Chapter Eight
Corey
When Damon returns from wherever the hell he’s been all day, I’ve packed up my paint supplies for the day and am sitting in the kitchen with some coffee, my own cup feeling full after a day of creating.
He glances around, then opens the fridge with an amused smile. “Making yourself at home, I see.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I reply, lifting my chin. “This is my clubhouse, too.”
“Yes, yes it is.” He closes the fridge with his foot, hands full of ingredients. “Hungry?”
I’m always hungry. “What are you making?” I ask, intrigued.
“Nothing fancy,” he replies, placing everything down on the counter. “Just some teriyaki chicken rice paper rolls with a peanut dipping sauce.”
My eyes widen, impressed. “In that case, yes, I am hungry.”
I watch as he works, laying thinly cut vegetables on the rolls and then wrapping them with expert precision.
“Where did you go?” I ask, nosily.
“To the bar,” he replies casually, now chopping a slice of cucumber.
My eyebrows rise. “In the middle of the day?”
“Yes,” he replies, giving nothing else away.
“With your girlfriend?” I press, pursing my lips.
“No,” is all he says, but I don’t miss the tightening of his jaw.
“Great chat,” I mutter, leaning back in the chair and wondering if it’s serious with this girl. Should I be writing him off completely? Why am I even thinking of that?
Shit.
I think I need to admit to myself that I’ve always thought that somewhere down the line, when the timing was right, Damon and I would put all of our bullshit aside and be together.
But what if this woman is his “one,” just like he’s mine?
What if he marries her?
After a long stretch of silence, he places a plate down in front of me with four perfect rice paper rolls and a delicious-smelling satay sauce. “What’s wrong? You look like you ate something sour.”
“I thought about something sour,” I reply, my gaze still on the food. “Thank you, this looks amazing.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, sitting down next to me. He picks one up and takes a bite, and I don’t know how he manages to make that look attractive, but he does.
We eat in silence, and although I’d never state this out loud because it sounds fucking creepy, I could watch him all day.
And not just because he’s a literal walking Greek god, but also just the way he moves, the way he chews.
Fuck.
I need to get out of here and go home.
“I never knew you could cook,” I comment offhandedly.
He grins, his dimple popping up. “I’d hardly call this cooking.”
“You know what I mean,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Most of the men I know are pretty used to women doing things for them.”
He pauses for a moment, as if considering his words. He then says, “I grew up in foster care after my mom died, so I’ve had to be pretty self-sufficient my entire life. I can look after myself well enough.”
Bella mentioned this to me, but I’ve never heard it from him before. And I like that he’s opening up to me.
“What about your dad?” I ask, saddened at the thought of his losing his family and having to grow up in the system. I can only imagine how hard that would have been. I didn’t always have the best childhood, but I did have my brothers, who have always loved me unconditionally.
“Never met him,” he explains, shrugging. “And no siblings that I know of. I mean, I probably have some out there.”
So he was alone. “You joined the Angels pretty young, didn’t you?”
He nods. “I was barely eighteen. I met Julianna’s father, Paulie, at a restaurant one day—I was there applying for a job. We got talking, and when he heard my story, he took me in. The MC has been my family ever since.”
“Well, I’m glad you have all of us now,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. I reach out and touch his hand quickly, then sit back and pick up my plate.
When I look back at him his eyes are locked on my exposed wrist. I know what he sees, and I know what he’s thinking.
But there’s no judgment in his gray eyes, only pain.
For me.
“I’m okay,” I say, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because I just don’t want him to think I’m in that place anymore, because I’m not.
I wish he didn’t know this about me at all, but the scars are there like proof etched into my skin forever.
I’m an open book, but I’m on a different chapter now.
The air suddenly thickens as we are forced to silently acknowledge the vulnerability, heat, and connection between us.
Clearing my throat, I stand up and wash my plate. “I better head home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he replies, turning to watch me. “Maybe you should message me when you get home so I know you got there safely.”
“Oh, um, yeah. I can do that,” I reply, my mouth suddenly dry. He wants me to text him? This is new. I suppose with the new MC about, everyone has to be more careful. I grab my bag and get out of there, sitting in my car for a few minutes to process our conversation before driving home.
And when I get there and back into my bedroom, I do as I said I would.
Corey: I’m home.
Damon: Good.
Good?
He’s obviously not giving the vibes he wants to say anything further, so I leave it at that and head into the kitchen, where Bella is starting to make dinner.
“Hey, how was your day?” she asks, smiling wide. “I can’t wait to see the mural.”
“It was good,” I reply, leaning against the marble countertop. “I’m really in my element. And I know Julianna wanted to pay me, but I’m not going to accept any money. I’m just happy to be letting my creativity out.”
“She’s not short on money, Corey. Just take it, you deserve it for the work you’re putting in,” she says, washing vegetables in the sink. “I’m going to make some salads and have the men barbecue some meat. What do you think?”
“Sounds perfect. I just ate with Damon, but I can help. What do you want me to do?” I ask, stealing the tap from her to wash my hands.
“You could make your famous potato salad,” she suggests in a hopeful tone. “Or any side, really. You know we need a lot of food to feed all of these men.”
She’s not wrong.
I grab the potatoes out of the pantry. “Consider it done.”
The men arrive and River and Romeo barbecue the meat, and then we all sit at the table together as a family to eat. Damon isn’t here, and I wonder what he’s up to. I know better than to ask and draw attention to the fact that I’ve noticed his absence. But I can’t help but start to worry.
“These ribs are so good,” I tell River, who is sitting next to me.
His lip twitches. “Not as good as the potato salad.”
“Yeah, seriously, Corey. Marry me already,” Jag teases, loading his plate up.
River throws a bread roll at his head, and Jag simply catches it and takes a bite out of it. That was pretty smooth, not going to lie.
“What?” Jag asks, chewing. “I asked her to marry me, not fuck me. I thought I was being a gentleman.”
“You want to die?” River asks, eyes narrowing to thin slits. “You won’t be doing anything with my sister.”
“Just because she buys you mangoes doesn’t mean she likes you,” Bella adds, covering her mouth with her hand as she laughs.
Jag puts his hand on his chest. “Okay, ouch. Corey, tell me it isn’t so?”
I try to hide my amusement but epically fail and start laughing. River watches me out of the corner of his eyes and then cracks a small smirk, too.
I know Jag doesn’t mean it, and it’s just his sense of humor. I think he also enjoys pissing my brother off, so he must have a death wish or something.
Or maybe he’s a sadist.
I don’t know, but I think he’s great.
“We should have more dinners just like this,” I announce, and everyone agrees.
These are my favorite kind of nights.