Page 16 of Knocked Up by Her Daddy's Friends

“You can leave now Tammy,” Angel says, his tone as warm as it ever is, which isn’t very, but he’s not unfriendly.

“Sure, thanks,” she says to Angel before hugging Skye. “Call me if you need anything okay, we’re family here and you’re part of that no matter what your folks say.”

“Thanks, Tammy,” Skye says squeezing her back.

Angel locks the door behind Tammy as I say to Skye, “Alright then, follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

Skye nods and follows, with Angel, Buzz, and Gunner close behind. As we walk past the office Skye’s cheeks flush, no doubt she’s recalling the last time she was in there. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have been there. As we head upstairs I point out our rooms as we go.

“This one’s Angel’s, then we have Buzz on the left, mine’s opposite, Gunner at the end next to the communal hangout space, and your one is here, opposite Angel and next door to me. If you need anything, anything at all, just knock,” I explain with a grin, pointing out the rooms.

Buzz rolls his eyes. Hey, you can’t blame a guy for giving her the information, if she wants to sneak into my room in the night, she’s more than welcome to. She walks into the room when I open the door, taking in her surroundings. All of the five studio rooms up here are more or less identical. A small kitchenette with an island; a living area with a couch, armchair, and TV; a bedroom area with a king-size bed, wardrobe, and bedside table; and an ensuite bathroom. Unlike each of our rooms which have been decorated to suit our styles, this room is a blank canvas with white bedsheets, and neutral furnishings.

“It might lack personality but it’s clean, comfortable, and most importantly, safe,” Buzz says as she walks around.

“It’s perfect, thank you, I don’t know what I would have done otherwise,” she replies stifling a yawn.

“There are clean towels, a spare toothbrush and toothpaste, and toiletries in the bathroom,” Angel explains.

It’s then that I realize this wasn’t exactly a planned visit and the only things she has on her are the clothes on her back and a small purse which probably only has her phone and wallet. The thought seems to occur to her too as she looks down at the jeans and t-shirt she’s wearing.

“Hold on,” I say, quickly running to my room to grab a spare t-shirt for her to wear. “You can sleep in this if you like,” I say handing it out to her. It’s well-worn but soft and comfortable.

“Thanks,” she replies with a shy smile.

“Dream of me,” I reply with a wink enjoying watching the color rise to her cheeks.

It’s clear that as much as we might want it, nothing is going to happen, not tonight anyway. We might want to fuck Skye, but we’re not the kind of guys to take advantage of a vulnerable woman. So, we bid her goodnight and close the door.

“Well, you just made resisting her a million times harder,” Buzz quips as he heads to his room, though he doesn’t seem too torn up about it.

“Fucking check with us before you invite someone into our clubhouse next time Drifter,” Gunner grumbles, heading to his room and slamming the door behind him.

I feel guilty, out of all of us, this is going to be the hardest for Gunner. Since he left the army, he’s struggled to let people in and suffers from PTSD, not that he wants anyone to know that. Only the three of us know how bad things can sometimes get for him. Home is the one place he can relax and be himself and now I’ve taken that peace from him by thinking with my dick.

“Just because she’s staying here, that doesn’t change anything,” Angel warns, though we both know that’s not true.

I have a feeling Skye is going to change everything. Whether that’s for good or bad is yet to be seen. But I never was afraid of a little danger and chaos. It’s stagnation and boredom I can’t stand. And having Skye here definitely won’t be boring.

Chapter 9

Skye

When I wake, I’m temporarily confused as to where I am and then last night comes rushing back to me. I don’t know why I came here instead of calling Meghan, Trish, or Lucy. In my distress, it’s like I went on autopilot and found myself back here. I certainly didn’t expect to be shacking up with my bosses who I just so happen to be trying to write a story about. Oh, and that I also have a crazy huge crush on. I must have completely lost my mind.

Mom and Bill certainly seem to think so.

When they confronted me, I told them the truth, or at least part of it, that I wanted to get to know more about my dad. Mom started spouting her usual lies and I cut her off, telling her I knew she hung out with the Angels of Havoc once and was married to Tommy. From the look of horror on her face and confusion on Bill’s, it seems I’m not the only one who didn’t know about Mom’s past. That’s probably why it devolved into such a blazing row that I stormed out, both of them want to live in a make-believe world and I refuse to bury my head in the sand and pretend we’re a nice normal family when we’re anything but.

Mom didn’t try to stop me, but she at least did text and ask where I was going to stay. I lied and said I’m staying with my friends. That’s probably what I should have done, and I don’t want to make things worse by admitting I’m now staying in a biker clubhouse.

I can’t believe I’m now staying with the stars of my lust-filled thoughts and wild sex dreams. Speaking of which, I can still smell Drifter on the t-shirt he lent me, it swamps my frame, something I’m unused to. Wearing it feels strangely intimate somehow.

I’m climbing out of bed to go and brush my teeth and take a shower when I hear a knock at the door. I pad over barefoot, checking that the t-shirt covers my ass and teasing the worst of the knots from my hair with my fingers.

Drifter is standing in the doorway looking sexy as hell with freshly washed hair that’s still damp. “Morning,” he says with a lopsided grin. Holding up a box of cereal and a carton of milk he adds, “I thought you might want breakfast. Sorry it’s not something more substantial, we’re not usually morning people…” he says apologetically.

“Thanks,” I say gratefully, feeling self-conscious standing there in just his t-shirt and my panties. The sound of classical music drifting down the corridor distracts me and my brow furrows in confusion. “Am I going crazy or is someone listening to classical music?”

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