Page 7 of Triplets for the Rival MC

Cyrus must realize this, too, as he blushes and stands up abruptly. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I should get going, leave you to eat in peace. Don’t feel like you’ve gotta stay in this room. You can hang out in the living room or in the clubhouse if you want.”

“Right, yes. Thanks for the food. And for talking to me,” I add. As much as I’m kicking myself for screwing up the conversation, I’m grateful that Cyrus took the time to speak to me and for his honesty.

“You don’t need to thank me for speaking to you,” Cyrus says with a sad smile. “I’ll see you later, Tori.” With that, he quietly closes the door behind him, and I hear his footsteps heading downstairs; no doubt he’s desperate to get away from me.

He said I can leave this room at any time and explore, but right now I want to lock myself away and hide. I’ve not even been here a day, and I’ve already managed to embarrass myself in front of two of them.

***

My plan to stay in my room doesn’t last long. After a couple of hours, I feel like I’m going stir-crazy. The room is nice enough, simple yet comfortable, a classic guest room, but there isn’t a lot to do in here. There’s no TV or books, and my phone was confiscated from me last night. Despite our agreement, I can’t blame Flint for being cautious and deciding to hold onto it. They don’t yet know for sure if they can trust me. Besides, I don’t really need my phone, it’s not like I have anyone I can talk to.

When my boredom finally becomes unbearable, I get out of bed and get dressed. I’ll have to speak to the guys about getting me some more clothes if I’m going to stay here a while. I can’t live in the same outfit day in and day out. My stomach rumbles, my appetite coming back with a vengeance, so I go in search of the kitchen.

I assume that the bedrooms will be in one area and the kitchen and living area in another, so I walk toward the door at the end of the corridor. I open it to find a large, open plan kitchen and living area. The kitchen is sleek and masculine, with black countertops and slate-gray cabinets. A giant flatscreen TV dominates the living room with a big, comfortable-looking L-shaped gray sofa in front of it. There are no pictures on the walls, no knick-knacks or feminine touches. The house screams bachelor pad. I’m relieved to find the room empty, and I wonder if the guys are in their rooms or downstairs in the clubhouse. I’m guessing they’re in the clubhouse. A small part of me is tempted to go and snoop in their rooms, out of pure curiosity to learn more about them, but I push the thought aside. They’ve trusted me enough to leave me alone here.

I head over to the kitchen in search of something to eat. After the feast Cyrus gave me for breakfast, I expected the fridge to be full, but I’m surprised to find it mostly empty, apart from some eggs, bread, and a couple of jars of sauce. The cupboards are similarly barren, with only a few tins of soup, some ramen noodles, and a tin of beans. I presume they must eat downstairs a lot. Maybe that’s even where Cyrus got my food from this morning.

With a sigh, I decide to head downstairs to the clubhouse. I’ve got to face Hunter eventually.

I’m surprised when I enter the bar to see several families with children eating there. Children were not a common sight at the Raging Bulls clubhouse. Despite many members having kids, it was not a family-friendly establishment. The men expected their old ladies to stay at home with the kids while they got drunk at the club. The atmosphere is warm and friendly, with the sounds of children laughing with their parents filling the air. The smell of hot, fresh fries, and burgers makes my mouth water. A woman smiles as she passes me, arms laden with delicious, hearty food, and my stomach rumbles. I spot the guys sitting in the same spot as we were last night. I hesitate, unsure whether I should join them. Luckily, Cyrus spots me and smiles, waving me over.

“Hey, we were wondering if you’d come down,” Cyrus says warmly.

Flint watches me warily, and I wonder if it was a test, leaving me unattended. Part of me thinks I should have tested the exit door. Maybe it was locked or monitored all along, my freedom an illusion. But, if this were a test, I passed it by not doing so.

I avoid looking at Hunter, too embarrassed. But I’m forced to when he asks, “You hungry?” His words somehow sound like he’s asking more than if I want to eat. Is everything this man says an innuendo?

“Starving,” I admit.

“Sit. Order whatever you want,” Flint says brusquely.

I nod and obey, grateful that the space is beside Cyrus. Hunter is far too flirty and Flint too cold. I hesitate as I wonder what to eat. It’s not as if they have a menu, and I doubt they have salad. My father always complained about how much I ate, and I don’t want these men to get the wrong impression of me.

“Could I get a salad if you have the ingredients? Maybe some lettuce or tomatoes?” I ask the woman as she comes over.

“You can’t seriously want to eat salad when you’re hungover?” Hunter asks incredulously. “When I’m hungover, all I want is a big juicy burger.”

“Well, that’s all well and good for you, Mr. Six Pack, but I need to watch my weight,” I reply snarkily.

Hunter chuckles, more amused than offended at my nickname for him. I suppose it is a compliment. No one was ever teased for being too attractive and in shape. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your curves, Tori. If you want a burger, have one. Life’s too short to deny yourself what you really want.” Again, I have the feeling he’s talking about more than just food.

“Honey, I can get you a salad if you really want it. But if I had a booty like yours, I’d be shaking my ass all day long, and not eatin’ like a damn rabbit,” the woman says with a grin. She looks to be in her late forties. I’m not sure if she’s a club girl or one of the old ladies, or whether they hire people to work at the clubhouse. “Candy,” she says, extending her hand.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Tori,” I answer.

“So what’s it gonna be?”

“Fine. I’ll have a bacon burger with fries, please,” I say. “And a root beer.” I glance at the guys who are drinking beer again. “I don’t know how you guys can stomach alcohol again today.”

Cyrus chuckles. “Sometimes it’s the best cure for a hangover.”

I grimace. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not sure I ever want to drink again.”

The guys chuckle, and I feel relieved that there seems to be no awkwardness about last night. Is this what it’s like to be a member of the Ghost Riders? Everything is so relaxed and accepting.

Conversation flows easily as it did last night, though I notice that Flint tries to steer it away from revealing too much about the Ghost Riders that I could report back to my father. It’s clear he doesn’t trust me just yet. That only makes me more determined to prove myself to him.

After we finish eating, a couple come over to chat to us. The guys introduce them to me as Hank and his old lady, Shelly. Hank is a giant of a man, at least six feet six and almost as wide, with a barrel chest, a big, round belly, and a bushy beard. Although he’s intimidating to look at, the term gentle giant comes to mind. He’s softly spoken with ruddy cheeks and a jolly laugh that makes me think of Santa. Shelly is a chubby woman with pink cheeks and an ample bosom. She doesn’t seem at all conscious of her weight, wearing a short skirt and revealing top that I would be too shy to wear. However, she’s beautiful because of her confidence. I wish I could be like that.