Page 7 of Coach
“Me what?” Colter asked, coming down while still pulling on a shirt.
I didn’t miss the pretty brunette rushing off behind the Courtland brothers, barely pausing to slip into shoes before she was out the door.
“Food, drinks, pool,” Raff said. “If that pretty thing didn’t steal your life force.”
“Just a cup of coffee and a shower away from being good to go.” He nodded toward Syn. “That the brother?”
“Yep,” Raff said.
“He prospecting too?”
“Prospecting?” Syn asked, brows pinched.
“Long story too,” Saint said. “Got plenty of time to get into that. Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked with a glance at his brother’s outfit.
Saint, you had to give it to him, always looked put together. I figured you could make an argument that it was because hewas always dressed all in black. So even a tee and jeans looked elevated.
“No?” Syn asked, glancing down at himself.
“Got a change of clothes in the… backpack?” Saint asked, frowning at the worn seams and taped strap.
“No.”
“I can loan you something,” Raff, who was on the thinner side like Syn, said.
Colter, coffee in hand, excused himself for his shower. And Slash clamped a hand on Saint’s shoulder on his way to the door.
Then it was just the two of us.
“You gonna suggest we do some kumbayas or some shit?” he asked.
“Get a feeling you’re both gonna need it once you share what’s been going on the last few years. And in that case, you know where to find me. But for now, I’m gonna go grab some cash for the pub and pool hall.”
Sure, both the Murphys and the Novikoffs accepted cards. But there was an understanding between all of us that cash was the preferred method of payment, given how we all needed to find ways to hide and wash our money.
“Figured a club like this would pry.”
“We all got secrets, man,” I said, shrugging.
“Even you?”
“Especially me,” I said as I walked toward the elevator.
I imagined if everyone knew the real reason I did so much yoga and meditation, they might not find it as woo-woo and wishy-washy as they did.
But I preferred they didn’t know.
So when they didn’t ask, I didn’t volunteer.
Friends, family, brotherhood—it didn’t matter. We were all entitled to privacy.
“Are those chickens?” Syn asked as we all made our way out the front door twenty minutes later, ready to hoof it into town since we all planned to be drinking.
“No, they’re radioactive pigeons,” Raff said, shaking his head. “The girls around here, they like their animals. Got, what, two cats and four or five dogs going on? Plus the chickens.”
“Not exactly what I imagined an outlaw biker club would be like,” Syn admitted.
“You only say that because you haven’t been to one of our parties yet,” Raff declared.
