And yet every time he saw her, it somehow rocked him.
He ignored this feeling that he didn’t want and didn’t understand, and his mouth tightened when he saw how she was dressed. Tight skirt, short. Tight top, cleavage. Lots of leg on show even if she wasn’t all that tall. Nice leg. Shapely leg. Fucking great leg.
Shit.
And fuck-me high-heeled sandals that even if she was too young and his brother’s daughter, the sight of them Shy still felt in his dick.
Damn.
He ignored this too and moved through the room, eyes on her, determined.
She must have felt his approach because she turned her head, looked up, and that burn didn’t lessen at all when her unbelievable blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes hit his.
He was not surprised when her smile faded, the animation left her face and she snapped, “You have got to be shitting me.”
That pissed Shy off too. He fucking hated it when she cursed. Tack didn’t give a shit, even when his kids were younger. Shy, though, detested it. There was something just very wrong about words like that coming from lips as beautiful as hers.
“Let’s go,” he clipped.
“Shy—” she began but didn’t finish, mostly because Shy grabbed her beer, set it aside, then grabbed her hand and hauled her ass off of the couch.
Surprisingly, she didn’t fight.
She followed.
Good, he thought. He wanted this done.
He got her out of the house, down the walk and opened the door of his truck for her. He was pulling her by her hand to get her close to the cab when she finally spoke.
“Shy, I keep telling you guys that this is not what you—”
He leaned in, nose to nose with her and cut her off. “Shut it.”
She blinked even as her head jerked. This wasn’t a surprise. Brothers respected brothers, and one of the ways they did that was by showing respect to their kin. Chaos was Chaos, it was all family. Brothers, old ladies, kids. Shy had never spoken to her that way. None of the brothers had. Not to her.
“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he went on.
Tabby rallied and started to say, “Can I just explain—?”
Shy interrupted her again. “Get in it or I plant you in it, Tab.”
Even in the shadows of night, he saw her eyes flash before he saw her clamp her mouth shut. It was with jerky movements that she yanked her hand from his, turned, and climbed into the truck.
Shy slammed her door, rounded the hood, and folded in.
They were on their way when she tried again, her voice quiet. “Shy, really, those are my friends. It’s all cool. Just a couple of beers. A few joints. I’m not smoking and I’m driving so I wouldn’t—”
“So all of those kids are nursing students?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. “They’re friends from high school.”
“You’re not in high school anymore, Tabby,” he pointed out, and felt her eyes come to him but he kept his angry ones on the road.
“You’re right,” she snapped, the quiet in her voice gone. “I’m not. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still my friends. We’ve had a lot of good times together. We’re close. What? You think I should just scrape them off?”
He didn’t glance at her when he replied, “Uh, yeah, Tab. They’re trash. You aren’t. Jesus.” He shook his head. “I do not get you. I know your mom’s a bitch, but for the last three years you’ve had Cherry in your life. It isn’t like you don’t have a good role model. Why the fuck you can’t be like her is beyond me.”
He heard her swift intake of breath before she returned, “Maybe it’s because I should be like me and, by the way, Shy, Tyra would want me to be like me too.”
The members of the Club called Tack’s woman Cherry but Tack called her Red. His kids and everyone else called her Tyra or Ty-Ty.
“Anyway,” Tabby went on irately, “they’re not trash.”
“They’re trash,” he stated firmly.
“They. Are. Not!” she stated loudly.
There it was. That gave him his opening.
“You want that life?” he asked.
“That life?” she shot back.
“Booze and bodies, booty calls and bust-ups,” he explained.
“Um…hello, Shy. That is my life.”
“So you want it,” he concluded.
She ignored his question and pointed out, “It’s your life too, you know. Nothing wrong with it. Never was, never will be.”
A nursing student.
Right.
On this path, she’d never make it. On this path, she’d end up like those bitches in his bed. On this path, Tabby was pissing her college education away, and Tack might as well be pissing that money into the wind.
“You want that life,” he said softly, “you think that’s cool, baby? Then let’s roll.”
It was perfect timing because he’d flipped on his turn signal to turn into Ride.
“What the hell? Why are we here?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.