Page 9 of Prospect Year

“I have breakfast here, if you’d like some,” Amber told her.

Mia twisted toward them and slowly approached. She signed something that Lola thought was most likely a thank you to Amber and slid into the chair next to him.

“You never told us how you got that name,” Amber commented.

He looked toward Amber, then to Mia. Both women’s attention intently fixed on him. “Short answer is I was caught wearing a dress.” He reached for his plate and moved to stand. The touch of Mia’s delicate hand to his arm took his breath. His head snapped up, locking eyes with her. Her smile was mesmerizing, and her eyes sparkled with interest. His body moved on its own and relaxed back into his seat.

“It was a spur of the moment thing to help out a brother. His old lady was being harassed by her jerk of a boss who had followed them to a hotel. I happened to be there with them when he showed up with a security guard to force her back to work. Anyway, I pulled her into the bathroom with me and grabbed her things. When I stepped back into the room in her skirt and swinging those tall, spikey shoes of hers, the security guard thought the boss had lost his mind. It worked by discrediting the asshole, and he left. The next week, I walked into the clubhouse and sitting on the bar was the gaudiest pair of stripper shoes I’ve ever seen.”

Amber broke out in laughter. “Oh crap! I would love to have seen that.”

He glanced toward Mia. Amusement flashed in her eyes but something else also. “You think that’s funny too?”

She nodded slightly, then smiled and patted her hand to her chest.

He chuckled. “You approve,” he stated, rather than ask her opinion, surprised by her reaction.

Amber laughed even more. “You do have some pretty blond hair. And long. But those roots are showing.”

“Now, the hair may have been a bad decision,” he admitted, “but not really concerned about it anymore. Or the reason behind that decision.” He lifted a hip when his phone buzzed and tugged it from his pocket.

“Lola here . . . Yeah . . . Fireworks for the club. Something for the kids . . . Got it . . .Got that too . . . Yes, sir.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Again, thanks for breakfast.”

He ran upstairs and burst into his room, grabbing his keys from his nightstand. Fireworks for the club, he could do, but what did kids like? He’d never been around many kids. Could kids do fireworks? And these were young. He knew nothing about young kids. He paused, squeezing his eyes for a moment. Women knew about kids. Grabbing his cut, he turned, pulling his door closed.

He jogged down the stairs and strode to the kitchen, pausing at the entrance as he threw his hands on his hips. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Amber’s head popped up, her eyes wide on him. “What?”

“I said, okay, I’ll do it. Let’s go pick out some fireworks.”

She flew from her chair and launched herself onto him, her hug so tight he thought she’d choke him. “You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

“We’ll see.” He set her back and stepped aside.

Amber glanced toward Mia, who only shooed her away with a flick of her hands. She bolted past Lola with a little squeal and up the stairs.

“Anything I can pick up for you?” he asked Mia.

She shook her head and began clearing the table.

“You want to go?” he asked her.

Again, she shook her head.

“Alright then. We’ll be back later,” he told her and turned away.

***

An hour later, Lola and Amber were climbing back into his Jeep with an assortment of fireworks.

“You mind going to the clubhouse to deliver?” Lola cocked his head toward Amber in the passenger seat.

“Of course not. I told you, I know most of the guys already and have met a couple of the old ladies. And they’ve been nice to me. Not like the ones where I came from. Ace’s old lady could be really mean. She didn’t like me being there.”

“Then why stay?” he wanted to know.

“I had no choice,” she said as her only reason minutes later, as they turned from the road. “The place is already alive.”

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