I didn’t care about Zack eying Justine. There was only one woman I had lingering eyes for, and she had just left to go home to Albuquerque.
“Well, let’s get inside.”
Steele patted my arm, opened the door, and let me in. Sure enough, seated in a circle, half of them in nothing more than gym shorts, were the members of the “Bernard Boys,” the nickname we had given ourselves growing up after the street we’d grown up on.
There was Mason, the oldest in the group. At 31 years old, he had already gone bald—or, perhaps better said, he’d already started shaving his dome to avoid questions about his hairline. He always had a five o’clock shadow on his face, and he was also the most in shape of us. He was also the most jaded and the most cynical, which perhaps made sense as the oldest in the group. The only person he cared for more than us was his little sister.
There was Garrett, who was my age and partied like he was turning twenty-one every single day. I liked to party, Steele liked to party, we all liked to party, but Garrett was an animal of a unique breed. I never saw him turn down a beer, an invitation, or a drug; women progressed from hating him to loving him to hating him, usually in about twelve hours. I could often find Garrett with a man-bun, a sleeveless shirt, and a wicked smirk.
There was Zack, the young one—relatively speaking. He was the only one of us who still attended college, albeit as someone older than the typical college student, and had a chance to graduate. Zack had a bit of a preppy look but living in Santa Maria always gave someone a bit of an edge.
There was Connor, one of the meanest motherfuckers I had ever seen. People often mistook him for a sociopath; he wasn’t. He had just seen and done shit harder than any of us could ever imagine. Connor had tattoos on his neck and all over, and I didn’t think I’d ever heard the word “sorry” from his mouth. He was an exceptional friend and gave no fucks about confronting the Bandits, but that also meant he was usually the first one arrested.
And there was Steele, who usually looked the part of pretty boy but had recently—and by recently, I meant in the last year—grown out a breakup beard, something we always ragged on him for but never got him to shave.
“Oh, shit, Brock’s free!” Garrett said. “That was fast. You suck Davis off?”
“Yeah, well, thank Steele for that,” I said as I plopped down on the couch next to Connor. I held my glass out and clinked with him, a silent thank you for not fucking up my bike.
“Steele?” Garrett said. “What, did Steele bail you out? Or did he suck off the sheriff?”
“Probably shot the sheriff,” Mason said with no hint of sarcasm or humor in his voice.
“Fucking should have,” Steele said.
“Please, you wouldn’t have gotten a chance if I’d been able to kill him,” I said with a sip.
“So then, wait, how the fuck did Steele get you out?” Garrett said.
“Well, actually,” Steele said, “I…”
“We got it taken care of,” I said, trying to cover for him.
In this group, however, things rarely escaped notice.
“Did you now?” Garrett said with a laugh. “Did the money lady come down?”
“Watch it, Garrett,” Steele said.
“Probably not the best of ideas,” Zack said.
“Oh, shut it, Professor Smartass,” Garrett said, his favorite nickname for Zack. “For real, though, you called Tara? As in, Tara Rogers?”
Steele nodded. Even Garrett seemed taken aback. No one said a word as an awkward silence fell over the group.
So, of course, Garrett had to break it up.
“Well, Steele went inside Tara, and now Brock went inside Tara…’s car!”
He laughed at his own joke. Connor smirked. Zack rolled his eyes. Mason had no reaction. Steele looked like he wanted to punch Garrett.
I put my hand over my mouth, trying not to show that the thought appealed to me more than I cared to admit.
“As if,” I said when I felt I could speak without showing a guilty smirk. “The only thing worse than doing that would be going for Mason’s sister.”
“That’s the fastest fucking way for any of you to die,” Mason said. “You want to see me pissed off? Think about it. You want to see me kill? Try it.”
A couple of us chuckled. No one said anything back because we knew Mason was telling the truth. Mason was all Hannah, his little sister, had for protection and family.
