“It’s better coffee.”
Havoc snorts. “That is not about coffee.”
“It’sabout coffee.”
Ghost makes a low sound. “Sure.”
Saint studies me. Quiet. He reads before he speaks.
Havoc can’t help himself when he smells blood.
“So,” he says, “you go to a coffee truck. Every morning. Same girl. Same time. Same routine.”
I say nothing.
Havoc grins. “That’s courtship.”
“It’s caffeine.”
He points his mug at me. “And you had the balls to ridemyass when Sage happened.”
Then he nods toward Ghost. “Same way you rodehiswhen he caught feelings.”
Ghost doesn’t even blink. “You didn’t shut up for a fucking month.”
Havoc cackles. “Now look at you. Road Captain out here structuring his schedule around a barista.”
Ghost’s eyes flick to Havoc’s phone lighting up on the table.
Sage.
Havoc locks the screen like it’s instinct. His jaw tightens, defensive for no reason at all. The man runs an outlaw club and still acts like one woman’s name is a vulnerability.
Saint takes a sip, winces. “You’re all soft.”
Havoc barks a laugh. “Says the man who walked back in here and made the whole room quieter.”
Saint glances at him. “I didn’t make it quieter. You just never shut up.”
I look at Saint. “You should’ve stayed gone.”
Havoc grins. “He missed you.”
“I missed the silence,” I say. “Place ran smoother.”
Saint’s mouth twitches. “Liar.”
I don’t deny it. Don’t confirm it. Doesn’t matter.
What matters is the itch under my skin that won’t stop.
Her.
Ava.
I learned her name the first time I saw her. Didn’t ask her. Called in favors until someone gave it to me.
Asking her would’ve been normal. I don’t do normal.
