Page 51 of Desert Loyalties
“Ya! Yay! Yay!” she shouts, bottle in one hand, doing some kind of victory shimmy with the other.
Three seconds later, we all stop, gasping for air.
“Holy shit,” Rani huffs, dropping onto the couch. “ThankGodyou have air conditioning now.”
I head into the kitchen and grab the only thing I’m willing to serve drinks in right now: paper cups.
“Yeah, well, one hour of packing my shoes and Drake realized maybeweneed AC.”
Rani snorts. “Shoes? Just your shoes?”
“Yep,” I say, opening the bottle. “That man had no idea what he signed up for.”
Jenna takes a sip from her cup and tilts her head. “And things are good with you too?”
“Yeah,” I say, pouring more wine. “Why?”
She and Rani exchange a look, making me feel like I missed something.
“Well,” Jenna says slowly, “there was some… tension last night.”
I sigh. “We were disagreeing about the IUD. Again.”
Jenna winces. “He still thinks it’s about him?”
I nod. “The man doesn’t get that Idowant kids. I really do. Just… not yet. Not with the Feds sniffing around, not with everything up in the air. I want us to have time, just the two of us, to breathe. To be normal. At least for a minute.”
Rani, already half a glass in, waves her cup. “He wants kids? I’ll give you mine for the day. He’ll be begging you to keep the IUD inforever.”
We all laugh, but it’s true, Rani’s got four kids with Lehi, and those little monsters arerelentless. Adorable. But savage.
I glance at the clock. “I’m gonna head over to the clubhouse. Talk to him.”
I look at my glass.
“…after I finish this.”
One bottle later, the three of us stumble into the clubhouse. Not falling-down drunk, but definitelyhappy,giggly, poor-decision-making drunk.
Drake’s at a table playing cards with a few of the brothers. I march right up to him.
“VP! Woohoo!”
Then drop straight into his lap.
He catches me without even blinking, one strong arm around my waist to steady me. Even angry, even tense, the man’s instincts are to protect. That’s Drake.
I grab his face in both hands. “I wanna have ten babies with you. Let’s go. Get me pregnant.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re drunk.”
“I’ll get you preganma,” I say confidently. The guys around the table crack up.
Drake opens his mouth, probably to tell me to drink water and go lie down, but before he can get a word out, the clubhouse doorslamsopen.
Men in FBI jackets storm in like a wave.
A second later, the prospect rushes in behind them, out of breath. “I tried stopping them, they’ve got a warrant!”
