I kissed him again and watched his buck-naked body saunter out of the room.
* * *
Flash
One week later, I arrivedhome to find Tate sitting in the middle of the bed, at least six books open and scattered around her, but she was bent over her laptop with a scowl on her face.
“Honey, I’m home,” I sang, and she glanced up from the computer.
“Hi. Sorry. I’m just sitting here losing my fucking mind,” she growled, slamming her laptop closed.
“Why?”
She huffed, moving the books out of her way so she could climb off the bed. Making her way to me, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. “I’m having issues logging in to one of the practice tests. I’ve been trying for two hours, and I just want to shoot the fucking thing.”
I slid my hands into her hair. “Sorry, baby.”
She sighed. “It is what it is. How did church go?”
“Good. We’ve got the truck job laid out and it’s gonna bring a decent chunk of change into the club.” I kissed her again. “I can’t figure out if it’s harder to pay my dues with my dad as president, or if it would be this hard anyway.”
“Anything worth something takes hard work, Flash,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure you having to prove yourself would be easier if Hatch wasn’t your dad.”
“Agreed.”
“I mean, anytime the hero creates a mini-me, there’s an expectation that the mini-me will be exactly like the hero.”
“Wait,Dad’sthe hero in this story?” I demanded.
“He’s the OG hero, baby.” She grinned. “But you got this. And you know why you got this?”
I smiled. “Why?”
“Because you’remyhero, and you’re fucking phenomenal at everything you do.” She patted my chest. “Especially figuring out what you’re going to feed your woman who has only had a bag of chips and a pint of ice cream all day because she’s been fighting with her computer.”
I laughed. “Okay, baby, fridge or out?”
“Out,” she said. “Let me just freshen up.”
* * *
Tate
“We’re gonna need tofigure out this bike thing,” Flash said.
We had just gorged ourselves on happy hour at our favorite little spot in Hazel Dell, and we were heading to his truck. He kissed me, lifting me into the cab, before getting behind the driver’s seat.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because tonight would have been a perfect night to ride.”
“But your bike’s in the shop.”
“You know Dad’s got a spare.”
“I’m in a skirt,” I argued.
He rolled his eyes as he started the truck. “Nice try.”
