Wild Wind: A Chaos Novella (Chaos #6.6)(46)

If he’d had to guess, he would have expected it would be about his brothers giving him shit by telling Archie every embarrassing little kid or clueless teenage boy-man anecdote they had.

And they had a lot of those in their arsenal.

It was not about that.

In fact, it didn’t even come close to that.

And something in that made Jag feel weird.

He couldn’t figure out if it was a good weird, or a bad weird.

What he knew was, it was official.

He wasn’t that little kid growing up in Chaos anymore.

You did that shit with a prospect’s girl. You did that shit to harass a boy in a way you’re teaching him to take it like a man.

You didn’t do it when he’s already a man and the woman he’s with was the one you were bringing into the family fold.

“Would take away what they had to go through to get to us,” Dog muttered to Archie, talking about his kids as he pushed his cell back into his pocket. “Even if it meant they wouldn’t be with us. But that wasn’t the way it happened. And now we got ’em.”

“And they have you,” Archie said softly.

Dog and Arch looked across each other at the round, high bar table they were occupying and shared a moment.

She was again wedged up to him, her stool close, their hips and thighs pressed together, and she was leaning against his side.

“Family is family, no matter how it came about,” Archie went on, tossing a hand toward the table to indicate the men. “You boys know that better than anybody.”

“Yeah,” Dog grunted.

Shy grinned at his bottle of beer.

Joker stared hard at Jag.

This was not Joke’s silent way of saying something about Archie, something Jag might not like.

Joker was intense. Joker’s backstory was worse than most. Joker didn’t have a family until he met Chaos and then made one of his own.

And Joker liked, even if Archie did have all of that, that she understood what Chaos meant.

“How impossible are you all going to make the task of me buying lunch for you guys?” Archie asked.

That got Joker’s attention.

His heavy brows shifted tight over eyes that shot to Archie and he rumbled, “The fuck?”

Shy’s head had come up and he asked, “You crazy?”

And over all that, Dog said, “Next time,” which was a total lie as there’d be a next lunch or dinner, but Dog wouldn’t let Archie pay for it.

Jagger, sure.

Archie, never.

Archie turned to Jagger. “I see the patriarchy is strong with this bunch.”

“Babe,” was all he said in reply.

She gave him a grin and reached out to nab her beer.

Lunch didn’t last much longer, and Jag rode back to work with Archie tucked close, her arms around his middle, her chin on his shoulder.

And…

Yeah.

He again felt a foot taller, even sitting his bike.

Before she left, they made out in the forecourt next to her car.

And she lowered the hammer she’d come there to lower and didn’t get the chance to do it since his boys commandeered their time.

“Told Dad we finally hooked up, and he wants you over to dinner. His choice, that dinner would take place yesterday. I renegotiated that.”

Fuck.

Okay.

Right.

There was one thing about being “Arby’s Guy,” sensing she needed someone to help her navigate grief because he’d lived his life with the people he was closest to navigating grief.

It was another thing, that guy being a biker.

And yet another one, him belonging to an MC.

Chaos was not unknown in Denver, even before an award-winning documentary was seen in theaters before it was made accessible on Netflix.

What was unknown was how Archie’s dad would feel about that.

Archie gave him a squeeze. “He wants me to be happy.”

He looked down at her beautiful face.

Another squeeze. “And, boyfriend, you make me happy.”

He drew in a deep breath.

Let it out.

Then he did the only thing he could do after she said something that dope.

He kissed her again.

When he lifted his head, she asked, “So, since this weekend we’re riding, is next Tuesday good for you?”

Fuck.

“Sure,” he lied.

She smiled at him. There came another squeeze.

Then she got up on the toes of her Adidas and they were making out again.

Eventually, she had to get back to work.

And so did he.

But before she folded into her car, she caught sight of the Bronco that was sitting out in the forecourt. It was running, they’d sent it off to be painted earlier that week, it looked shiny and new and shit-hot, and they were going to list it on their website for sale soon.

Studying it, she said, “You’re so freaking right. That Bronco is boss. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come by and take it for a test drive? Would that be cool?”

It was then, already knowing he was falling for this woman, it cemented that he was falling for this woman.

“You bet,” he replied.

Part of their getting-to-know-you time had been learning she got by with the store and wasn’t destitute, but most anything she wanted (usually vacations and getaways), she had to save for. Whereas, his ma socking money away for him and Dutch, and both of them getting their brother’s cut of what came in from Ride, these things meant Jag was comfortable (and then some).