Page 75 of Tempt Me

“Whatever,” he says, handing back my phone and rolling on his back so he can frown at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I want.”

Climbing out of bed, I turn off the light and switch on the fan. I return to find Tack literally pouting.

“I like your room, but this space isn’t big enough for a nursery.”

Tack’s lips unpucker, and he glances at me. “Are you sure you want a kid with a guy like me?”

“Are you sure you want a baby with a ginger?”

“I love your hair,” he says, turning toward me and kissing my forehead.

“Even if our son ends up with red hair?”

“There’s a guy up in the hills with red hair. The chicks fucking love him, and guys don’t dare mess with him. It’s all good.”

“One of the guys in Walla Walla’s club has red hair,” I reply, thinking of my visit to McMurdo Valley. “Armor was super intimidating when I met him. Handsome, though. Made me feel a little less nervous about having a ginger son. But who knows what our kid will look like. He might be a stone-cold dork.”

Tack laughs loudly. “I’d be a terrible father to a nerd.”

“No,” I murmur and stroke his jaw, “you’d be super protective and make sure he felt good about himself.”

The amusement on Tack’s face is quickly replaced by a proud little grin. I sense he’s recalling how well he does with the boys at the farm. Even when one of them flips out and cusses in his face, Tack never loses his cool. He exudes the same calm as Elvis. I have zero doubt Tack will be a wonderful father after he gets over his nerves.

As I cuddle closer to Tack and say goodnight to a long, stressful day, I can picture my future better. The gothic mansion might scare Tack, but I can already see it filled with our family and friends.

TACK

Hunter got absolutely wrecked by her emotions yesterday. She became randomly angry and started crying over nothing. Without a doubt, she should have waited longer before watching those videos.

I won’t watch them. I don’t care what strangers are saying. I know my family and the club will always have my back. The only question is if Hunter will still want me after the current chaos dies down.

The next day brings some relief. Hunter seems happier from the moment she wakes up. I catch her looking at the pictures sent by the realtor. The house seems massive and weird, but I do like the slick garage and fenced property.

“I’m buying it,” Hunter tells me during breakfast with Siobhan and the twins in the dining hall. “Even if you hate the actual house, the location is perfect. We can build something else there.”

“Just like that?”

“Suzanne needs something to obsess over,” Hunter explains as she fixes Kiera’s loose barrette. “Since she received word about the FBI zeroing in on a specific suspect, she plans to come home. I know she’ll be restless after holding back for the last week. If I buy the house, she can organize inspections, architects, interior designers, and landscapers. We’ll keep her busy so she won’t feel the need to organize you and me.”

That’s how Hunter works. She seems laid-back and cool, simply spending her days playing music, reading, or chilling with her friends. Yet, under her easygoing exterior, she’s always calculating what needs to happen tomorrow, next month, or in ten years.

Hunter is a low-key Suzanne. Becoming one of her priorities is what I’ve craved for so long. Now, Hunter’s taking charge of our future and refusing to let me slow her down.

After lunch, the farm feels extra quiet. Early this morning, the local cops squealed to the club about the stalker’s upcoming arrest.

“We got news the asshole is outside the US,” Noble texted earlier this morning. “You can leave the farm for short periods of time but keep a low profile and don’t fuck about.”

Indigo decides to remain at the farm. In the late morning, we find him outside Carys’s house with Sleepy and Grumpy.

“She’s in labor,” he says as Hunter and I approach him. “I’m supposed to keep watch.”

Inside the house, Carys looks absolutely miserable. The brunette is sweaty and red-faced as she stands hunched over behind the couch.

“Ripley’s coming,” she pants. “This isn’t a rehearsal.”

Hunter hurries to her friend’s side while I ask, “Should you sit down?”

“It makes the baby come faster if you walk around during labor, you dumb fuck,” she snarls at me. “No offense. You’re a good friend and brother. But I’m ready to punch someone, and your face is begging for it.”

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