Ember veered off in answer to his call, but Quinn and Max kept heading my way. Max wasted no time, immediately saying, “So, that shit was awkward.”
I had to laugh. Someone just saying it outright wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Max,” Quinn chastised quietly.
“What?” Max asked, looking from Quinn to me. "Am I wrong?”
“No, it was definitely awkward,” I answered.
Quinn grimaced. “Sorry about all that. It wasn’t cool, but we thought…” she trailed off, and Max was happy to jump in. “There was concern you were just a piece of ass. Which is fine. The first time I came here to check on Quinny, I was happy to be just a piece of ass to one of these guys.” She looked over her shoulder, and I followed her gaze to Ham. Apparently, the big guy and Max were a thing. “Didn’t turn out that way. I decided to keep him. But I didn’t plan it that way. Issue is, there’s kind of an unspoken rule that that kind of thing waits until after we get all the ankle biters out.”
Maybe Doc hadn’t been looking at the situation through rose-colored glasses.
“It doesn’t mean we don’t feel like jerks for how that just played out,” Quinn explained. “We’re sorry. Daz set the record straight.”
He did? And how?
What exactly did he tell them?
I really wanted to pry, but I held back. “It’s fine. It’s nothing I haven’t gotten before.”
“Because you’re a stripper?” Max put it bluntly, then tacked on, “Or just because you’re really hot?”
Quinn’s eyes closed slowly and she shook her head.
“The first one?” It was meant to be a statement, but it didn’t come out that way.
“I’m guessing it’s both,” Max rebutted.
Not sure how to answer that, I looked to my side, only to realize Doc had abandoned me to move over to the smoker with Stone and Tank. He noticed my attention on him and winked at me.
Traitor.
“Come on. Let’s go sit,” Quinn invited, breaking the awkward moment left from Max’s remark.
I still wasn’t entirely sure about it, but I followed them over to the fire pit anyway. Max immediately plopped onto Ham’s lap, while Quinn tried to grab a chair next to one of the guys who had a grey beanie on. He wasn’t having that, and grabbed her hand to pull her into his lap as well.
Quinn indicated the seat she’d meant to take with a slightly exasperated look on her face that said, well, you might as well take it.
I was barely seated when Max piped up again.
“So, I have a question.” She was looking right at me.
“Of course you do,” Ham muttered.
Max elbowed him in the gut as I responded, “Okay.”
“Are your boobs natural?”
I heard a long, feminine sigh I figured came from Quinn. A quick glance out the corner of my eye told me the frankly invasive question hadn’t garnered any awkward attention. Asking something like that with a bunch of guys around usually would make a woman the focus. These guys seemed fine to go about their own business.
So, I decided to answer. “Yes.”
“Seriously?” Max demanded, not believing me.
“Seriously. I do some workouts to help keep them where I need them, but I got into stripping because I knew I had the…tools.”
“Ugh, yeah,” Max muttered. “If I had your tools, I probably wouldn’t own shirts.”
“Like fuck you wouldn’t,” Ham growled.
It was crazy to admit, but just with that, I felt at ease. Even as Cami and Deni approached and sat, I didn’t automatically assume things were going to get awkward again. Maybe it was just Max and Quinn who were ready to open the door to me, but it felt like Doc was right.
With whatever Daz had told them, maybe I could be welcomed into the fold after all.