Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(50)

“How did the Gypsies get started?” Bryce asked behind me.

I smiled at a plate as I rinsed it clean. She always had a question, this one. In a lifetime, I doubted she’d be able to ask them all. “My granddad was part of a small club in town. Mostly it was guys who loved to ride. He owned the garage. Built it from the ground up and it was the focal point for the club. Dad always knew he’d take it over but had planned to go to college and get out of Clifton Forge for a while first. But then Granddad died a week after Dad graduated, so he stayed to run the garage. Joined the club too.”

Dad was never bitter about not getting the chance to move away. Because he’d had Mom who was more than happy to stay here, close to her family. She only ever wanted to be where Dad was.

“One of Dad’s friends from high school left for California. Stone, that guy I told you about, Emmett’s Dad. Anyway, Stone got hooked up with a big club down there. Didn’t join, but it gave him ideas. So he came home to Montana and talked to Dad about joining the club here. Making some changes. The Clifton Forge Motorcycle Club became the Tin Gypsies. The rest is history.”

“So your grandfather started the Tin Gypsies?”

“Technically. Though most give credit to Dad and Stone. And really, Stone never wanted to be the leader, so it fell to Dad.”

“He was the president?”

I nodded. “For all but the five years that the position belonged to me. Stone was his vice president, like Emmett was mine.”

Dad had told me once he and Stone hadn’t meant for the Gypsies to get so big. Things had spiraled deeper than they’d ever expected. But the garage hadn’t always made good money. Stone worked as a mechanic too, and they’d both had families to feed. Their brothers in the club all needed money too, so he’d made decisions, right and wrong, for the better of all the men.

To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t regretted any of it until Mom had been murdered.

And then, it was too late. He lost himself in rage and revenge.

“Where’d you get the nickname Dash?”

I loaded a plate into the dishwasher. “Mom. She called me Dash as far back as I can remember because I never stopped running. I only got Kingston when I was in big fucking trouble. As a kid, nothing was fast enough. I broke an arm racing my bike around the block when I was seven. Nick built me a soapbox go-cart when I was ten and I disabled the brakes. Shit like that all the time. All she could do about it was make me wear a helmet.”

“I didn’t realize I was sleeping with an adrenaline junkie.” She giggled. “Want another beer?”

“Depends. Am I driving home anytime soon?”

“Before I answer that, I have one more question.”

“Of course, you do.” I loaded the last of the dishes, then faced her. “Fire away.”

“What’s this thing with us?”

“Sex.” I grinned. “Really great sex.”

“Do you think we should set some, uh . . . limits?”

“Limits.” I arched an eyebrow. “Like anal?”

“No. Oh my God. You’re such a man.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not sexual limits, though I do have some. I mean limits on this tryst we’re having. I’m assuming you’re not looking for anything serious.”

“Nope.”

“Okay then. Limits.”

“How about we go at it until we’re sick of each other? Then we’re done.” Though depending on those sexual limits of hers and whether the sex got hotter—if that was even possible—I wouldn’t get sick of Bryce anytime soon. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She slid off her stool, slowly coming my way. “You should know, watching you do the dishes is really sexy.”

My cock twitched as she came into my space, running her hands up my chest. “Maybe I’ll stick around tonight. Let you cook me breakfast. Then I’ll do your dishes again.”

“I don’t cook breakfast.”

I dropped a kiss to her mouth and ran my tongue along the seam. “I wasn’t really talking about doing more dishes.”

She smiled against my mouth. “Then I guess you can stay.”





Chapter Fourteen





Bryce





“Ugh. Where is it?” I dug through the laundry basket at the base of the dryer, searching for the green shirt I wanted to wear. It wasn’t under five towels or my impressive collection of unfolded socks that never seemed to get paired.

Abandoning that basket for the one next to the washing machine, I searched but came back empty-handed. It wasn’t on one of the many empty hangers in my closet. I’d checked all three baskets here in the laundry room. The only other place it could be was the dryer itself. Wearing only my bra and jeans, I knelt in front of the machine and began digging.

“What are you doing?”

“Shit.” I jumped at Dash’s voice, clutching my heart. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever.” I kept digging, still irritated at him for keeping me up all night. And not in a good way. “You snore.”

His chest shook with a silent laugh. “Again, sorry.”

Dash yawned as he leaned against the doorframe, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. His eyes were sleepy and his hair a mess. My mouth watered at that delectable skin on display.