Page 3 of Storm

Storm rose, following Charlie toward his office, but not before casting one last glance at the receptionist. She avoided his gaze, her attention fixed on her desk, which only served to annoy him further. What was it about her that made him feel so uneasy? He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had rattled him like this.

As they passed her, Storm adjusted his jeans discreetly, cursing under his breath. His body’s reaction to her presence was undeniable and frustrating as hell.

“So, you’re ready to make the vendor an offer?” Charlie asked as they entered his small office. “I have to say, I’m surprised you decided on this house. I mostly sent you there because I didn’t have much else to show at the time.”

“Offer twenty over asking,” Storm said flatly, sitting on the chair across from Charlie’s desk. “And ask for an expedited closing date.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “That’s pretty aggressive. Sure about that?”

Storm shot him a sharp look, and Charlie chuckled nervously before typing again. Storm wasn’t the type of man people figured out easily. Hell, half the time, he didn’t even understand who he was himself. Maybe that’s why he fitted in so well with the MC. The club was a family of misfits, each man different but bound together by something unshakable.

An hour later, Storm emerged from Charlie’s office, marching toward the exit.

“Have a nice day,” the receptionist called out cheerfully, her sweet voice like a balm against his in-built irritation.

He paused mid-stride, turning to look at her one last time. Those big doe eyes of hers blinked up at him, innocent and wide, and something inside him twisted painfully. He grunted a noncommittal response and stomped out the door.

Never fucking coming back here again.

The last thing he wanted was to see her again—those soft, pink lips, the way the blush crept up her neck, the sparkle in her hair. And yet, he had a sinking feeling that she’d be haunting him anyway—her image burned into his mind as he stroked himself later that night.

As his Harley roared to life, he let out an unsteady breath, stealing one last glance at the real estate office. His grip tightened on the handlebars.

Best to stay far away from her.

“Stormy-Normy’s home!” Ivy squealed, as usual she was full of mischief as she twirled in place, her pink tutu flaring out dramatically. The sparkly princess crown perched on her head tilted precariously with the movement, but she didn’t seem to care.

Storm scowled, his dark gaze settling on the sassy Little girl. She stood there with her hands on her hips, her tutu puffed out like a cotton-candy cloud. They must’ve been playing dress-up again, though it wasn’t exactly unusual for the Littles to prance around in tutus and crowns for no reason at all.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

Ivy giggled, completely unfazed by his gruffness. None of the girls ever took him seriously, no matter how hard he tried. They all deserved their bottoms spanked more often, in his opinion. Not that it would stop them; if anything, they seemed toenjoygetting into trouble. Mischief was practically their lifeblood.

“Why not? It’s cute,” Ivy shot back, her pout exaggerated for effect. “You call me Sprite.”

Storm glared at her, his lips twitching against a smile he refused to let show. He reached out and tapped her nose lightly, eliciting another giggle from Ivy. “That’s because you’re small.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to call you Stormy-Normy—which, by the way, ispretty dang clever—whatdoyou want me to call you?” Ivy tilted her head, her crown slipping slightly as her wide eyes sparkled with mock innocence.

“Storm,” he replied bluntly. “That’s my name.”

He headed for the fridge for a beer, grabbing a second bottle just as Kade and Remi strolled into the common area. Kade snatched one of them out of Storm’s hand with a casual grin, lifting his chin in reply.

“Thanks, man.”

Across the room, Ivy and Remi hugged and squealed as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, even though it had probably only been a few hours. It didn’t matter how much time they spent apart; the Littles acted like every reunion was a heartfelt occasion. It was, admittedly, kind of cute. The entire MC functioned like a big, chaotic family, and the girls were no exception.

“Storm doesn’t like his new nickname,” Ivy informed Remi, her tone conspiratorial.

Remi rolled her heavily lined eyes, the dramatic gesture offset by the bright pink bow perched on her head. Storm smirked internally at the sight. Remi’s gothic style was legendary, but ever since she’d gotten together with Kade, she’d been embracing her secret love of pink in a way that was downright endearing. She still wore black, but the pops of color never failed to make him chuckle. It wasadorable,not that he’d ever admit it.

“Of course he doesn’t. Storm doesn’t likeanythingfun,” Remi muttered, crossing her arms with exaggerated exasperation.

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Storm’s chest tightened, and he furrowed his brow. He wasn’tthatbad, was he? He liked fun—he was just out of practice. When was the last time he’d actuallyenjoyedsomething? Hell, had he always been this grumpy, or was it just his age catching up with him?

“I like fun,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest as his scowl deepened.

Both girls turned look at him, their smirks identical, full of bratty mischief. Little troublemakers.

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