“You sure are trusting.” She pats her bouncy hair.
“I’m sure you all will teach me to do better.”
“Betz will,” Celia says as she heads for the truck.
Betz leans out the open window of the driver’s side. “Betz will what?”
“Break in the new girl,” Celia says as she climbs into her seat.
“I’ll leave that to the boys,” Betz shoots back and throws the truck into gear.
I scramble to get in my green Bug to follow them.
Two motorcycles go in front, then the truck, then me, and two bikes behind, like a tiny parade.
Despite the bumpy start, I’m getting a full escort to my new life.
CHAPTER 8
MERRICK
Marietta moved in yesterday, but Saturdays are busy at the bar, so I didn’t go by the clubhouse. I shouldn’t go see her, anyway. The men will notice, especially Iron Jack.
But Sunday morning is church, and I’m expected to sit in the corner like a good prospect. Diesel and Symphony are going to open the bar, so I have until evening to do as I like.
Now that Marietta is safely tucked in the clubhouse, I don’t have to sit outside her apartment anymore. It’s good. Those long, broody hours have done a number on my head. In fact, last night, a well-endowed redhead at the bar specifically asked to ride my bike, and I passed her off to Hoss, acting like I was too busy.
That was some bullshit behavior on my part, and I know it had to do with those long nights of staring at Marietta.
Carol’s still pregnant, and today when I approach the kitchen, I spot her resting on a stool, Betz beside her. They both look like they just rolled out of bed in sweatpants and hoodies, Carol in pink. Betz wears black, as always.
Betz sees me. “Your little cherry is good with her hands.”
I hesitate as I enter, half expecting to see Marietta giving someone a hand job in the pantry.
But she’s slicing strawberries. She glances over her shoulder. “Hey, Merrick.”
“Prospect,” Betz says. “Call them by their patch.”
She nods. “Hello, Prospect.”
I halt in my tracks. They’ve totally changed her look. Her hair is wavy and wild, with the front pulled back with a sparkly comb. Her low-slung jeans are ripped all over the place, including a big section that reveals a good amount of her ass.
A pink thong is visible above them, riding her bare hipbones. Her midriff is exposed between the jeans and a tight, long-sleeve, black crop top.
Why do they have her looking like a bunny if she’s a mouse?
“Aren’t you going to say good morning back to her, Prospect?” Betz asks with a snort.
“Uh, yeah. Good morning, Marietta.”
“Call her Mouse,” Betz says. “She’ll get a name if she earns it.”
“Sure. Good morning, Mouse.”
Marietta grins at me. “Fascinating social structure.”
“Shut up with your college talk,” Betz says. “Move along, Prospect.”
