Page 19 of Boulder's Weight

The clubhouse kitchen is surprisingly clean compared to the main room.

Astra insists on it—says she won't cook for a bunch of slobs who can't keep their shit together.

And when Python's old lady lays down the law, you don't argue.

Hell, when any of the old ladies say anything, you know better than to fucking argue with them.

I move around the space, measuring coffee grounds into the filter. "So how long are you staying in Chihuahua?" I ask, trying to sound casual even as I find myself hoping it's not just a quick visit.

Kelsey leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest.

There's something defensive about the posture, like she's protecting herself from something. Or someone.

"I'm not sure yet," she says after a moment. "A little bit. Depends on a couple of things."

"On what?" I press, wanting more than her vague non-answers.

She shrugs, those walls of hers seemingly reinforced with steel. "On a few things."

Her vagueness is frustrating but also intriguing.

Most women I hook up with can't wait to tell me their life story, like somehow sharing their deepest secrets will make me want to stick around.

Kelsey's different.

She guards her past like it's a fortress under attack.

"What about you?" she asks, watching me set up the coffee maker. "You planning to stay in Mexico?"

"Yeah, a hundred percent," I reply, hitting the brew button. "I’m here to earn my patch, to earn my place in the club."

"How long does that usually take? Earning your patch?"

"Depends on the guy. Some prospects wash out after a few months. Others take years." I lean back against the counter opposite of her, crossing my arms to mirror her stance. "I've been at it a while, but I'm close. Can feel it."

Kelsey nods, seeming genuinely interested. "And what happens after? When you're a full member?"

"More responsibility. More freedom. More of a say in club business." I study her face, trying to read what's behind those guarded eyes. "Why all the questions about club life?"

"Just curious," she says with a shrug, but she doesn't quite meet my gaze. "It's a world I don't know much about."

Bullshit.

The way she carries herself around the clubhouse, the easy way she talked to Ripper and the boys back in Montana—she knows more about club life than she's letting on.

But pushing would only make her retreat further, so I let it slide.

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour us each a mug.

She takes hers black, which somehow doesn't surprise me.

"So," I say, taking a sip of my own, loaded with sugar. "You looking to earn any extra cash while you’re here, or just enjoying your vacation?"

"Eh, I’m always open to earn a couple extra bucks." she replies, blowing on her coffee before taking a careful sip. "Why, you know someone who needs a hand or something?"

"Maybe. You like working in the service industry?" I nod. "You seem good at it."

A shadow crosses her face at the mention of work, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. "Yeah, I love it, actually."

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