Page 28 of Blackbeard
Fuck.
I shook my head and shoved that fantasy to the back of my mind. Baby Doll was right. I was doing too much thinking with my dick around Leigh instead of my brain.
In the morning, I woke to a relentless cascade of buzzing from my phone, indicating an onslaught of texts. I groaned and burrowed into my pillow. Probably Leigh, wondering why I didn’t come home last night.
She was taking her role as wife a little too seriously…
Buzz-buzz-buzz.
I swore and flung a hand out, groping around on the nightstand until my fingers brushed against my phone. I squinted, bleary-eyed, at the screen.
Twelve texts filled my inbox, half from my abuela, and the other half from one of my sisters, Esperanza.
You’re married!? Why didn’t you tell us?
When did you get a wife? And why isn’t she wearing a ring yet? Don’t be cheap, chico. I taught you better than that.
Is she pregnant? Did you have a Vegas wedding? I wanted to be a bridesmaid, Diego!
Do you ever use your washing machine? There’s a mountain of dirty underwear in your hamper.
“Shit,” I grumbled, scrambling out of bed.
My family was at my house.With Leigh.
I knew I couldn’t keep my marriage under the radar where my family was concerned. My abuela had been practically begging me to get married for years. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining that my bride was virtually a stranger. My marriage was club business, not a family affair, which would be confusing and disappointing for them.
Grabbing my clothes, I dressed as quickly as possible and headed for my bike. Big G emerged from the kitchen as I passed.
“Whoa, where’s the fire? Slow down, grab some breakfast. Fresh coffee is in the kitchen. I brought donuts.”
“Can’t stay,” I tossed over my shoulder, shoving the clubhouse door open. “My family just met Leigh. I need to run damage control.”
Big G winced with sympathy and lifted his mug in a salute.
“Good luck, brother. Sounds like a shit show."
I sped through town, keeping an eye out for cops so I didn’t get pulled over for a ticket. Veering into my driveway, I barely parked my bike before I was striding up the sidewalk and into the house.
A flurry of voices emanated from the kitchen, talking over each other as always. My stomach clenched.
Under normal circumstances, that sound brought me nothing but joy. The kitchen was the heart of my home, where I spent countless hours with my family, cooking and sharing meals together.
But my home wasn’t safe while I was married to Leigh.
Rounding the corner, I entered the kitchen to find my abuela, Esperanza, and two of my nieces—Claudia and Luisa—gathered at the counter and the stove, cooking.
Claudia and Luisa had to stand on chairs to reach the counter, since they were only six and eight years old. Their arms, hands, and faces were dusted with a layer of flour as they giggled at each other.
Esperanza attempted to teach them how to roll out tortillas, but they kept getting distracted, amused by the sticky dough on their fingers.
Abuela manned the stove, monitoring fresh, hot tortillas in a pan. Her long gray braid swayed down her back with her movements, brushing her tailbone.
Leigh sat at the island with a cup of coffee. Her hair was twisted up and pinned off her neck with a clip. The silkypurple robe she wore slipped off one shoulder, revealing the barely-there strap of a black camisole top. She’d probably been ambushed by my family before she was dressed and ready for the day.
My gaze settled on her smooth, exposed skin for a split second, remembering the tangy salt of her skin on my tongue when I bit the curve of her neck in the foyer.
I scolded myself for looking, for letting myself get distracted so easily.
