Page 23 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

I turn my glare on him. “Seriously? He doesn’t want us together and hasn’t been shy about letting us know it. I don’t want to argue with him. I want to meet my only nephew and enjoy a good meal with my family before things with him go from ugly to uglier.”

“Babe, you don’t know that they will.”

“Oh, no… I’m a hundred percent sure they will. For a myriad of reasons. And I like being with you, Rough. I like talking with you—and I love fucking you. I’m just not ready to let any of that go yet. I’m selfish.”

His face sobers. I’m talking stone cold when he turns those dark eyes on me. “You know he doesn’t scare me, right? I’m not giving you up. Not unless we both decide we’re ready to part ways—and warning, Gee, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

My glare softens and I manage a smile as I sigh. “Right. Let’s do this.”

The front door opens before we reach the porch and Nic steps out holding a little guy who’s the spitting image of my brother, sans beard, of course.

“Welcome.” Nic greets us holding one arm open for me to step in close so she can hug me.

“Thank you.” I look down at the baby boy. “You are beautiful.”

“This is Tripp. Tripp, baby,” she says to him, “this is Aunt Gia. She’s your daddy’s sister.”

He coos and smiles as if he actually understands what she’s telling him. He reaches his hand out to me and I give him my finger to latch on to.

“I’m so happy to meet you, buddy,” I say soft and sweetly.

“Hi, Rough,” Nic says to him. “Thanks for coming.”

“How is he?” he asks.

Nic shrugs. “A little surly, but he’ll get over it. I like that you two are together. You know I’ve wanted you to find a good woman, Rough.”

“Haven’t been shy about sharing that, Nic.” He laughs.

“Well, he’s been wanting to contact you for a while, Gia—especially since Waite came into the picture,” she says. “Now maybe he’ll get his head out of his ass and let Waite prospect with the club. He’s good. He’s smart. I can only hope I do as good a job with my boy as you’ve done with yours.”

That warm feeling of pride washes over me. The idea of my boy in the club still makes me nervous. Hell, it’ll probably always make me nervous, but hearing how much people respect the man he’s become doesn’t suck. “Thank you.”

“Right, so how about I let you inside my home instead of forcing you to stand out on the porch the whole time?” She steps out of the way, allowing us into the foyer. Hers isn’t a split level like Rough’s. Area rugs consisting of robin’s egg blue, butter yellow and sage green soften the look of the hardwood floors throughout the space. The pillows on the sofa and loveseat coordinate with the rugs. There’s a matching blue accent wall in the living room. The dining area’s green and I see just a tiny portion of the butter-yellow accent wall in the kitchen. The rest are painted white and decorated with photos.

There’s a tall, natural wicker laundry basket full of baby toys on the floor next to a fireplace. They have a baby swing, too.

“Your home is beautiful,” I tell her and she smiles.

“He promised me a beautiful home when we got together. I love it here, though any home we had together would be a beautiful home.”

I feel that. I feel that deep, loving it for my brother.

She invites us to have a seat and offers us drinks, but with her hands full, I offer to grab them for us. A beer for Rough. She made a pitcher of frozen margaritas for us. Oh, yeah, my sister-in-law and I are going to be great friends. I feel it.

“Do you want to hold him?” she asks of my nephew.

“Set him down next to me on the floor. If he acts like he wants me to hold him, I’ll pick him up. But I don’t want to scare the little guy.”

“With this group, he’s used to people.” She sets him down by my feet and the little guy smiles up at me, drooling. He’s so precious.

After a couple of minutes of getting used to me, he reaches his hand up and shouts at me. Only then do I pick him up, setting him on my lap.

“Hi, buddy… Hi, Tripp. I’m so glad to meet you.”

“Pleased as fuck you get to meet him,” my brother says as he finally enters the room with us. Then he turns to Rough and says, “Rough,” tersely.

“Vlad,” Rough answers not the least bit terse, but smiling at Tripp, talking to him in what can only be calledbiker baby speak. Now this is a man who’d make a great dad.

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