Page 24 of Clint & Ivy
“I’m thinking nice enough for you to jump out of a birthday cake on Zodiac’s special day,” I said and picked up Hanzee. “Really fucking friendly.”
“I’m not going to fit in a cake, you dumbass. We should send Sabrina. She’ll look great while she carves smiles into everyone’s faces.”
“That can be plan B,” I told him as we headed to the back door. We walked inside and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. “I’m bringing Ivy to the party at the Sorority House next weekend.”
“Makes sense. If the foxes don’t approve of her, this soulmate shit won’t stick.”
“It’s sticking, man. Get used to me having a woman. I’m bringing her along, so she can make friends and rely on someone besides me.”
“Because you might die?”
“I know you find great comfort in writing my future eulogy, but let’s keep the death thing down low when Ivy is around. She lost her entire family. I don’t want her worrying about me dying next.”
Standing outside my condo, Rock asked, “Is telling lies the smartest way to build a relationship?”
“Sure, as long as they’re lies of omission. Didn’t your father ever teach you anything?”
Rock smirked at my comment and dropped the conversation so we could head inside for the night.
Hours later, I rested in my bed and wondered if trouble was brewing for Little Memphis. The city had been quiet for decades. With two aligned clubs running the city, and our allies in the state capital, a threat seemed unlikely.
Despite my logical arguments, I found myself infected by Rock’s paranoia. Mainly because I was now responsible for Ivy. Though I’d been responsible for people for years, I knew each of them inside and out.
Unlike Tricky, I rarely patched in members who weren’t connected to the old clubs. I didn’t trust outsiders.
Maybe my paranoia was why I checked on Ivy three times during the night. I finally slept deep around four after finding her curled up and comfortable.
Just before dawn, I woke up with an uneasy feeling and peered over the railing from the loft bedroom to find Ivy and Hanzee sitting on the couch.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, stumbling down the stairs.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
My body demanded more rest as I considered the long day ahead of me. My parents could either be incredibly chill toward Ivy or create a lot of drama. With too many variables awaiting me, I needed a few more hours of rest to function.
I lifted Hanzee into my arms and took Ivy’s hand. “The problem with a loft bedroom is all the noise in the condo reaches me. Grab your phone and come upstairs.”
Ivy did as I instructed, and we walked upstairs. “Climb in bed. Don’t get any ideas about fooling around. I’m too tired to bring the heat.”
Ivy snickered at my wording, but she was quick to climb into bed. She set her phone on the side table and watched me. Hanzee settled into his dog bed in the corner. I joined Ivy and smiled at her.
“I’m tired. Need sleep. No talking.”
Ivy smiled wider. I expected her to be restless in bed. Instead, she closed her eyes and fell asleep before I did.
Hours later, I awoke to find a sleepy Ivy watching me.
“Here’s what happens next,” I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes. “We’ll take Hanzee down for his piss break. Next, we’ll walk to the breakfast place at the end of the block. Afterward, we’ll head back to the condo and chill until it’s time to visit my parents. Does that sound good?”
Ivy’s sleepy eyes brightened when I helped her picture her new life. She also kept peeking at Hanzee in his bed. I decided we should bring the dog to my parents’ place. If Ivy became overwhelmed, Hanzee would help calm her.
We separated to get dressed. Minutes later, Ivy emerged from the secondary bedroom. She looked sexy in her orange Converse, army-green track pants, and a thin, long-sleeved gray top. Her blonde hair hung loose and wavy around her shoulders. She’d applied a little makeup, not too much, looking more casual than when we met.
Ivy slid into her bomber jacket—an orange version of Elle’s army green—and smiled so full of pride.
I considered how she’d never picked her clothes before. That seemed so odd to me. I’d started helping choose my clothes when I was five after Shay bought me jeans that made my balls itch.
“Is that a medical thing?” Shay had asked Ford when I couldn’t stop messing with the crotch of my pants.
