Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Hard to see them that way,” I admitted.
“Because they were young when you left?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Let me ask you something. If you came here to prospect and your old man was watching your every move, how would that feel?”
My old man was pretty chill, but I got what he was saying.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m gonna go wash the pool water off me. If one of them does something monumentally stupid while I’m gone, I’m gonna go ahead and blame you,” I said.
To that, he let out a chuckle.
“It’ll all be fine.”
With that, I headed back into the clubhouse, surprised by the feeling of “home” the place had in such a short amount of time. Then again, the clubhouse had been a second home to all of us growing up. I couldn’t count how many afternoons we all hung out here—screwing around in the glass room, basement, or in the backyard. When we were older, we stole some booze or tried to eavesdrop on the adult conversations. Until, eventually, they kicked us out so they could party. I mean, they said that we had to “get home and do our homework,” but we all knew about the parties.
One of my most vivid memories was sneaking out of our house at fifteen or sixteen and creeping up to the clubhouse fence to see one of the club guys chasing a topless woman around the backyard. Back then, all we could talk about was getting old enough to prospect. Until, of course, we made a different decision for ourselves.
I made my way into the hallway of bedrooms, catching myself when I automatically tried to walk back toward the prospect room where my brother and me had been living since we got home.
But Perish had recently moved out, so his room was given to me.
It came to me as a bare-bones space, and I had a sketchbook full of plans. It wouldn’t be easy to make a room without a window feel inviting and not like a basement, but I was relatively sure I could pull it off. At least for the time being. The ultimate plan would be a place a little closer to the beach. But I was likely going to be in the clubhouse for a while still. Might as well make the room my own.
I moved through the bedroom into the connected bath, cleaning up as the music and voices swelled out back as, I assumed, everyone got even drunker.
I threw on some sleep pants and a tee, then made my way out of my room to grab some of the cold pizza in the kitchen.
Or, at least, that was the plan.
I stepped into the common room, and it was impossible for me not to clock everything that would need to be done in the morning. After being a prospect for a while, you learned to spot what tasks needed to be done before a patched member had to ask. Red party cups were everywhere, some on the floor, their contents spilled. It would be sticky and hard to remove by morning, but that was now Spike and Cain’s problem. So were the various beer cans and bottles, the plates of half-eaten food, the red stain on the wall, and the spray of what looked like soda all over the front of the bar.
To be honest, the position of prospect had been a good one for me. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’d always been a bit of a neat freak.
When Croft and I were young and still shared a room, I used to put a strip of masking tape all down the center and throw a holy fit if his ass let his mountains of laundry, dinosaurs, car tracks, and building blocks cross over onto my side. Where everything was neatly folded, put away, and organized by toy type in a stacking unit I’d asked for for my birthday. Yeah, I was that kid. Why, I had no idea. I imagine it was just in response to my brother’s slobbery.
It was a preference and habit that followed me through to adulthood. I kept my clothes in the hamper, made my bed, vacuumed, mopped, occasionally even wiped down the walls, and—obviously—scrubbed the shit out of the kitchen and bathroom.
I guess I’d have to replace all those hours spent cleaning the clubhouse with designing my room.
Though, let’s be real, I would probably get frustrated if the common areas weren’t cleaned quickly enough and do some of the work myself.
Just as I was considering grabbing a few half-full glasses before someone knocked those down as well, the front door burst open, and in walked a woman.
Not just any woman.
The most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen in my life.
She was tall, with an athletic build softened with gently sloped hips and thick thighs, long chestnut-brown hair in a sleek slick back, tan skin, a heart-shaped face with a gently pointed chin, high cheekbones, pouty, pillowy lips, and round brown eyes.