Page 3 of Built for Dreams

But Ireallydidn’t want the gorgeous photographer mad at me. The way her violet eyes had lit up in rage, her cheeks flushing…

Fuck.

* * *

I grunted and yanked my t-shirt over my head, slipping my arms through the sleeves. I was finally out of the damn button-down shirt I’d had to wear for the adoption ceremony, which had only made me feel like I was crawling out of my skin the entire time.

Irritation rode hard on my shoulders. That damn photographer—Selma, I’d learned her name was—had done a damn good job at making sure I couldn’t speak a word to her. The only reason I’d finally left was because I’d overheard Mikayla telling her she expected to see her at the clubhouse for the celebration.

And if Mikayla—or any of the club wives, really—wanted something, they got it. So, I knew I’d be seeing her here. In fact, I was counting on it.

I pushed my black hair off my forehead and grabbed a wristband, tying whatever I could back. I needed a haircut, but I was too damn lazy to go get one. And honestly, pulling my hair back like this was beginning to grow on me. It also kept my hair out of my face at all times, which was a fucking win, in my opinion.

Adler and Seb were emptying sodas into a cooler when I walked outside. Seb nodded once at me, his lips tilting up the slightest bit. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he didn’t need to be. He was an expert at nonverbally communicating. Besides, his wife, Athena, did enough talking for both of them.

“Anything I can help with?” I asked them.

“Mind getting the grill fired up?” Adler asked me. “Harlan is seasoning the steaks now.”

I snorted. “And you trust him to do that?”

“Fuck you!” Harlan yelled from the open kitchen window.

I barked out a laugh. “Bend over for me then, Harlan!”

He held his middle finger out the window. Chuckling, I walked over to the shed on the edge of the property. After sifting through my keys for the right one, I unlocked the door and hopped inside, grabbing the charcoal off the shelf in the back. I made sure to lock the door back—it had a bad habit of tricking us into thinking we’d locked it—and then headed over to the grill.

“Hey!” Elliot shouted as he came outside. I looked over at him, arching my brow. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I forgot to buy the beer.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Elliot,” I snapped. “You hadonejob. One. Now what are we going to drink? Fuckingsoda?” It was either that or water, and after the way my day had been going so far, I didn’t want either of them.

“So overdramatic,” Beau drawled, draping his arm around my shoulder. I jumped in surprise and then narrowed my eyes at him. He grinned and released me. “No beer won’t kill you.”

“Maybe it will,” I muttered.

Beau snorted and clapped me on the back before looking at Elliot. “You’ve got fifteen minutes before the women and kids show up. Think you can make it to the store and back in that time?”

He was already sprinting for his truck. I quietly laughed.

“If he wouldn’t catch a public indecency charge for not wearing pants, he probably wouldn’t ever remember to wear those either,” I muttered.

Beau barked out a laugh before he walked away, heading into the clubhouse. I sighed and focused back on the task at hand—lighting this fucking grill.

And also wait for Selma to show up.

three

Remi

I walkedout of the clubhouse with a can of beer in my hand. Elliot had managed to make it back to the clubhouse right before the women showed up. His wife, Harbor, had taken one look at him and shook her head. But Elliot just flashed her a wide smile that melted the irritation off her face in an instant.

The grill was going, the steaks had been put on, and the smell of good food was filling the air. It was a perfect day, really. The sun was out. The kids were running around, laughing and squealing. The women were getting time to themselves, while us guys put ourselves on kid duty.

Looking down, I pulled up on the tab of the can, that satisfying sound of my can opening filling the air. I lifted my head just in time to see Selma right in front of me, looking down at her phone and rapidly typing away at it. I cursed, my beer dropping from my hand and smacking to the ground just as she crashed into me.

My hands latched onto her upper arms, and her phone hit the ground with a crack that had me cringing. Fuck, that sounded like an expensive break.

Whydid we keep meeting like this?

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