“Everything looks great,” the lady says. “Do you want to find out the gender?”
I look at Dex. “Yes, please.”
“It looks like you’re having a baby girl, congratulations.”
“Fuck,” Dex mutters but smiles while he says it. I squeeze his fingers, emotion consuming me. I’m going to have a little girl. I try to picture what she might look like, dark-haired like her father? Dex leans down to my level and whispers, “She isn’t dating until she’s twenty-one.”
“Well with you and the rest of the MC, I don’t think she stands a chance,” I say. “All the boys will be too scared to even look her way.”
“And with good reason,” he says, sounding smug.
“I don’t know, you’re going to be an old man by then,” I tease as he wipes the gel off with a paper towel and helps me up. We thank the lady and head home.
Home.
Is it becoming my home?
*****
Staring down at my phone, I walk into the living area and come to a standstill as I survey the room. Dex is sitting in the middle, on the single recliner, while there are two club members on each side of him. Arrow and Rake on one, Tracker and Irish on the other. My eyes turning to slits, I look at each of their faces in confusion.
“Faye, we have something we’d like to discuss with you,” Dex says, gesturing for me to take a seat on the bean bag in the middle. Way to make me feel small. I take two steps towards them, curious as hell, when it hit me just what this is.
It’s a f**king intervention.
What could I possibly need one for? I rack my brain to think of what they could have to say to me and come up empty. I sit down in the middle, facing my man. He’s trying to keep a straight face but his crinkling eyes are a dead giveaway.
“Is this an intervention?” I ask him, sitting with perfect posture and my chin lifted.
A lip twitch. “I guess you could call it that.”
Smiles all around.
“And what is it regarding exactly?” I ask, putting my lawyer face on.
Dex manages to keep straight face. “Arrow would you like to begin?”
I turn to Arrow, my face daring him to say something.
“When you cleaned my room, it felt like an invasion of my privacy,” he says, causing the men to all laugh.
I gape. “I was doing you a favor!”
“You picked my lock and snuck into my room to do it!” Irish calls out.
I cringe. “Well when you put it like that.”
I look at Tracker, who is staring down at me like I’m the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “I haven’t even made it to your room yet,” I say, wondering why he’s here.
He grins wolfishly. “I know; I’m here for a different reason, to ask why I’ve been singled out.”
“Discrimination!” Arrow yells out.
I rub my palm down my face. “Fine, I’ll tone down the cleaning, but you,” I say pointing at Dex, “can’t stop me from doing our room.”
More laughter at my choice of words.
He puts his hands up. “I didn’t complain, I just have these ass**les on my back all the time.”
“And you,” I say, pointing to Tracker, “I’ll be visiting your room later today.”
Tracker gets a warning glance from Dex that I don’t miss. I roll my eyes.
“Am I done here?” I ask, standing up and feeling amused. These big bad bikers—if only other people could see the side of them that I get to see on a daily basis.
Pussycats, the lot of them.
“Whose idea was this by the way?” I ask them.
“It was a club decision,” Dex replies, smirking. He’s wearing a skin tight white t-shirt today that looks delicious on him, showcasing his powerful chest and broad shoulders. I lick my lips. His eyes follow the motion.
“You want something babe?” he asks, voice lowering.
I purposely lower my gaze to the crotch of his black jeans. “I think you know what I want.”
“Ew,” Arrow says, standing up to leave the room. “This is like watching my sister.”
Dex, who still has his eyes on me, stalks forward until he’s close enough that I can almost touch him. My breath hitches as his lips touch my ear and say, “Meet me in the room and be naked.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, baiting him.
His eyes darken. “Try it and see.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “I’ll do it if I feel like it.”
Now he chuckles. “You always feel like it.”
I lift my hand to run it along the stubble on his jaw. “Hurry.”
Then I turn and head into our room.
*****
How do I get into situations like this? I ask myself the next morning as I stand in the kitchen, clutching my juice like it’s a lifeline. When I walked in here five minutes ago, a girl was sitting here in her underwear drinking coffee. She started talking to me and hasn’t stopped. I don’t even know her name.
“You don’t dress like a biker chick,” she says, judgment in her tone. I look down at my jeans and vintage t-shirt and frown. I have no idea what to say to this chick.
“I just dress like I always do,” I manage to say, clearing my throat. Am I being judged by a club whore? Well, this is a little awkward.
“So, who were you with?” I ask, wondering who I have to kill for making me have this conversation.
“Oh, Rake,” she answers, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He’s a beast in the sack.”