Page 7 of Harvest Brew With the Mountain Man
“You tried?” Nora asks, smirking. “Do tell.”
Oh, fuck no. “Do not tell. I don’t need that image in my head.” I rub my forehead, now begging my brain to block out Camille and some college girl sexually experimenting.
“You’re such a guy,” Nora laughs, shaking her head. “You and me. Drinks one night. We’ll swap stories.”
“For fuck’s sake, Nora.”
She laughs harder, applying ointment to the cut at Camille’s temple, which thankfully is less severe than I first thought. “You’re too easy to fuck with, Hunter.”
I lean against the wall in front of my desk, maintaining distance as the women chat while patching up Camille. I plot every possible danger, strategy, intel that I can encounter. All while somehow avoiding Styx’s suspicion. I can’t lie to that fucker. He smells it a mile away. Fortunately and unfortunately, he’s been busy since being promoted to Enforcer in the MC. We have to be more intentional about meeting up.
Nora finishes, and something passes between them that I can’t decipher. They hug, and Nora packs up while Camille goes to the bar bathroom to change into the leggings and sweater I asked Nora to bring over. I added one of my hoodies to the mix. To keep her warm. That’s all. Practical.
I’m such a damn liar.
Nora’s heads out. I walk her to the bar door that I locked earlier.
“Listen,” she stops and squeezes my forearm. “Whatever Black Feral thinks she has knowledge of, her being on their radar is a big fucking problem. Let’s not even discuss the revenge they’ll be seeking after she shot two of their men. They won’t let that go, West.”
I cross my arms, my hands in fists again, keeping my body in check. I nod. “I know.”
“The MC will find out,” she warns. And I know she means, Forsaken Saints.
“I’m gonna hide her out with me tonight. We’ll think of a plan. I’ll keep you updated.”
“Okay.” She studies my face. “You got a handle on it?”
I filter through all the ‘its’ she could be referring to. My anger, my attraction, that’s an unexpected problem, my secret fears?
“Yeah,” I lie about all the above.
She hums unconvinced. “Right. Well. Call me before you do something stupid, okay?”
“Why are we friends again?” I joke, needing the alleviation.
“Cause I’m the only one who doesn’t inflate that big ego of yours. I keep you humble, Hunter,” She pats my chest. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
“Always.”
Nora leaves, and I take advantage of the solitude for two minutes. I stretch out my neck, side to side, then count to ten, releasing slow breaths from my mouth. Once I get a lock on it, I return to my office.
My best friend’s little sister, running into my bar, from the rain, battered and scared, was not on my bingo card this year. This ache in my gut is part stunned by her beauty as an adult and part fury at the need to protect her. This whole night is taking me by surprise in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
I will protect her. I will make every fucker who hurt her pay. And I’m going to do all that without my best friend catching on to how his little sister makes me feel.
Shit. I’m so fucked.
CHAPTER THREE
CAMILLE
Istare in the bar bathroom’s mirror. The drowned rat look is waning as my hair has mostly air dried, but it’s the cut Nora applied a butterfly stitch bandaid on, the light bruising growing around the wound, and the sunken fear still lingering in my eyes that cause me to pause.
Having dry, warm clothes on helps ground me back to myself. My eyes catch the Ridge Dive Bar sweatshirt sitting on the corner of the sink. It’s his. It smells like him.
I shake my head. He even smells the same.
