Page 46 of Single Mom's Bikers

“But it doesn’t.” I understand what she means.

“Because it’s right,” Zane says simply.

We drift like that, trading lazy kisses and gentle touches. When desire builds again, it’s slower this time. More deliberate. We take turns worshiping her body until she’s boneless between us.

“Stay for a while longer?” she asks later, voice heavy with satisfaction.

None of us could leave if we wanted to. We arrange ourselves around her—Chase spooned behind her, Zane at her front, me holding them all. Her bed’s big enough, barely, but we’d make it work even if it wasn’t.

“Love you,” Evie whispers, not specifying which of us she means.

She doesn’t have to. We all know she means all of us, just like we all love her. Different kinds of love that somehow fit together perfectly.

17

ZANE

I spentthis morning with my brothers, creeping out Evie’s back door like teenagers, trying not to wake the girls. Rick checks for Mrs. Wilson—our neighbor has a sixth sense about activities on our street.

We all know Evie’s worry about appearances is unnecessary. This town’s seen stranger things than three brothers leaving a woman’s house at sunrise.

Still, the smile won’t leave my face during the ride to the gallery. Last night changed everything. Nothing will ever be the same again.

By the time I get to the gallery, Chase is conspicuously absent. It’s not surprising after last night—none of us got much sleep. Rick just rolls his eyes when I walk in.

“Chase called in. Says he ‘doesn’t think he can make it.’” The air quotes are audible. “You’ll have to cover his morning consultation.”

“How many are there?”

“Just one.”

Covering for my brother isn’t my usual role, but the smile won’t leave my face anyway.

The client cancels ten minutes after I arrive—something about a family emergency. Fine by me. Gives me time to reflect while pretending to review Chase’s designs, memories of Evie between us still fresh in my mind.

The bell over the door chimes around eleven. I look up to find a woman I almost don’t recognize. Rose usually dresses like she’s heading to court—sharp suits and sharper heels. Today, she’s in jeans and a loose top that shows smooth shoulders.

“Never figured you for the ink type,” I say by way of greeting.

“First time for everything.” She studies the flash art on my wall. “Evie says Chase is good with delicate work.”

That gets my attention. Rose is Evie’s closest friend, but we know almost nothing about her. Seems strange now that I think about it.

“Oh, Chase isn’t in today, but I’m as delicate as my brother—I promise.”

“Hmm. Well, I’d have to see some samples of your past work before I allow you to touch my skin,” she says, taking a seat across from me.

“That’d be no problem.” I whip out my phone and let her see the catalog of informal tattoos I’ve created for friends.

She studies them carefully. “This isn’t so bad. Why don’t you work as an artist more often?”

I shrug, grinning. “I wasn’t born for the nine-to-five lifestyle. I like doing a little bit of everything—helping Rick out with management, stepping in when Chase needs a day off…less responsibility and more freedom.”

She nods slowly but not in agreement. More like she’s judging.

“Oh, don’t judge me.”

“Because you’re the spoiled brother who likes to sit around and do nothing while your older brothers bring home their big catch every night, right?”

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