Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(59)

“Reese and I are dating and he wanted me to come to the party,” I told her, holding out the plastic bowl like an offering. “And I don’t believe in coming to parties empty-handed. Now how can I help?”

Marie looked impressed, and I realized I’d passed some sort of invisible test. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t care. It was just nice to be surrounded by friendly faces, because despite the fact that the Reaper men had been good to me—for the most part—they were still scary.

“I’m Dancer,” said a tall woman with long hair, dusky skin, and a slow smile that screamed sexy. “I’m Bam Bam’s old lady. Horse is my brother, and we practically grew up in this club.”

“I met Horse,” I told her, smiling. “But I don’t think I’ve met Bam Bam.”

“He’ll be here tonight,” she said, her voice soft with something I couldn’t quite read.

“Horse is my old man,” Marie chimed in. “He’s a handful, but he’s a good guy. Most of the time, at least. Pic give you a gun yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“Has Picnic given you a gun yet?” she asked, as if it were a perfectly reasonable question. I shook my head, wondering if I’d somehow missed half the conversation.

“Just sort of seeing where things stand,” she said, smirking. That made no sense at all, so I decided to ignore it.

“Hi, I’m Em,” said a young woman with brown hair and Reese’s eyes. I recognized her immediately from the photos around his house and felt a sudden burst of nerves. This was his daughter. The one who’d moved to Portland last year, leaving him with an empty nest.

Why did I suddenly feel like I was in a job interview?

“Hi,” I said. “I’ve heard all about you. I didn’t realize you lived close enough to come to a party, though. I thought you were in Portland with your . . .” I fumbled for the right word, because she didn’t seem old enough to use the term “old man.” But I was pretty sure he was more than a boyfriend, and they weren’t married. Awkward, trying to figure out how to say things.

“My old man is Hunter,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she said his name. “He’s here for the meet. Bunch of clubs coming together, but that doesn’t have anything to do with us. Your only job here is to have fun, okay? Let’s go find you a drink and we can talk. I want to get to know the woman who’s moved in with my dad.”

“I wouldn’t say we’ve moved in together . . .”

“Have you slept there more than one night?” she asked, her voice challenging. I nodded. “Well, that’s more than he’s done with any other woman since my mom died.”

Damn. No pressure there.

Em took my arm and pulled me over past the tables to where several plastic garbage cans held silver kegs surrounded by ice. She grabbed a red Solo cup.

“Beer?”

“Sure.” Not that I’m a particularly big beer fan. Usually I drink wine, but it seemed the polite thing to do and I could nurse it through the evening. I pulled out my phone while she primed the pump, wondering why Reese never answered my message. He’d told me to text him when I arrived. Nothing.

“You waiting to hear from my dad?” Em asked, holding out the cup. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, nodding. “He’s probably welcoming the other officers who traveled here. It’s important—otherwise I’m sure he’d be out here with you already. As the president, he has certain things he needs to do at events like this, but he obviously trusts you to handle yourself. Want to sit down?”

“Sounds good,” I said, noting that she hadn’t gotten a cup of beer for herself. Hmmm . . . Should I have accepted her offer? Maybe it wasn’t considered appropriate to have a drink so early? A quick, surreptitious glance around told me other people had already hit the beer.

I decided I was overthinking things. Sometimes people just don’t feel like drinking, and if I kept worrying about doing something wrong I’d go crazy. We found a spot at a picnic table near the playground, and she sat down, straddling the bench to face me.

“So, this is different,” she said, and while her tone was friendly, her eyes were serious. “Since my mom died, Dad hasn’t exactly been dating women. Half the bitches he screws are younger than me and none of them have brains. I hear you own a business and while I’d never say you’re old, you’re definitely in the right age range for him. What gives?”

I smiled weakly.

“Not sure how to answer that,” I said, wondering why the hell I’d let him talk me into coming out here tonight. If he wanted me to meet everyone, he should be introducing me to them. Instead he’d thrown me into the deep end without a warning, which was sort of a dick move. “Your father and I are sort of seeing each other, I guess. Officially, just a couple days ago, although it feels like longer. It’s complicated. I’ve worked for the club since last February, and he hired me to clean out at his place. We hooked up and then my house blew up. It’s not a typical relationship.”

Her eyes widened.

“No, I guess not,” she said thoughtfully. “Why did your house blow up?”

“Good question,” I said, shrugging. “Gas buildup, so far as I can tell? Maybe the oven—in the past year or so, gas started leaking if you bumped the controls wrong. The fire investigator is looking into it. I guess for my purposes it doesn’t really matter why the place blew. All that matters is I don’t have a house . . . That’s really what I’m focused on at this point.”