Page 54 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“I am now. This one’s got me all turned around. I swear to God, I get near her, and I can’t think straight.”

Pipe grins.

“What?” I bark.

“You. Our badass VP brought to his knees by a five-foot-four little ray of sunshine.”

“It’s not funny. She’s turning my life upside down.”

“So, get rid of her,” Brick says with a grin, knowing it’s the last thing I want to do.

I glare at him.

“I thought so,” he says.

“Don’t your parents take the girls for a long weekend at Christmas every year?” Pipe asks.

“As soon as school lets out for winter break.”

“Maybe that’ll give you two some alone time.” He shrugs. “Be a good time to find out if she’s into you or not.”

Brick grabs my face and shakes it. “What woman could resist this pretty-boy mug of yours?”

I whack his hand away. “Knock it off, asshole.”

“You are attractive, VP. All the girls say so. You want me to go take a poll? I could start with Miranda,” Pipe suggests.

“You do, I’ll drag you outside and beat the shit outta you.”

“What kind of Christmas spirit is that?” Pipe asks. “And here I was, tryin’ to help you.”

“I can do without your brand of help. Thanks.”

One of the club girls comes around, dressed up like a hot little Santa’s helper. She’s got a prospect with her pulling a wagon with several cases of booze loaded inside. She reaches in and grabs a bottle with a red bow around the neck and a box of cigars.

“Presents from Prez, boys.” She holds the bottle and box out to me. “Merry Christmas, VP.”

I take it and read the label on the bottle. “Twelve-year-old scotch. Nice.”

She passes the same to Brick and Pipe, then sashays off with the prospect in tow.

“This stuff is like two-hundred a bottle,” Brick murmurs. “Prez really stepped up this year.”

I set mine on the bar. “This stuff’s made to be savored.”

“It’s really good for making my ol’ lady's clothes fall off, too,” Brick says with a grin.

“Jesus Christ.” Pipe glares across the room, and I follow his eyes.

“Ain’t that your little sister?”

“Oo-wee, she’s hitting on one of them ‘Bama boys.”

Pipe slams his bottle on the bar. “Not for long.”

I lean against the bar with Brick, and we both laugh, watching our enforcer shove his way through the crowd.

“He’d look a lot tougher if he wasn’t wearin’ a Santa suit,” Brick says.

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