Jasmine

We pulled into my parents’ driveway and I turned to face Alamo. “Ready?”

“Readier than you, I think.”

“God, you have no idea how true that statement is.”

He reached over and stroked my cheek. “It’s all gonna be okay, Firefly.”

I nodded. “Don’t let me hit anyone.”

He laughed. “Okay, baby.”

Jared hadn’t called, texted, or sent a carrier pigeon since his unwelcome visit, and I was okay with that. But I was admittedly, a little nervous about tonight and how he’d act, considering Alamo had threatened to break his hands.

“And don’t let my dad bully you.” He raised an eyebrow and I sighed. “Let me rephrase. When my dad grills you, if it sounds like bullying, don’t hit him...or let me hit him.”

“I won’t.”

He kissed me quickly, then we climbed out of his truck and he wrapped an arm around my waist as we headed to the front door. I took a deep breath and opened it, leading Alamo into the kitchen...and chaos.

“If you’re under the age of twenty-one, out, out, out,” Jules demanded, her hands covered in something oily. The kids filed out of the kitchen, but hovered at the invisible room divider.

“Everything okay?” I asked, setting dessert and wine on the island.

“I dropped the olive oil,” Mom said, handing Kelly (on her hands and knees) a wet towel.

“And I tried to catch it,” Jules said, and made her way to the sink.

The glass bottle had shattered on the tile floor, so there were shards of glass mixed in with the oil.

“It’s slick, honey,” Simon warned. “Careful.”

“Can I help?” I asked, but Alamo wrapped an arm around my waist from behind and pulled me up against him.

“I think they’re good,” he whispered.

“You can help by keeping your distance,” Jules said with a smile. “No point in you getting all oiled up...unless you want to wrestle Kelly later...in your bikini.”

“Juliet,” my mother admonished.

“What?” Jules shrugged. “Olive oil’s spendy, Mama... we could sell tickets.”

“You can always count on Jules to step over the line,” Simon said.

“You love it when I step over the line.”

His face got soft and he smiled, but neither confirmed nor denied. I leaned against Alamo, who kissed the back of my neck, while Dad held a garbage bag that Mom, Kelly, and Jules dumped paper towels and glass into.

“Jazzy!” Layla squealed.

“Laylay, you need to stay in the family room,” Jared said, rushing to grab her. “There’s broken glass in here. It’ll give you owies.”

I took Alamo’s hand. “Come with me.”

I led him down the hall and around the corner to enter the family room from a different doorway. Layla ran for me and I caught her in a hug. “Hey, baby, how’s my Laylay?”

She didn’t answer, just hugged me around the neck while the rest of the kids greeted me. I was ready to introduce them all to Alamo, but Noah took over. I could tell he felt very important to already know the man of the hour and be able to show him off.

“Okay, we’re clear,” Dad announced.

Alamo and I headed back into the kitchen and I pulled him forward. “Mom, Dad, this is Alamo.”

Dad shook his hand, while Mom hugged him (she was a hugger), and then we grabbed drinks and I told Alamo to sit at the island beside my brother and Simon.

“We’re ready,” Mom said, handing us women and Dad dishes to carry to the dining room table.

Alamo insisted on helping, so Mom handed him the meat platter and we all filed into the next room. After taking our seats, Dad said grace, then it was a din of clacking silverware and dinnerware.

“Alamo, what do you do for a living?” Dad asked.

I frowned. He knew very well what Alamo did for a living. My stomach churned. I did not like this.

“I own Reliable Auto down on Victory,” he said.

“I bet you’re good with all kinds of engines... heard you’re quite the motorcycle enthusiast.”

Alamo smiled. “I guess you could say that.”

“As are many of your friends and associates.”

I leaned forward, ready to fight, but Alamo squeezed my knee gently.

“I belong to the Dogs of Fire. Our compound’s out at Mosgrove’s old tobacco plantation.”

“Dogs of Fire...sounds like a lively bunch of fellas. You ever find you and your gang end up in places you shouldn’t be?”

“They’re not a gang,” I ground out.

Dad paused his meat slicing. “You know, I quite enjoyed the music of the Rolling Stones until that dreadful Altamont incident.”

“I highly doubt they’re anything like those Hell’s Angels people,” Mama cut in.

“Rest assured, our club is about motorcycles and helping out our community when we can,” Alamo said.

“Exactly,” I said. “They do a lot for charity, like raising money for Toys for Tots and Bikers Against Child Abuse. They just did a big toy drive over Christmas.”

“How lovely,” Mom said.

Alamo chuckled. “Doin’ what we can to stay on Santa’s nice list.”

Dad chuckled without mirth. “Or stay off the sheriff’s naughty list.”

“Daddy!” I pushed my chair back and stood. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to bring him to meet you.” I jabbed a finger at my siblings. “And why the hell aren’t y’all stepping in? Alamo just fixed your stupid car, Jules, and I know for a fact he didn’t charge you very much.”

“He actually didn’t charge me anything,” she admitted.

“Baby, sit down,” Alamo said, tugging my hand.

I met his eyes and he smiled gently.

“Your dad’s just gettin’ to know me,” he said. “It’s all good.”

I bit my lip, then glared at my father. “Behave or we go.”

Dad raised an eyebrow in challenge, but I refused to back down.

“I’m serious,” I continued, even with my man standing and pushing me gently back into my chair. “Alamo’s important to me.”

“Honey, we know that,” Mom said.

Alamo gave my neck a gentle squeeze and took his seat again, seemingly totally relaxed and unconcerned about my father’s probing questions. “Maybe you and I can have a talk later, and I’ll be glad to answer any questions you might have,” Alamo suggested.

Dad nodded. “We can do that.”

Alamo squeezed my knee again, and everyone relaxed. All-in-all, the rest of dinner was actually really fun. Alamo fit perfectly into my family dynamic, and everyone loved him.

* * *

Climbing into bed that night, I wrapped an arm around Alamo’s waist. “How bad was your meeting with Dad?”

“It wasn’t bad at all,” he said.

“Are you lying?”

He smiled. “No, baby, seriously. He asked all the normal Dad questions. What are my intentions, how long have you and I known each other? That kind of thing. I told him I planned to fuck you for as long as you’d let me into your magic pussy.”

I gasped. “You did not.”

He laughed. “Of course I didn’t.”

“But you’re not going to fill me in on the conversation, are you?”

“Nope. It’s all good, baby. Your dad and I came to an understanding.”

“Fine. I’ll trust you. For now.” I sighed and ran my fingertip over his new ink. “I love this so hard, Mo.”

He grinned. “Good.”

I settled my chin on my hand. “I want one.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Did you go to the same person who did your Dogs tattoo?”

“No. Same shop, but different guy.”

“How come?”

“Duke does all the Dogs logos and portrait shit, but if you want something left of center, we all go to Tag.”

“Oh, I like Tag,” I said. “I didn’t know he was a tattoo guy.”

“The fact his body’s covered with ink didn’t clue you in?”

I shrugged. “I just thought he liked tattoos.”

He chuckled. “I’ll talk to him this week and find a time.”

“I have no idea what I want, though. Let’s wait until I do.”

“Sounds good.”

I settled my cheek to his chest again. “My parents adored you, by the way, I could tell.”

“Your parents are cool, baby. I liked them too.”

I met his eyes again. “Jared didn’t call me Carrots once.”

He laughed. “My job is done, then.”

My phone pealed in the quiet and I groaned. “I thought I’d silenced that.” Snagging it off the nightstand, my blood chilled. “It’s Michael.”

He gave me a squeeze. “Don’t answer it.”

I rolled my eyes. “I have no intention of answering it, honey. I just don’t understand why he’s calling me at ten on a Sunday night.”

Alamo was already off the bed and scrolling through his phone before I’d gotten my statement out. “Badge. Yeah. The asshole’s callin’ Jasmine. You got eyes on ’im?” He nodded. “Okay. Quin and Kinsey with you?” He nodded again. “Okay. Yeah, I think we need to draw him out.”

While Alamo checked on his sister, I listened to Michael’s voicemail and rolled my eyes. He was grilling me for information on Quin, wanting to know when she was coming in for a hair appointment, etcetera. His questions started to give me an inkling of an idea. Whether or not Alamo would go with it, I wasn’t sure, but I fully intended to make it happen.