Page 22 of Make or Break

I shook my head. “Hear this, Mick. I’m not mad at you. Hell, you sneezing probably did me a favor.”

“Not to rile the angry beast inside you, but who’s number did she get?”

I chuckled. “My mom’s. And the fact Mom didn’t call me right afterward is unbelievable.”

She nodded. “Last night, you didn’t tell me about her hating bikers.”

I pushed my chair back from the table. “Come over here. I want you close.”

“You want me on your lap,” she corrected.

“It’ll help soothe the angry beast you think I have inside me.”

After she grabbed her nearly-empty wine glass, she came and sat on my lap, draping an arm around my shoulders.

I wrapped an arm around her waist. “I didn’t tell you about that because I should have fuckin’ seen it. The fact I didn’t made me feel stupid as hell.”

Her head wobbled as she stared into space. “Yeah, but it shouldn’t. People like that hide their inner ugliness so well.”

“How would you know?” I asked, giving her a squeeze.

She drank the rest of her wine and set her glass on the table. “Meeting anyone’s parents is nerve-wracking, but most guys who met my dad treated me differently the moment we left the house. And things would end very soon after that. The first two or three times it blindsided me. Then I tried to be more selective, but still managed to get fooled.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

She stood slightly so she could shift to straddle me. “I’m not. It’s something we both understand, and it’s something you’ll never have to worry about from me.”

Deep down I suspected that might have been the reason I went to her last night to drown my sorrows. She got my lifestyle because she’d grown up in it. But that was only half true. We’d connected from the start, and we’d been growing closer.

Her hands cupped my cheeks and she stared down at me. “Wanna make out before we do the dishes? Then we can make Christmas Crack since I’ve got a little bit of room in the fridge.”

“Why make out when we could fuck? I thought this was a fuckfest.”

She pouted at me. “We’d be able to do that if you hadn’t hidden my Saints nightshirt. Now I’m almost fully dressed, so you’ll have to settle for making out. ”

I nipped at her neck where I’d left a love bite. “How are you ‘almost’ fully dressed? You look dressed to me.”

Her nose glided alongside mine. “I’m not wearing a bra. That’s the hard line in the sand.”

My hands immediately went to her mid-back and I grinned. “Fine. We’ll make out and then I’ll do the dishes with a raging hard-on.”

She gave me a peck. “You know I’ll take care of that for you, Tundra.”

“You better, baby,” I muttered, then pulled her to me for a kiss.

Chapter 7

Charitable

Mickayla

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Tundra said with his phone to his ear.

I debated scurrying off to my bedroom to give him some privacy, but our breakfast casserole was supposed to come out of the oven in five minutes and if I went to my room, I’d be tempted to call Ryan, who’d probably find Killian, and then I’d be on the phone for at least half an hour. Especially if Killian handed the phone to Dad or our sister Mabel, though either one of them would keep the conversation brief. And, if Mom got on the line, I expected a guilt trip for staying home and that would dampen my mood.

To busy myself, I went to the fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke. I filled a glass with ice, then poured a shot of rum in the glass and filled the rest with coke.

I didn’t normally drink first thing in the morning, but this was a holiday and I wasn’t planning to go anywhere.