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When he’d watched her walk down the stairs of her townhouse, he’d forgotten how to breathe. He’d clocked her tight jeans and blue tank with some kind of sparkles on the front, and he’d vaguely heard one of the women whisper behind him, but he hadn’t been listening.
He’d crossed the room and kissed her cheek like his kiss belonged there.
He knew there was history between her and Talon. And the way she’d reacted to seeing T with empty hanging all over him, it must’ve cut deep.
Ryder also knew that women were strange creatures and for the right man would forgive and forget almost anything.
So he wasn’t flying blind.
She was a long shot, but he believed that the good that waited on the other side of that bet would be worth the risk.
Gate walked up and passed Ryder a beer, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “See you and your girl made it.”
Ryder took the beer and wondered why Gate was pushing. “Yeah. Met her daughter on the way. She’s a beauty.”
“Must look like her mama,” Gate said.
Jenna smiled, “I can take some of the credit.”
“Wasn’t sure what you’d be drinkin’, but Ryde can show you the bar,” Gate said, nodding toward a piece of plywood leveled over two fifty-five gallon drums.
A twenty-something blonde was playing bartender with a sign that readtipsdrawn over her cleavage in sharpie. In addition to her ample chest, her bra was stuffed with bills.
Gate’s gaze snagged on a leggy brunette. “I’ll see y’all later.”
Gate followed the brunette into the compound.
“He doesn’t have an old lady?” Jenna asked.
“Not anymore,” Ryder answered, leading Jenna to get a drink.
“Saw pictures of his kids in his office.”
“Lucky, Gate’s son, is one of us. His daughter’s a senior in high school. Whatever happened with their mom was before my time.”
They approached the bar, and Blondie slid over.
“Hey, Ryde,” she purred.
Jenna’s shoulders went tight, and Ryder felt her try to put space between them.
He anchored her to his side and looked at her. “Whatcha drinkin’, baby?”
Jenna smirked and did a sweep of the liquor bottles on the bar. “Herradura and lime.”
Blondie poured a deep shot, garnished with a lime wedge, and slid it across the makeshift bar.
“Get you anything, Ryde?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I’m good,” Ryder said.
Blondie pouted but lost interest when another cut stepped up to the bar.
Ryder dropped a five beside the drink and turned Jenna toward the crowd.
A few barrel fires were scattered throughout the picnic tables. Brothers, their women, and groupies sat on everything from chairs to concrete blocks.
Some of the younger girls turned a clear space of the parking lot into a dance floor, most of them bumping and grinding, seeing who could snag the most attention from the crowd.
