Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Jordyn

The broom scrapes against the floor, the sound grating on my nerves.

I push it back and forth, collecting the last remnants of the day's chaos into a neat pile.

Tara's already flipping chairs onto tables, her movements quick and precise.

"Almost done here," she calls out, glancing over her shoulder at me.

Her eyes are sharp as if she's been chewing on something all day and hasn't decided whether she likes the taste.

"Got it," I mutter, dragging the dustpan over to scoop up the dirt.

The smell of coffee and pastries still lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of cleaning supplies.

Tart might be quiet now, but the echoes of the rush still hum beneath the surface.

"Place looks good. Kelsey will be elated when she comes in tomorrow morning," Tara says, wiping her hands on a dishrag and tossing it onto the counter. She arches a brow, a silent question hanging between us.

I pretend not to notice, focusing on dumping the dustpan into the trash.

"Yeah, she will. Thanks." My voice is flat, trying to steer away from whatever it is she's itching to ask.

"When you were on break, Blake called," she says casually, too casually. "I didn't answer, but I recognized his number."

"Don't answer if he calls again," I reply, more bite in my tone than intended. Blake. Just his name sets my teeth on edge. "He's a real piece of shit."

"Tell me something I don't know." Tara laughs a short, sharp sound. "Pompous asshole. Are you done with him?"

"Oh yeah. I don't have the best taste in men, so," I admit, leaning against the counter, feeling the coolness through my shirt.

"Everyone picks a bad one now and then," she says, brushing off my self-criticism. "Not all of them will be like Blake. I'm sure someone is going to pop into your life, and that is amazing."

"Hope so." I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

I do like Bama, and I have such a strong physical attraction toward him.

He's a good guy, but I don't want to jump into anything serious.

I know I could tell her that I was with Bama last night, but I don't want anything getting back to my mom or my dads.

"Let's call it a night," Tara suggests, grabbing her keys. "You still need me to take you to get your car, right?"

"Yes, please," I say, exhaustion creeping into my bones.

I cannot wait to hit the hay tonight. Bama and I barely slept last night for obvious reasons.

We lock up Tart, the click of the deadbolt echoing in the empty street.

Tara's SUV is parked nearby, and I slide into the passenger seat, grateful for the break from the chilly evening air.

I give Tara instructions and she drops me off on Maple Drive. I tell her my car is parked at my friend's house in the back part of the driveway.

Tara insists on staying until she sees me get in my car, but I tell her to go ahead and that I'm okay.

Tara drives off, and I act like I'm heading down the driveway until she's out of view.

When I can't see her anymore, I walk across the street and head straight for about a block. I'm right up by my car, so I unlock it and get in my car.

It doesn't take long until I'm back at the clubhouse. I park my car on the side of the building like a lot of the other ladies do.

Walking into the clubhouse feels like coming home and stepping into a minefield all at once.

The noise, the laughter, the clinking of beer bottles—it's sensory overload after the quiet of Tart.

I spot Bama behind the bar, the sight of him sending a jolt through me.

He's alone, polishing glasses with a practiced ease.

"Hey, can you get me a drink?" I ask, strutting up to the bar with more confidence than I feel.

"Sure thing. The usual?" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I lean against the bar and give him a nod, letting the tension of the day melt away.

For a moment, everything else fades—the questions, the doubts, the ghosts of past mistakes.

In this second, there's just Bama and a desperately needed cold Smirnoff Ice Raspberry.

"Here ya go, sweetheart." He grins, reaching into the fridge behind him.

The bottle emerges with a frosty sheen, and he pops the cap with practiced ease, sliding it across the counter to me.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the bottle and bringing it to my lips. The first sip is a bitter relief, washing away the grit of the day.

I end up chugging the beer and take a seat at the bar. God, I don't know if it's all the stress from last night with Blake or if it might happen to be hiding the fact I slept with Bama from everyone.

"It's good to see you relaxing for once," Bama says, sliding me another beer without asking.

His fingers brush mine, and the touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to my core.

"Don't get used to it," I reply playfully, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I like keeping you on your toes."

"Is that so?" He leans in closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Think you can handle that, Jordyn?"

"Try me," I shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

The tension between us is thick, almost tangible. And damn, do I like it. There's something hot about the playful banter the two of us have.

"Maybe I will," he murmurs, his voice low and promising.

Before I can respond, a heavy arm drapes over my shoulders.

I look up to see one of my fathers, Dracus, his presence immediately grounding me.

"Hey there, Firecracker," he greets, pulling me into a half-hug.

Bama raises his brows. "Firecracker? There's gotta be a story behind that."

Dad laughs hard. "Oh, there is. When Jordyn was five, she thought it was a great idea to grab a box of firecrackers and light them up under Zane's bike. Nearly blew the damn thing up."

Bama can't help but laugh his ass off.

I shrug. "Yep, so now I'm Firecracker."

Dad chuckles and tugs me close to him. "How was your day?"

"Not bad," I say, leaning into his familiar warmth. "Busy, but good. Tara and I managed to close up shop pretty quick."

"Kelsey, okay? I know Tara doesn't usually close with you," he rumbles, kissing the top of my head.

"Yeah, some sort of family thing going on." I shrug. "I didn't ask for the details, but I hope she's okay."

He nods. "Me too. So, you know you can call us if you need us, right? We wouldn't have given you shit for drinkin' a little too much."

A pang of guilt hits me right in the chest. "I know, I probably should've called, but when I went on Facebook, I saw that Bama was active, so I called him. I'm not gonna wake you guys if I don't have to."

"You should have called one of us. It's not his job to go get our hungover daughter," one of my other fathers' voice cuts in as he approaches, his expression a mix of concern and irritation.

"Had it covered." I shrug, trying to downplay the situation. "It really wasn't a big deal. Bama had it covered."

"Still," my dad, Bolt, presses, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're your family. We're here for you."

"Okay, okay," I sigh, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "Next time, I'll be sure to call one of the three of you, okay?"

"Good." Dracus nods, giving Bama a pointed look. "We just want to make sure you're safe. Tex was pissed about it too."

I roll my eyes. It's one thing to have one overbearing father, but I have three. Imagine how lovely my teenage years have been.

"I get it, but you know, you could be hassling Nova. She's a wild child compared to me," I say, glancing at Bama from the corner of my eye.

There's something stirring beneath the surface, something I can't quite name. But it's there, simmering, and I just want more.

"Another beer would be great right about now," I tell Bama, breaking the momentary silence with a smirk.

"Coming right up." He chuckles, reaching into the fridge.

He hands me a cold one, our fingers brushing again. This time, I don't pull away.

"Thanks," I say softly, meeting his gaze.

Bama's eyes linger on mine for a second longer before he looks away, a small smile playing on his lips.

Just as I'm opening up the can, I notice my fathers' eyes on me. "Nova might be wild, but you're the one with the big heart," my dad, Bolt, points out. He elbows me in the side playfully and kisses my temple. "I gotta run. Love you, kid."

"Me too. We have to run into town," my dad, Dracus, comments. "Love you, Firecracker."

"Love you too, Dads. Be careful." I'm not sure if running into town means they're going for some sort of supplies or if it means that they're going on a run for the club.

We were supposed to go on a ride today, but Zane advised us all that riding in such a large number would be foolish given the threats the club is currently still dealing with.

I might be at the bar for another fifteen minutes when the last of my fathers comes walking up.

"Thought I'd find you here," Tex's gruff voice cuts through the haze of the dimly lit clubhouse.

He strides up, his boots heavy on the worn wooden floor.

He's got that look like he's about to lay into me. I remember it time and time again after being reprimanded when I was being naughty as a child.

"Hey, Pops," I greet him, trying to sound casual. But there's no missing the steel in his eyes.

"Want to tell me why you called this dimwit last night instead of one of us?" His tone is sharp, almost accusatory. "Instead, you called Bama the kiss-ass prospect."

"Seriously?" I roll my eyes, exasperated. "Are you all gonna hound me for my choice to call Bama?"

"Yes." There's no playfulness in his tone at all.

"Come on, Pops," I groan, running a hand through my hair. "I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle myself."

"Doesn't mean we suddenly stop caring since you're over eighteen," Pops retorts, crossing his arms. "We worry ‘cause we love ya."

"Mom worries too, but she's not up my ass," I grumble, my shoulders slumping. "In fact, I haven't even heard any shit from her. Probably because she knows I get enough from the three of you!"

Pop's stature softens a bit, and a smile breaks out. "You know, you're probably right. The three of us worry enough about you girls that your ma doesn't even need to bring shit up."

I arch my brows and widen my eyes. "No, she doesn't. Look, I get it. I'm your little girl, but I'm not a little girl. Please, loosen the leash a bit."

Pops inhales deeply through his nose. "Fine, I'll work on it."

I smile and grab his hand. "Thank you."

He nods and clears his throat. "Let me go see what your ma is up to. Maybe I can get up in ‘er."

My jaw drops to the floor. "Oh my God, Pops! Go, you disgusting old dog!" I shove him away, and he walks off cackling like a damn hyena.

Bama's wiping down the bar, chuckling to himself.

"Don't you dare laugh at that. He's nasty," I mutter, glancing over at Bama.

"I think it's funny how he tries to get under your skin, and you let him. He only says that shit to get a reaction out of you." Bama's eyes bore into mine.

"You know, you're probably right."

"I usually am," he replies with a laugh, the sound rich and warm. "I will say, I didn't expect you to get hounded so much about me pickin' you up."

"Tell me about it," I groan, taking a long sip. The cold liquid is a stark contrast to the heat rising in my cheeks. "They mean well, though."

"Yeah, they do." He nods, wiping down the bar, his golden blond curls catching the dim light. "You're lucky to have overbearing parents like that. Not many people do."

I furrow my brows a tad, sensing the underlying tone beneath his words.

"Hey, Bama." Zane's voice cuts through the moment, rough and commanding. "You've done enough work for today. I'm gettin' Siren to come handle the bar for a few hours."

"Got it," Bama responds, a mix of relief and uncertainty flashing across his face.

He gives me a quick look, something unspoken passing between us, before he turns to follow Zane's order.

As Siren steps in behind the bar, I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

"Thanks for relieving me, Siren," Bama says, clapping his hand on Siren's shoulder.

I don't know why, but I grimace at the sight of him putting his hands on another woman.

It might be light-hearted, but it irritates me.

"Like I had a choice," Siren grunts, already grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar.

Bama turns back toward me, and our eyes lock.

There's that spark—something raw and electric that makes my pulse quicken.

My lips curl into a smirk, daring him to make the next move.

His ocean-blue eyes hold mine for just a beat longer than necessary, filled with unspoken words and possibilities.

"Catch you later, Jordyn," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.

"Yeah, see ya," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

He walks off, his shoulders squared, and each step measured and confident.

I watch him go, the room seeming to dim a little in his absence.

It's like the air shifts when he's around, charged with an energy that both excites and unnerves me.

I finish the rest of my beer, the cold liquid doing nothing to quell the heat coursing through my veins.

Bama may have walked away, but the tension between us lingers, thick and undeniable. And something tells me this is only the beginning.