Creed walks over to the silverware drawer and pulls out a fork. “I’m pretty sure she has the same city water as we do.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He stabs his fork into the cake, cutting off a massive piece. “Did you mean to sound crazy, because that’s sure how you’re sounding.” Creed shoves the whole thing in his mouth.
“I’m not crazy. I’m being a responsible parent.”
Creed snorts, which is no small feat with that much cake in his mouth.
“I am. You don’t understand.”
“What I understand is that this cake is the bomb. Seriously, it tastes better than those cakes made by the lady Bear went out with—you know the one I’m talking about. She makes them for the coffee shop, but won’t sell them to the club.” Heslices off another bite. “How haven’t we made convincing her a priority?”
“Bear said she’s got all the business she can handle as it is. We wouldn’t want to overwhelm her.” Why are we even talking about the pretty cake lady? “Creed, seriously, you can’t let a woman with a good cake buy your favor and outweigh your good sense.”
“I don’t know. This cake is pretty persuasive. What should I be afraid of when it comes to the beautiful neighbor next door? Because I’d be fully willing to shovel her driveway if she pays me in this.”
Like I’m worried about my kid doing hard work. He already shovels the snow for Mrs. Florintine down the block. And she definitely can’t cook. She’s also going on eighty and hard of hearing, so there’s no real issue there. “That woman is a predator.”
Creed snorts as he lifts up the fork. “Oh really? All I saw was a beautiful woman and cake.”
That’s what they want you to see. Until they have you wrapped in their web so tight that you can’t breathe. That’s when they go in for the kill. “Women like that are easy to spot when you know what you’re looking for.”
“Educate me.”
The kid doesn’t mean it, but it’s time I started opening up his eyes to the real world around us. He isn’t a little boy anymore. “What did you see this morning?”
Creed tips his head to the side. “A pretty woman.”
“Creed.”
“Fine.” He closes his eyes and thinks. “There was a man there with her. An older man. They didn’t look alike, but he was old enough to be her grandfather. That’s all I got. She seems pretty normal, even if she’s probably fairly rich.”
“That wasn’t her grandfather.” I can’t keep the sneer out of my voice. “That was her sugar daddy.”
“Her—” Creed’s mouth drops open. “Cool.”
“Not cool. She’s using her body to live off a rich man. Who is probably already married. Cheaters aren’t cool.”
“Cheating isn’t cool, but getting paid for being hot is.”
Don’t slap the boy upside the head. “He isn’t paying her because she’s pretty. He’s paying her to have sex with him.”
“Oh. Prostitution is legal in—”
“Creed.” I give him the look.
“Fine. It’s gross, but still, she seems like a nice lady who is an out-of-this-world cook. What do we care if she sells her body? It isn’t like all the money we make is squeaky clean.”
All the money I make. There’s a big difference between selling guns to people who need to protect themselves and selling your body to have nice things rather than going out to work for them. “Just be careful around her.”
Creed grins.
That boy is going to make me go even grayer than I am.
***
My least favorite job attached to the club is reviewing the books. Thankfully, Integer takes care of them on a daily basis, and all I need to do is audit them every few months, or I’d go nuts. The fact that one of my brothers is an accountant hurts my soul. Bikers and accountants are polar opposites. But Integer is a cool guy, even if he’s a little boring at times.
