It sounded so obvious and so simple, like telling a person that a dog had to be walked every day. And the truth was, Mason didn’t actually have any control over me. I rented this place out with a mixture of the inheritance we got—not much, but it was enough that we could nibble off it for a while—and the job I had. I wasn’t living in the same apartment as a high school dropout who worked construction because it was the highest-paying job possible for him, even if it all but guaranteed he’d be an achy, weary old man before he hit forty years old.
“OK, just be aware,” he said. “And you know Garrett, especially, will be looking at you.”
“Garrett?”
“Man-bun Garrett.”
I struggled to recall such a guy. I knew most of Mason’s friends, but it had been some time since I had run into all of them in one setting. If I recalled right, Garrett had a serious girlfriend for a while. I guess something had happened.
“If it worries you that much, just tell him I’m off-limits. Or, better yet, tell him I’m not interested.”
“Oh, I’ve threatened to kick his fucking ass from here to Arizona if he so much as smiles at you,” Mason said with complete seriousness. “But that won’t stop him. He’s…he’s quite the animal.”
Interesting. I always thought Connor was more of that. Guess there’s a lot more to these guys over the last couple years or so.
“In any case, I just wanted to drop by and see how things were and confirm you’re coming,” Mason said. “If you need help with anything, let me know. Well, maybe not schoolwork.”
“Of course,” I said with a gentle smile.
This was the Mason Jett I appreciated and cherished. The brother who wasn’t so overbearing as to feel like a minister, but the one who still would punch an asshole who tried to touch me or the one who would offer to do anything for me if I needed it but not if he felt like he needed to do it.
He stood up, gave a short smile, and was on his way. A few moments later, I heard the sound of a motorcycle revving to life, which made me wonder how I hadn’t heard him approaching the first time. I guess you could just chalk it up to me being so focused on school.
After all, in a life with so much tragedy, one had to be good at focusing on what mattered.
Garrett
Cole and Butch wanted to elevate the club’s seriousness.
OK, fair enough.
And in return, it was now time for me to elevate the club’s partying.
I sat on a black, worn-in leather couch, my view on the front door. At the bar, Connor and Brock all served themselves drinks, their eyes half on me. Steele was practicing his darts. Zack was lining up some pool, but only drinking beers, not yet actually playing anything at the moment.
“So what the fuck, Garrett?” Connor said, knocking back what looked like some vodka. “You said this was going to be some epic fucking party, well beyond whatever you’d ever thrown. I don’t see a bunch of tits and ass. Just you fuckers.”
I shrugged, smiling. I had a plan, and that plan was only a few minutes away from arriving.
“You guys act like back in the day, we had pussy around us twenty-four-seven,” I said. “Maybe you should just recognize it’s barely after nine?”
“We don’t even have the whole crew here, so it’s fine,” Brock said.
“Yeah, speaking of, where the fuck is Mace?”
Brock shrugged.
And as if on cue, we heard the rumble of his motorcycle outside. That was, unfortunately, not the sound that I’d hoped to hear. In fact, it was kind of the sound I dreaded since Mason seemed to particularly delight in making my life fucking hell.
Not that I wouldn’t fucking push back. He was just the fucking downer of the club, the guy who’d make some dry remark about how it’d always fucking been done this way, so why would this time be any different.
The door swung open, and Mason stepped inside.
And so did someone else, though I could only see their—her?—feet, as she stood behind Mason.
“Oh, good, this doesn’t look like a fucking frat house at three a.m.,” Mason said. “Guys, you remember Hannah, right?”
Mason’s sister stepped around from him, and my jaw fucking dropped.
