Damaged and the Outlaw (Damaged #4)

Lark laughed then made a weird noise. “Heartburn.”


“What happens when the hormones kick in and your boobs inflate?” I asked. “Pregger chicks get bigger boobs and you’ll get bigger for two.”

Opening her eyes a bit, Lark flipped me off. “I have enough problems not projectile vomiting on you right now. Let’s not freak me out about giant boobs, okay?”

“Sorry,” I said as Bailey and I laughed from a safe distance. “I’ll make it up to you by going shopping. I see the list on the fridge and you can stay home and rest while I do slave work.”

“I’ll do your dishes,” Bailey said, eyeing the kitchen. “Clean up the counter too. Helping is fun and not at all boring or beneath me.”

Lark grinned. “I’m feeling really crappy though. Like I need you to do the laundry and sweep the floors kind of crappy.”

Bailey and I glanced at each other then back at little Lark reclined on the couch. She was so fragile and I didn’t want to think of how miserable she would be once the bump of hers exploded into a full fledged camel hump.

“Bailey will start the laundry and I’ll finish it when I get back from the store.”

“Yeah, we’ll tag team your to-do list into submission.”

My little sister beamed at us from the couch and her happiness distracted from my worries over Vaughn. Once I was in Aaron’s Honda on the way to the store, my mind returned to the sexy bastard who owned my heart.

The grocery list consisted of mainly odd pregnancy craving foods. Peppers, onions, limes, lemons plus a few other basics like bread and beef. I picked up a bouquet of flowers for Lark too and mint ice cream. I remembered her mentioning in passing how the flavor might work with her peculiar cravings.

“Remind me not to come to your house for dinner,” Dylan said, pushing his cart next to mine.

I sized up my tall, muscular, and mohawk sporting stepbrother. “It’s for Lark, fuckwit.”

His dark eyes amused, he sighed. “You’re as eloquent as ever, twatface.”

“Is it time to kick your ass again?” I asked, cracking my knuckles.

Dylan scratched at his stubbled jaw. “I’m not letting you win this time, dingus.”

“You know, Lark says you don’t think of us as your sisters, but you sure act like a shithead little brother.”

“I’m older.”

“Not mentally.”

Dylan grinned. “How is Lark?”

“Fine.”

“How are you? You look crankier than usual.”

“I’m fine. Do you really care?”

“Sure, why not? I’m nice now. Lark told me not to be an asshole like Larry and I just switched off my asshole gene.”

“Never occurred to you to turn it off before?” I asked, pushing my cart.

“No. Asshole has always worked for me.”

“I didn’t thank you for helping out Lark when Larry and his grease ball brother attacked her. Thanks, turdmuncher.”

“You’re welcome, skank. I’m glad you came back to town. Lark needs you. Baldy is no substitute.”

“I call him Mister Clean and Yule Brenner.”

“I’ve referred to him as Telly Savalas and Cooper knew who I meant. Didn’t even correct me.”

Laughing, I smacked his arm. “I like this new less asshole version of you.”

“Would you lose respect for my self-improvement if I called your mom a bitch?”

“She is a bitch.”

“Cool because the bitch is here with her bitch friends from the country club.”

My mother was still beautiful, but I sensed her cold personality even from a distance. She noticed us and waved as if happy to see her slut daughter and loser stepson. I knew it was a show for her friends, so I flipped her off. Dylan laughed and flipped her off too.

“I don’t think I’ll be invited to Thanksgiving dinner at this rate,” he said as we started walking to the checkout.

“Who gives a shit? Holidays with your dad and my mom were lame anyway. You can have dinner with Lark and me. She’ll cook and I’ll help and Telly can play with his ugly dogs.”

Dylan grinned. “I’ll bring beer and something for Lark to drink. Whatever she’s craving by then.”

“Poor tiny broad is miserable, but this crap might make her feel better.”

“For this months away dinner, will you be bringing your scary biker boyfriend? I only ask because I might have to hide my assholeness more if he’s around. Don’t want to get my ass kicked.”

Struggling not to wonder if Vaughn would be alive in November, I grinned. “Won’t be any worse than when I kicked it.”

Clearly remembering the fight differently, Dylan smirked, yet said nothing. We checked out, gave my mom another middle finger, before heading to the parking lot. I wished him well and meant it. Life was full of changes and I decided to follow Lark’s lead by viewing Dylan as a friend rather than a member of the enemy camp.