Thirty years old and I feel like a teenager. I have to get over this shit before we pick up Jet. I don’t want to give her any doubt about the fact that we are serious about her. With a relationship like the one we want, I’ve always known that when we found the girl for us, it would hit the both of us like a freight train.
There is no question as to whether she is ours or not. Fuck anyone who doesn’t believe in love at first sight. I was gobsmacked the moment I saw her ass sticking up in the air just begging to feel my hands squeezing those lush globes.
She has a compact, little body just begging for a real man’s touch. I know the moment we get her fired up, she is going to blow us both away, and my anticipation is pushing everything else to the back of my mind.
We’ve decided to have dinner at our place but not try to get her into our bed the first night—though we’d both fucking love that. We want her to feel relaxed with the both of us without the worry of people staring and judging the way we are doing things. Ménage relationships aren’t unheard of just not that common in Canada, let alone the town we live in. The last thing either of us wants to do is make her feel belittled because of what we all want.
I am dying to know about the look I saw in her eyes. She gives off a devil may care attitude, but if someone would bother to look just a little bit closer, they’d see the vulnerability and pain hidden behind her cool eyes. I want to slay her dragons and take her away. Show her how a true man treats his woman.
Pulling up to her shop, I immediately notice a fancy car sitting outside. With the sign saying closed, it has me not only curious but cautious.
“What do you think that’s about?” Greer nods his head to the car I noticed as well.
“Let’s find out.”
Jet
“Margo, I said no. What’s your damage? Why are you guys so insistent this year?”
To say I am shocked that my oldest sister has shown up in my shop while I’m tattooing a big-ass biker and his buddy is a bald-faced lie.
The dirty looks she shoots them makes me want to cunt punch her. Margo’s I am better than you attitude is palpable and my clients aren’t any more impressed than I. Luckily, they are repeats and know me well enough to realize drama isn’t allowed in my place.
“Why won’t you just come home for Christmas, Jet? It’s in three days, and we want you there.” Did she have to whine? I hate when she whines. She may be six years older than me, but damn, does she make a habit of acting like she is the youngest sibling with the constant pouting.
“Why?” I know there’s a reason, and it’s probably one of Dad’s clients wanting to see the whole happy family thing. They need me there for show. I haven’t done that shit since I was pretty much given my walking papers. Why they think I’d start coming around now is beyond me.
“Must there be a reason?”
I watch in amusement as her bottom lip begins to tremble. Too bad the emotion doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
Standing straight, I tell her, “Yea, Margo, there has to be a reason. It’s been years since I’ve been a little puppet for them and you know it. They wouldn’t be insistent like this and neither would you if it weren’t for a reason, and if something were wrong with Pappy, he’d tell me himself. So spill it and get it over with already, I’ve got shit to do tonight.”
“You could at least try and act like a lady, Jet. No man’s going to want you with that filth you speak.” She is stalling, and it’s pissing me off.
“Fuck sakes, Margo!” I finally explode as the front door opens and in walks my two gorgeous men.
My? When did that happen? I kind of like it.
“Stop being such a snobby bitch, Jet, and come home. We all know you’re failing here. Like, come on, it’s time to end this nonsense rebelling now. You’re twenty-two years old and need to grow up.”
I’m not sure whether to be more pissed off about the fact she’s called me a snob, that I’m failing, or that she basically told the only two men I’ve ever been attracted to that I’m the family failure.
What a great fucking time to be me.
Shaking my head in frustration, I don’t get a chance to say anything before Eli pipes up. “Not seeing much failure here.”
Startled, Margo spins around eyeing them both up and down, deciding their worth in one nasty glance before saying to Eli, “Of course you don’t, you’re cut from the same cloth.”
Greer’s snort of derision, or maybe laughter, draws her attention to him—poor man. His boot cut jeans, polo shirt, and loafers have him looking mighty respectable. In a I want to tear his clothes off with my teeth kind of way.
My sister, however, is eyeing him up with more appreciation than I care to see. Especially considering she’s happily married, or so she says.