Outside the Lines (Sons of Templar MC #2.5)(15)

“Holy f*ck,” she muttered, quieter this time, which was good news for my ear drums.

“I know,” I agreed.

“Like, holy f*ck,” she repeated.

“I know,” I agreed again.

I was in my living room the next morning, still in Hansen’s shirt, he was in the shower. I had taken this moment to call my best friend and give her the lowdown of the past twenty-four hours. She obviously knew how I felt about Hansen. About how I had pined for him, while trying not to picture him when the men from the club had me in their bed.

“Geez, who knew, all you needed was a good whack on the head to stir some masculine sense of protection in that pretty head of his and bam! He’s yours,” she said in amazement.

“Or I’m his,” I said, chewing it over in my mind.

“Is there a difference?” she asked in confusion.

“Oh yes,” I told her firmly. “There’s a difference.

Arianne was only a visitor in the club world, coming and going as she saw fit. Granted, I was no expert, but I’d spent a lot of time there over the past two years. I saw old ladies come and go. Not frequently, ‘go’, but a few. A few who didn’t understand the life completely didn’t understand that in front of the club, they were meant to seem submissive to their men. They were property. In a lot of MCs, I knew this was a bad thing. But with the Sons, it wasn’t. It just meant that you needed to re-evaluate how you defined a relationship. And wear the pants behind closed doors.

“Who gives a shit amount semantics babe, just ride the wave. Be happy. You deserve it…” she paused. “Much as I withhold judgment over the life you’ve lived the past year, hell I’ve partaken, not to mention my line of work. But, that label, that life of being passed around that wasn’t you, babe. You suit the life, don’t get me wrong, but not that part of it,” she said quietly.

I wasn’t offended, but I was surprised. Arianne never pulled punches, and never shied away from telling the truth, whether it was ugly or not. The fact she thought that for two years and didn’t say anything, troubled me. Also, the fact that everyone seemed to think I didn’t belong in a life I had felt the most like myself in troubled me slightly.

I didn’t get the chance to question her on it, on the account of a hot biker that sucked up all the oxygen in my small, but kick-ass living room.

“Gotta go,” I said to the phone.

“Hot biker in front of you?” Arianne guessed.

“Yep,” I replied, watching him as he stalked toward me.

“Please tell me he’s naked,” she said. “And if so, find a way to send me a picture.

“Goodbye Arianne,” I said as Hansen stopped in front of me.

I hung up and looked up at him. “Arianne says hi.”

He grinned and hooked his hands under my arms to lift me up. I automatically wrapped my legs around his waist. I loved that he manhandled me like I weighed nothing. I may have been petite, with small hips and a small ass, but I weighed something. Especially with the boobs God had graced me with.

“You look hot as shit in my tee, still shakin’ off sleep, in your f*ckin’ ridiculous living room,” he murmured against my mouth.

“My living room is not ridiculous,” I argued. “It’s awesome.”

Hansen raised a brow, apparently not worried about having this conversation while I was wrapped around his waist. Not that I was complaining.

He looked at my green velvet couch, which had been a great score from a second-hand shop. It had bright pink printed cushions stacked on it, plus a fluffy pink afghan. I had also found a matching armchair, which was beside it. My coffee table was wooden and had a vase of flowers sitting in the middle. I didn’t think he was talking about my awesome decorating skills on a budget. I think he may have been referring to my various Lord Of the Rings paraphernalia which included figurines scattered around my television, a jewelry stand which had the ‘one ring’ hanging from a chain, and a framed and signed picture of Viggo Mortensen, AKA Aragon on the wall. Not to mention my extended DVD set sitting in its rightful place, lording its brilliance over my other, lesser movies.

“You cannot tell me you’re not a fan of Lord of The Rings, we’d have to break up,” I said semi-seriously. I didn’t think even the dislike of the three greatest movies of all time would make me want to break up with him. Shit was serious.

Hansen regarded me. “Never seen them,” he said.

I opened my mouth in shock. “How is that possible?”

Hansen grinned. “Babe, those movies are three hours long,” he stated like this was a problem.

“And?” I probed.

“And, you see me sitting on my ass watching roughly nine hours’ worth of anything on television?” he asked.

I chewed my lip. No, I couldn’t exactly see Hansen vegging out in front of the television, consuming his body weight in food, wearing a shirt that said ‘What about second breakfast?’ like I did.

“We’ll have to change that if we’re to remain... whatever we are,” I trailed off on labeling us.

Hansen’s hands tightened and his nose rubbed against mine. “You’re mine, that’s what you are,” he said firmly. “And if you want me to watch nine hours of anything, you better be prepared to at least give me a blow job while watching it,” he joked.