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I waved Slone off. “I knew that wasn’t what you meant.”
“Plus”—Slone smiled then—“Titus has a thing for a girl we graduated with. I think he’s holding out hope that if he hangs around the area, she’ll finally see that they’re made for each other.”
That was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.
“I feel like there’s a good story there,” I admitted.
“Titus and Blue.” He looked at me with those beautiful eyes that he’d given to his daughter. “That’s her name. Blue.” He grinned. “They have a complicated dynamic. Blue is deathly allergic to talking to people unless she’s extremely comfortable with them. And Titus isn’t one of those people.”
“Because she has a thing for Titus,” I guessed.
“Likely,” he agreed. “But the thing is, no one will ever know unless Titus gives it a go…and who the hell knows if he’ll ever be brave enough to do that or not.”
I grabbed our empties and said, “Where do these go?”
He got up, quickly towering over me, and pointed toward the bar. “There. The Dixie Wardens MC have some cleaners come up after their parties. They clean up all the trash and empties, but I’ve never been one to leave my shit for others to pick up after me. My mom would’ve murdered me in my sleep if I’d done that to her.”
I snickered. “We had to learn from a young age as well. Our dad was a stickler for us taking care of our uniforms and performance stuff. If we didn’t, our dad made us work the circus outside of what he already forced us to do.”
“Needless to say.” He laughed. “You learned to keep your shit cleaned up.”
“I learned to keep my shit cleaned up.”
“Wow,” I heard said from my side. I looked to see a young woman there. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
The woman looked like she wanted to murder me.
Slowly.
And record it so she could watch my torture over and over again.
Slone sidled closer to me, not quite touching me, but getting close enough that he could if he wanted to.
“It’s nice to see you again, Rochelle,” Slone said through a tight smile.
My brows rose at his obvious reticence to this woman.
“And who are you?” I asked curiously.
Because obviously I needed all the answers right then, right there. Why did Slone look like he wanted to run? Why did she look like she wanted to murder me? Why, why, why.
“I’m Rochelle Brummel,” she answered, as if stating her name was plenty of information for me to ascertain who the heck she was. “When did y’all get married?”
We didn’t.
“Oh, not too long ago,” I lied.
Slone blew out a breath of relief.
“Ah.” She huffed out a breath. “I just guess I wanted to confirm if it was true or not.”
She whirled around in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and all but stomped in the opposite direction.
Slone groaned. “That was close.”
“What was close?” I asked.
Then he was all but pulling me in the direction of the door.
