He tisked. “Saw him go off with Tiff. Might be awhile.”

I made a face because seriously, that was gross. “Well, I’ll wait for him a little bit longer.”

Trip backed up to sit on top of empty stool to my left. “Not much of a party girl, eh?”

“Not really.” I never had been. When I turned twenty-one, Lanie and I had bought a bottle of boxed wine to celebrate an age I wasn't sure I'd make it to. So it wasn't a surprise that we'd celebrated way too much. The next morning, when I was hunched over the toilet seat puking my guts out, I swore I’d never do it again. Three years later, I’d kept my word. On the rare occasion I'd drink half a beer or maybe a glass of wine.

Party animal, I know.

His fingers swept over the sides of his mouth, brushing the yellowish hair of his goatee. The look on his face was pure sin. “I’ll keep you company then.”

“Why thank you.” I shot him a smile, still keeping an eye on his mouth's movement to catch any gag reflexes though I was grateful to have someone to talk to. “If I start to bore you, feel free to go hang out with other people.”

Trip rolled his eyes and pressed the bottle to his mouth for a long drink. “Whatever you say, baby.” He smirked. "You likin' the new job?"

Not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to lie, I shrugged a shoulder. "It's coming along, but I'm still looking for another one."

He leaned toward me. His face serious. "Dex bein' a dick?"

I didn't mean to do it but the laugh just kind of burst out of my chest. Wasn't Dex the first person Blake thought of when he saw someone had upset me? That should have been a sign of what I was getting myself into. If Trip immediately guessed, I could only imagine what that guy must have done to earn a reputation of pissing people off.

"Why you laughin'? I'm right, aren't I?" Trip grinned.

I had a record for putting my foot in my mouth so I shrugged instead, still laughing just a little bit.

It was Trip's turn to shrug. "He's as moody as can fuckin' be, baby. Always got somethin' up his ass."

So, so true. But I wouldn't admit it outright like that. They were friends, after all. It would be like me hearing someone call Lanie a bitch. I could call her a bitch but no one else could. "He definitely had something living up there a few days ago."

Blonde brows rose. "Was it his dad’s shit?"

"I have no idea." But I wondered for all of a second what had been the cause. Then I realized I didn't give care because it didn’t matter. A dick is a dick.

"You tell me if he's givin' you a hard time," Trip said. "I'll beat the dumbfuck out of him." His blue eyes flicked to the side. “He’s got so much in him, it’ll take a while.”

Something really reassuring settled in my chest at his offer. I couldn't help but nod and pat his arm. "Sonny called his kneecaps, you can have the rest of him."

He chuckled. His eyes had drifted down to where my hand rested on his forearm, his gaze sliding up and over my elbow, stopping on my bicep. My sleeve had rode up my arm at some point. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand clench open and close. His baby blue eyes flicked up to mine, his expression confused and curious.

Trip's lips parted for a moment before closing. Once, twice, three times.

I'd done this enough times to know what he wanted. Where his confusion stemmed from. Extending my arm out so he could take a better look at the scarring, he winced and instinctively reached out to touch it. It wasn't a good-looking scar. The flesh looked gnarled and silver-white against my healthy skin. After four different surgeries, I'd stopped caring what it looked like. Seeing it in the mirror didn't bother me anymore but I hated the looks I'd get from people.

Like I was broken.

Like there was something wrong with me.

I lost the name my mom had so carefully chosen and became a medical term.

A hand came down to smack Trip's fingers away. "What the hell are you doing?" Sonny asked, pushing himself between our two stools, his amber eyes going back and forth between Trip and I.

Trip didn't even seem bothered by Sonny's reaction. The look on his face was a little relaxed and a little more confused. "Hangin' out," he answered vaguely, keeping his gaze on Sonny.

Sonny narrowed his light colored eyes at his friend before turning his attention to me and pulling down my shirt sleeve as if it were a second thought. There were times when I'd catch him looking at my arm with an expression of pure, painful remorse. Like it'd been his fault that I'd gotten sick. Or maybe it hurt him to see it. I didn't know and I wouldn't ask. If I didn’t make a big deal out of it—AKA pretend there was nothing different—no one else would either.

"Ris, I'm going out for a minute with a friend," he whispered into my ear, putting both hands on my shoulders and squeezing.

A minute? Ha.

I tilted my gaze up to look at him over my shoulder. There was a pretty brunette standing just behind him, a possessive hand clasped on his arm. Interesting. "Okay. Is it fine if I go home or do you want me to hang out here awhile?"

He smirked and squeezed his grip. "You can go home. I'll be there later." The gross ass smirked again. "Way later."

I faked a shudder.

With more pressure to my shoulder, I saw him reach out to slap Trip on the back. He gave him a hard look that I didn't understand before disappearing into the crowd behind us.

A woman squeal loudly to my right and I found Luther leaning against a high countertop table with a young—probably around my age—girl tucked on his lap.

Gross.

Trip must have recognized the look in my eye because he laughed, either forgetting all about what he'd seen or choosing to push his question aside. “You get used to it.”

Not trying to be rude because obviously Trip knew Luther, I covered my dry gag by looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “But she’s… young enough to be his daughter.”

“She’s younger than his son, baby.”

I sucked in a breath way too loudly that made Trip smile wide. “But… but… how? Why?” Luther wasn’t going to win any awards in the beauty department. He wasn’t one of those men who had gotten better with age, or even aged gracefully. He was okay looking but that was as far as I’d compliment him.

Trip looked at me with a straight face and laughed, his beer bottle shaking in his hand. Once he settled down, he shook his head. “Because some girls don’t care if a man’s old enough to be their daddy as long as he’s the Prez.”

“The Prez?”

Trip nodded.

What the hell was the Prez? Even if he was the President of the United States, I’d have to get paid at least a few grand to go anywhere near his lap. Yuck.

“The Widows?”

Trip slapped a hand over the right side of his leather vest over where the white patch was stitched. “What else would he be the president of?”

I ignored his smart ass comment and focused on the men hustling around, messing with each other. "There's a lot of you guys."

“We got chapters all over Texas and the Southwest.”

Hmm. I still didn’t have a single clue what exactly it meant to be in a motorcycle club besides what I saw on television, or hell, the stuff my mom had told me about years ago when the club was mixed up in drug running. She hadn't told me much but it was enough to know that twenty-five years ago, the WMC wasn't a group of people that valued family and community service.

Though now, even after Sonny had explained that the Widowmakers had changed their ways, they probably still didn't hold bake sales but whatever.

As nice as Trip seemed, I figured I should probably hold most of my questions for Sonny. If anyone was going to laugh at me for asking dumb things, I’d rather it be him than someone else.