Page 22 of Mac
He had a point. For being younger, they had always given Mandi’s boyfriends a hard fucking time. They never let any one of them get too comfortable for too long. Their philosophy being that if the guy couldn’t handle Mandi’s brothers being up in their business, then he wasn’t anywhere near good enough to handle Mandi.
Jackie agreed. It’s how she felt about Jaz and any woman who ever expressed interest in him. Except Mandi. Those two were different yet similar and would end up at the altar one day.
“Okay, I’ll check in later.”
“If you want. Otherwise, I’m sure we can handle things.”
She planned to call Jaz just in case. Yes, Trevor and Trae could handle anything that came their way. They bickered like two old ladies, but would do anything for her, including make sure her club still stood by the end of the night.
They’d worked in a bar to pay for their half of the garage they owned. They’d done all sorts of odd jobs over the years before their restoration business took off.
Both were bartenders, licensed and certified. Both were bouncers, too. Or had been. Her club couldn’t have been in better hands. Well, except for Mandi and Jaz. They’d be able to run things with their eyes closed.
She edged around the bar and out the front door.
“Mac.”
“Where are you goin’?”
“To see you.”
“I’m here.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Yes.”
“Hop on.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“Was that why you were coming to see me?”
“Yes. And no.”
“We can talk after.”
Could they? Would they be able to? Doubts prickled through her mind, but looking at him astride his bike ... Jeans tight against his thighs. Boots dusty from the dirt and gravel of the club’s parking lot. Eyes blocked from view by sunglasses. And that gold chain that never left his neck.
Until that moment, she’d never wondered about it, but the sun caught it just right and blinded her for a split second. “Who gave you the chain you wear?” It was the only piece of jewelry she’d ever seen on him other than his badge.
His fingers immediately touched the gold at his throat. “It belonged to my grandfather. It once held a pocket watch.”
“What happened to the watch?”
“My mother has it. The clasp broke and I asked if I could have the chain.”
“Were you close?”
“Yes.”
“What would he think of me?”
“You mean that you were a stripper?”
“I was a hooker, too, Mac.”
