“Like what?” I ask.
I’m un-lady-like as I shove the sandwich in my mouth, but God it’s good.
“Like money doesn’t exist on vacation,” he replies with a laugh, and my cheeks heat.
“Oh, I mean, I don’t want?—”
“He’s fuckin’ with you, darlin’. You can have whatever you want,” Tate cut me off, and I hide behind my sandwich.
I still make soaps in my free time, but I mostly live off of the guys’ income. None of them would let me spend the money I had saved from Marielli’s Mass. Cash was adamant that I save it so that I would always have it and never feel stressed. But the truth is, I know I don’t need it. I’m just waiting for the next big thing I really want, then I’m going to spend it all.
“Vacation is the time to splurge; plus, the situation at the club is really good,” Cash encourages.
He’s not wrong, a lot has changed in the last two years, things—people—none of us could have planned for.
“I was just jokin’. Our girl can have whatever she wants, especially on vacation,” Axel corrects.
My need to fuck with him after his joke is high as I smirk at him.
“Oh, can I finally go get a professional massage?”
All three of them say no at the same time.
“Even if it’s a lady?” I complain.
“I’ll work on my form,” Axel counters, and I shake my head at him.
The massages he gives me always end up with a happy ending. Not that I’m complaining, but I also am.
I’m completely stuffed by the time we finish our meal, and I almost regret getting the biggest drink I could order, but it was on principle. The take-home plastic container is shaped like a naked woman’s body, and I’m obsessed with it.
I hum around the straw as the strawberry pina-colada mix slides down my throat.
“You don’t have to drink all of it,” Cash points out.
“Do any of you want a sip?” I ask, holding it out.
All three of my pack mates stare at me like I’m crazy. Watching them sip from this massive straw while wearing their big-bad-biker cuts would have made my night.
One of them has a hand on me at all times as we meet up with our tour and learn the history of the French Quarter as well as the speculated hauntings. It might spook me more than I’d like to admit, but this place is definitely fucking haunted.
The great thing about having three massive bikers as your pack is that absolutely no one fucks with you. We walk through large crowds with a wide berth and not a single soul tries to speak to us.
While Cash is the biggest in the pack, Axel and Tate are also very good at intimidating people. I’m not sure why I like it so much; the idea that these three rough-around-the-edges men become soft for only me makes me feel gooey. I can’t help myself, and I just stop every few steps to mark one of them up with my scent. That sentiment goes both ways with our possessiveness over one another.
Axel is buying some Roman Candy that I just had to have as a woman approaches him. Out of all my pack mates, peopleshould know he’s taken. He’s wearing a wedding ring for Christ’s sake.
The woman is about to open her mouth when Tate curses beside me, and I tug him along, going to stand next to Axel.
She acts like I don’t exist.
“Is your motorcycle here? I’d love to see you ride,” she slurs drunkenly.
I don’t care if she’s had three naked-lady frozen drinks. You do not talk to a married man like that. Axel goes to speak, but I step in front of him.
“No, it’s not.”
She looks past me to Axel, like I didn’t just speak directly to her.
