Braxton
Chapter four
“Thanks, Van,” Danny says as Vanessa hands him a plate with a ham-and-cheese omelet and toast made from some of the fresh bread Cece dropped off yesterday.
It grates on my nerves that he calls her Van, as though he’s allowed to give her a nickname.
“No problem, Dan,” she replies with a wide smile.
Van and Dan. How fucking precious.
Jude and Linc are sitting at the bar, sipping coffee and waiting for their plates. Since word got out that Vanessa makes a home-cooked breakfast every morning fit for a king, there’re usually two or three brothers who come in and eat.
Danny watches Vanessa as she walks back into the kitchen like a puppy dog salivating over a piece of steak.
“Eyes on your plate, prospect,” I growl, sitting next to him.
Vanessa has been here for a little over a week, and the three prospects we have drool over her every chance they get.
“He can’t help it,” one of the other prospects, Rocky, says. “That woman is a fine piece of—”
I point my fork at him. “Finish that sentence and you’ll be eating the rest of your omelet through a straw.”
Living here with these damn prospects is like having a house full of horny teenage boys.
Vanessa returns from the kitchen with two more plates and a pot of specialty coffee that Mia dropped off for her. The guys have been guzzling that froufrou shit like it’s the best thing since sliced bread.
She sets the plates in front of Linc and Jude then refills their cups before she walks over to the table where I’m sitting with the three prospects.
“More coffee, sugar?” she asks Rocky.
His smile is stupidly wide, and I want to smack it off his stupid face. “Thanks, Van,” he replies and holds his cup up.
“Sugar?” I ask.
“Why not? This is kind of like how I imagined working in a diner would be. I’m just playing the part of the cute waitress.”
“Yeah, you are,” the other prospect, Logan, interjects. “And you’re playing it exceptionally well.”
The smile he gives her is just as dumb as the other two morons I’m sitting with. She shoots him a wink and refills his cup, too.
“More coffee?” she asks me.
“I’m good.”
Vanessa shrugs. “Okay. I’m going to go clean up the dishes. Leave the plates, and I’ll grab them when you’re done,” she tells all of us.
Vanessa walks back into the kitchen, and I look at the prospects. “You will not leave the plates here. As soon as you’re finished, bring them back into the kitchen.”
They all nod in agreement as they continue to stuff their faces.
I hear chuckling from behind me and turn to see Linc and Jude with smiles on their faces.
“That goes for you fuckers, too. Vanessa isn’t our maid.”
Jude lifts his coffee cup. “I hear you, brother. Loud and clear.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling when he smirks before taking a gulp of coffee. Everyone in this damn clubhouse has lost their mind.
I could stay and question Jude about the meaning behind his comment, but I’m not as hungry as I was when I started in on the omelet Vanessa made for me.
It’s fucking delicious, and the homemade bread with the jam one of the girls got at the first farmers market is the best damn thing I’ve put in my mouth since…
well, since I had something else in my mouth.
I look toward the kitchen door and suddenly have absolutely zero desire to be sitting at this table—or to be on this side of the kitchen door.
Grabbing my plate and coffee cup, I stand and head into the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to bring that in,” Vanessa says as I make my way through the door and over to her. “I said I’d grab everything.”
I set my plate on the tile counter. “Sit,” I say, nodding toward the small table across the kitchen.
“I’m almost done,” she says.
“I’m finishing the dishes. You sit.” Why the fuck do I sound like a damn caveman?
Vanessa shrugs, grabs her coffee, sitting at the table with a small smile playing on her lips. “I never took you for the domestic type.”
“I’m not. But I’m also not the kind of guy who expects a woman to cook and clean for him.”
“But that was pretty much the deal we made when I came here, no?”
“I’m giving you a break,” I tell her.
“So I’m here to give the prospects a break, and now you’re giving me a break. What about you? Who gives you a break, Braxton?”
Blowing out a breath, I scrub a pan and shake my head. “I don’t need one. Doing a few dishes isn’t a big hardship for me.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
We’re silent for a few moments as I rinse the pan then get to work on a mixing bowl.
“Have you talked to any of your friends in New York since you’ve been here?” I ask.
“I don’t really have many of those. Unless you include Clyde.”
“Who’s Clyde?”
“You mean to tell me you don’t remember the bartender the night we met? I’m offended, Braxton.”
“I had my eyes set on someone else that night.” The words slip out before I think about them, but I’m not going to take them back. It’s the truth. Vanessa has a way of taking up all the space in any room she’s in, including this kitchen.
“Clyde is pretty much the only man in my life who ever gave a shit about me after my father died.”
I turn around and look at her. “I’m sorry. My dad passed too, but I don’t think that man ever gave a shit about anyone other than himself.”
Vanessa shoots me a sad smile. “Kind of shitty to be in the club, huh?” she asks.
“What club?”
“The dead dad club,” she replies with that sad smile still on her face.
I really fucking hate that look.
“I don’t know. I never gave it much thought. But I’m sorry you’re in it.” I turn back around and continue with my chore.
“I talked to Sylvie yesterday,” Vanessa says, changing the depressing topic. “I have a shift tonight.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? The bruises have faded enough that I can cover them with makeup, and I need to work. I can’t stay here forever.”
My jaw clenches as I scrub the mixing bowl harder than strictly necessary. “Your ex could be looking for you, for one. And two, I don’t want you thinking you have to rush your recovery because we’re going to throw you out on the street or something.”
Truth be told, I’ve liked having her here.
It’s nice to have someone to talk to other than the brothers when I get home from the shop.
Coming home with dinner, playing a few rounds of pool, or having the brothers and their women over for a barbecue so they could chat with Vanessa—whom they’ve taken to the way a duck takes to water—has been a change I didn’t know I wanted.
I’m not saying I’m going to shack up with the girl whom I had one night with years ago.
But I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t imagine what it would be like if Vanessa was more than just a woman staying here while she figures some shit out.
But, like I’ve said from the beginning, she doesn’t need anyone panting after her, and that includes me. And the fucking prospects.
“I doubt he’s looking for me in the first place. But if he is, it would be in New York. Not a town three hours away.”
She’s probably right. I know that in my head. But it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I’m going with you then.”
“What?” Confusion rings through her tone.
“I think it would be a good idea to have a little extra security.”
“And it has to be you?”
“Is that an issue for you?” I ask.
“No. Of course not. I’ve…I’ve just never seen you in the club since I’ve worked there. I thought maybe it wasn’t your scene.”
“It’s not about it being ‘my scene.’ I want to make sure you’re safe, along with the rest of the dancers. Plus, it’s a good idea for a brother to show up every now and again to remind everyone that it’s our club and we aren’t going to let any bullshit in.” Yeah, that sounds reasonable.
“Okay. I have to be there at seven tonight,” Vanessa says with a hint of uncertainty lacing her words.
I finish rinsing the last dish and turn around. “Sounds good. Do you want me to bring dinner home so you can eat before your shift?”
Vanessa blinks several times. Maybe she thought I would back down, or maybe she’s surprised that I want to make sure she eats so she isn’t hungry while she’s at work.
Her head nods slowly as she holds my gaze. “Sure, that would be nice,” she finally says.
“Great, I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”
Like I told them to, the prospects bring in their plates one by one, thanking Vanessa again for breakfast. When Jude brings in two plates, he looks at Vanessa then me with that damn smirk on his smug face before walking back out through the swinging door.
Turning off the water now that all the dishes are done, I turn to Vanessa. “I have to get to work.”
“Okay. Thanks again for handling the mess.”
“Any time. See you tonight.”
There’s an unsettled feeling working its way through my gut as I walk out of the kitchen.
The more time I spend in Vanessa’s presence, the more I wish she hadn’t run off that morning.
I like the girl. Like having her sitting at the table shooting the shit while I do dishes.
I like seeing her wander into the main room of the clubhouse every morning, looking like the sexiest damn zombie.
I like how she gets her coffee and releases a sigh of relief after her first sip.
And though I don’t appreciate the prospects flirting with her, I like that she takes it in stride and plays along.
As long as it’s only play and she isn’t taking it seriously.
“I thought you quit that shit,” I say to Jude as I walk out of the clubhouse to where all of our bikes are parked.
He takes another hit off his cigarette and drops it to the ground, stomping it out under his boot. “I have. That was my one for the day.”
“Lucy know?”
Linc laughs. “She found his hidden pack and lit it on fire in their barbecue.”
Sounds like something she would do.
“Van know you have feelings for her?” Jude asks.
“What the fuck are you talking about? She’s in a tough spot. I’m helping her out. The whole club is.”
Jude shoots me a smirk. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who wants to help her out and get in her pants.”