Page 15 of Stone

“Women like to come and party with the brothers,” he muttered, obviously embarrassed. “Things can get... Umm... sexual?”

I felt my cheeks burn. “Oh.” My throat contracted, and my eyes met his. Something stopped me from asking the one thingI desperately wanted to know, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words for fear of the answer.

John’s forehead furrowed, his eyes flicking between mine before they widened almost comically. “No. Not me, Duchess—I wouldn’t—I’m with you.”

I bit my lip nervously. “Have you ever...?” My voice trailed off.

I watched as a spot of red stained his cheeks. “Yeah, but not for years. Way before I fell for you.” His hand reached for mine, and he laced our fingers together. “Not sayin’ I was an angel, Leesy, but I stopped all that shit a while ago.”

My heart plummeted.

John’s words reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart, but I was also determined not to be a baby about it.

I had zero experience with sex, apart from letting John feel me up now and again. I’d wanted to go all the way, begged him in fact, but he said we should wait until I turned eighteen.

A loud bang splintered the air, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

John grabbed my arm and shoved me behind him. “What the hell—?” Loud whoops and roars of laughter followed.

My eyes widened as Bandit strolled from the side of the barn carrying a huge box, tunelessly barking the words ‘Candy’ by Cameo at the top of his voice. Three brothers followed him, laughing and hollering as they made their way toward the clubhouse doors.

“What you shooting at?” John asked his dad as he approached.

Bandit cackled. “The new prospect.”

John sighed. “Why?”

“Caught him asleep behind the clubhouse. Thought I’d give him a wake-up call.”

“Pop,” John protested. “You can’t shoot a prospect for takin’ a nap.”

The prez smirked. “He’s fine. I didn’t hit him. Aimed a couple of inches to the right of his head. He can sleep on his own dime.”

John stared at Bandit, clearly perplexed. “But you don’t pay him.”

Bandit’s head reared back. “He gets free beer and pussy.” His crazy-eyed stare slid to me. “Pardon my French.”

My eyes rounded.

“What you got there?” John asked, nodding toward the box Bandit was holding.

The prez waggled his eyebrows excitedly. “This, my boy, is hours of free entertainment. Remember that band who played a few weeks back for Rabbit’s birthday?”

John nodded.

“I had to pay ‘em a hundred green,” Bandit explained, lips pursing. “One fuckin’ hundred to play two forty-five-minute sets. That’s fifty darn bucks for forty-five minutes of work. Can you fuckin’ believe that? Anyway, I digress. This here is what they call a karaoke box. It’s got thousands of songs inside it, and you sing along with the microphone.”

John’s face scrunched up in confusion. “D’ya get a singer in for it?”

“Nope!” Bandit grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. Anyone can have a go. You pick a song, grab the mic, and suddenly you’re Frank fuckin’ Sinatra.” He offloaded the box into one of the brother's arms and began to bark the lyrics to ‘New York, New York’ while doing jazz hands.

I couldn’t hide my giggle. John’s pop was such a character. He didn’t care what anybody thought of his antics, which was probably why everybody in town—including my dad—said he had a screw loose.

When eventually the roars of laughter died down, Bandit strolled toward us. “You and your girlie here tonight?”

John gave him a nod.

Bandit’s intense stare rested on me, and I blushed because it was like he could see inside my head and all my insecurities and vulnerabilities.

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