by Nikki Castle
"No, because we're your parents and we know what's best for you," my dad snaps. "We're not going to stop pushing this until you come to your senses and leave this ridiculous, barbaric hobby behind."
I aim a cold stare—the one I inherited from my father—at the man that I sometimes can't believe is really a parent. "It's hardly a hobby, Dad. I'm one of the best fighters in the Northeast."
Scott lets out a snort from next to me. "Nobody even knows who you are."
I turn my piercing glare to my brother. "Tell me that again in a year. I'll be in the UFC and you'll still be getting drunk on golf courses with your shitty frat brothers."
"Enough," my dad snaps. "Your brother is following the career path that you should be following and he's doing a damn good job. He'll be a Chief Financial Officer one day."
I smother the delirious laugh that threatens to break out of me. My brother does bare minimum in every aspect of his life—he’ll never even get close to a C-level title.
I turn back to my dad. "Regardless, I'm not looking for a job. I'm perfectly happy right where I am. It's a completely pointless conversation. Do you want to keep talking about it or should we change topics?" I look at where Mom is nervously wringing her hands. "How are you, Mom? How are your friends doing at the country club?"
She casts a nervous glance at my dad, but I know she can't resist sharing gossip from their country club. They've only been members for the past three years, ever since Dad really hit his stride at work and got a big promotion and pay raise. As much as I hate the pressure he puts on me to follow in his line of work, I can't deny that he's become very successful at what he does. He's a hard worker and it definitely shows. The long years he had put in at his company finally paid off with the promotion and at that point my parents' lifestyles really changed—Mom retired from her occasional substitute teaching job, they bought a new house and made some rich friends, and they joined their most sought-after status symbol: the country club.
Three years ago is when Dad really started pushing me to fix my career choice.
They weren’t supportive of fighting even before that, but the pressure got really bad after Dad saw the life they could have with a well-paying corporate job. He managed to instill the vision in Scott, but he's never stopped trying to do the same with me.
And based on today's conversation, that's not stopping anytime soon.
I half-listen as Mom drones on about some lady at the country club supposedly having an affair with another member’s husband. I can tell none of us are listening, but we all know it makes her happy, so we let her speak. Scott looks bored and Dad is stuck in his scowl, most likely stewing over our conversation. I'm counting down the minutes until I can get out of here.
The rest of the night goes by with only a few passive aggressive digs aimed at me. Mom serves dinner while Dad and Scott tune me out by talking about work. I know they do it on purpose but I'm actually thankful for the reprieve because not having to talk means there's less chance of me losing my cool. As it stands, I'm still eager for dinner to be over so I can get the fuck out of here.
The second Mom finishes her after-dinner coffee, I push my chair back and stand up. "I have to get going," I announce. I lean over to kiss Mom on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner, Mom. I'll call you next week."
"Thanks for coming over, honey," she says with a small smile.
Dad is still glaring at me—I’m starting to think that's the only way he's capable of looking at me. I give him a tight nod. "Dad. Thanks for the career advice." I don't even look at Scott as I say, "Brother, it's been a pleasure. As always."
I don't expect a response from either of them, so I turn around and make my exit. It isn't until I'm sitting in my car that I let out the agitated breath that I've been holding for what feels like several hours.
I take a few deep breaths, but it does nothing for the anger simmering in my veins. With a frustrated growl, I grab my phone to make a call. I need a drink.
"Aiden, where you guys at tonight?"
9
Remy
"So, Hailey, what’s with the outfit?"
My sister chokes on her drink at Lucy's words. I can't help my grin—we’ve been at the bar for almost two hours and the whole time I've been waiting for when Lucy would comment on my sister's conservative attire. Apparently, it took a few drinks for her tongue to loosen.
Hailey glares at my teammate. “There’s nothing wrong with my outfit,” she growls. “I always dress like this.”
Lucy grins, very much enjoying tormenting my sister. "No, you usually dress like a model. Right now you look like a repressed only child that got sent to a girl's boarding school for kissing the neighbor boy."
Hailey's glare is momentarily replaced with a look of blinking surprise. "That was… very descriptive."
Lucy shrugs. "I dated a girl that had that vibe going on. I actually only approached her because I wanted to see if it was all a ruse or if she really was a prude."
I smother the laugh that wants to break out of me at watching these two polar opposite women tease each other. "And what was the verdict?" I manage to ask without laughing.
At that, a devious grin slides across Lucy's face. "Total ruse. That girl was the freakiest bitch I ever got with."
I can't contain the laughter anymore—it bursts out of me, loud and happy. A group of guys next to us turn in our direction with raised eyebrows.
Hailey is back to glaring at Lucy. "Are you saying I look prude, sex-crazed, or ugly? Because it’s hard to keep up with so many insults, Lucy. "
Lucy lets out a loud laugh. "Okay calm down, I'll stop teasing. You just… you look… not as hot as you usually do." She holds her hand up in surrender when Hailey's glare intensifies. "You know what I mean. You just seem… conventionally dressed. I know I told Remy to ask you not to be at full hotness-capacity tonight, but this is overkill. Even Remy did up her outfit tonight." She casts an appreciative glance at my dress. "Girl, you look hot as fuck. Well done."
Smirking, I stick my hip out in an exaggerated pose and flip my hair over my shoulder. But as I turn my head, I lock eyes with someone across the bar. The grin immediately slides from my face.
Tristan is standing at the bar next to Aiden and Max, staring straight at me. I saw him walk into the bar about an hour ago and beeline straight to the bar for a drink. Anyone could see the frown on his face and tension in his shoulders so I'm assuming alcohol was needed for whatever his problem was.
That tension is nonexistent now. He's leaning casually on the bar top and lazily spinning his whiskey glass. He's wearing dark jeans and a tight black T-shirt that accentuates every single mouth-watering muscle on his upper body. The tattoos that I know run over his chest and shoulder peek out past his sleeve, running down to his elbow. His dark hair looks as sex-tousled as it always does, and the bright blue of his eyes clashes perfectly with the permanent smirk on his lips.
He is the picture of male arrogance.
Slowly, shamelessly, his eyes rake down my body, spending extra seconds on the shortness of my dress and the way my heels lengthen my legs. I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling very dry.
Just as slowly, Tristan's eyes move up the length of my body to meet mine again. When he grins, a rush of desire floods my core. Suddenly, I'm transported back to last night—to Tristan’s body pressed against mine, his lips touching my ear and whispering dirty things. The flame of my lust increases tenfold at the memory.
"Earth to Remy!"
I snap out of my lust-drunk haze and turn toward Lucy. "Sorry, what?"
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Where did you just go? We were talking about that new Netflix show with Chris Hemsworth, and you totally zoned out. You love Hemsworth, I don't know how you weren't paying attention."
I wince. "I just… remembered something that happened at work and got distracted. Sorry. What about the new show?"
With a sigh, Lucy launches back into whatever she was talking about. I chance a look back at Tristan, but he'
s already turned back to Aiden. I try to focus on Lucy's latest Netflix-obsession.
Suddenly, I see Hailey's eyes go wide as she looks over my shoulder. I spin to see what's caught her attention, and realize Steve is heading straight toward us. He's not smiling.
"Did you know he was coming out?" I ask Hailey. She shakes her head, seemingly frozen in shock. I frown and take a step closer to her.
Steve finally pushes through the crowd and steps up to Hailey. Based on his furious expression I expect him to grab her, but he only glares at her and ignores the rest of us.
"Why haven't you been answering my calls?" he demands. "It's late, you were supposed to be home by now."
Hailey's cheeks light with an ashamed blush as she looks down at where her feet are shuffling nervously. She mumbles something that we can't hear.
"Steve, she probably didn't hear her phone," I say gently, trying to deescalate the situation. "It's loud in here. And it's only midnight. Not that late to be worrying that something happened."
He spins around, fury blazing in his eyes. He opens his mouth to snap at me, but then seems to realize who he's talking to. He visibly softens. His posture slouches a little bit, and he forces a tight smile onto his face.
Can't make an enemy of the girl's family, after all, I think bitterly.
"Hey, Remy. Sorry, I didn't see you there." He steps closer to Hailey and takes her hand, stroking it lovingly. I look at their entwined hands, a deep part of me wishing he would've just been forceful about it so I'd have a reason to throw him out of my sister's life. Instead, I have only his fake words to react to.
"I'm sorry, baby," he tells Hailey tenderly. "I just get so worried about you. I know it's not that late yet, but you said you were going to text me when you were getting ready to leave here and when I didn't hear from you, I panicked. You know I worry about you partying in the city."
I roll my eyes at the comment. My sister is the definition of a responsible adult, and she rarely ever has more than a drink or two. Being worried about her 'partying' is ridiculous. And clearly just a way to spin his possessive feelings.
Hailey doesn't notice the tactic—or she ignores it—and instead looks up at him with a grateful smile. "I know, I'm sorry," she tells him. "I was just having a lot of fun and must've lost track of time. But you're right, it's late. We should get going."
Steve visibly relaxes at her concession. He smiles again and gives her hand a squeeze.
But then the smile freezes in place. Slowly, his eyes rake over Hailey's outfit.
"What is that?" he asks tightly. The disdain practically drips from his voice. I look around to find what he could be talking about.
"My shoes?" asks Hailey, sounding just as confused as I feel. I look down at her tan wedge sandals. They’re high because Hailey’s always been self-conscious about her height, but they’re otherwise modest, cute sandals. They’re about the only cute thing Hailey’s wearing right now.
"Why would you wear those?" Steve spits through clenched teeth. "They're practically hooker heels."
I can't hear Hailey's response over the roaring in my ears. My vision floods with a red haze at the degrading insinuation, and I open my mouth to finally tear into Steve. I don't care if I'm butting into my sister's business—right now it feels like I need to protect her from herself.
"Everything okay here?"
I turn, startled, to find Tristan standing behind me. His stern gaze is focused on Steve.
"We're fine," Steve snaps as he turns back to Hailey.
"I wasn't asking you," Tristan responds coldly.
At that, Steve turns back with surprise, his angry mask cracking to reveal the insecure boy hiding underneath.
Tristan brushes by me to stand directly in front of Hailey, effectively stepping in between the couple and forcing Steve to drop her hand. He visibly becomes even more frazzled. Hailey stares up at Tristan with a wide-eyed, awed expression.
"Hailey, you okay?" he asks again.
Hailey swallows nervously but nods. "Yeah, I'm okay. Steve is my boyfriend. He was just coming to pick me up, we were about to leave."
Tristan doesn't let any reaction show on his face. He stares at Hailey for a moment longer, until she's squirming under his all-seeing gaze. "And you're sure you want to leave with him?"
At that, Steve finally snaps out of his nervous stupor. He glares at the back of Tristan's head and steps around him to grab Hailey's hand again.
"What kind of question is that?" he snaps. "She just told you I'm her boyfriend. Of course she wants to leave with me."
Tristan ignores his comment and waits for Hailey to answer.
"Yes, I'm sure," Hailey confirms, her voice sounding stronger now. "I love him."
Tristan doesn't react but he doesn't ask her again.
Seemingly annoyed with the line of questioning, Steve tugs at Hailey's hand to try to move her toward the exit. "Come on, babe, let's go home." She smiles at Lucy and I by way of goodbye and turns to follow her boyfriend.
Except, Tristan steps into Steve's path before he can take more than a step. Steve stares up at the very tall, very intimidating man in front of him with more wide-eyed shock.
"I know what you are," Tristan says simply. "If you hurt her, I will know. So I suggest you don't."
We all stare at Tristan in stunned silence. Even though Steve doesn't know Tristan very well, the words are said in such a way that it's very clearly not an empty threat. Hailey just looks stunned, like she can’t believe she’s witnessing a fight break out over her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve finally stammers. He goes to step around Tristan and, when he doesn't meet more resistance, pulls Hailey out of the bar with him.
Tristan watches them leave, his expression still not giving away any reaction. Finally, he turns to Lucy and I. "Your sister should break up with that guy," he says before walking away. Lucy and I follow his path back to the bar with wide eyes.
"Damn, I thought he was only protective yesterday because he wants to fuck you," Lucy mutters. "Guess he's just protective, period."
I whip my head around to glare at Lucy. "I already told you he doesn't want to fuck me," I growl.
She raises an eyebrow at me. "No, he definitely still wants to fuck you, but I'm saying that's not why he almost broke that guy's neck yesterday. Apparently, Tristan has as much of a mama bear streak as you do."
I frown and turn again to study my current roommate. He's joined Aiden and Max at the bar and is listening to whatever inane argument those two are currently involved in.
I never would've expected Tristan to be the protective type. In fact, he's always come off as the opposite: selfish, worried only about his career, and ignoring everyone else around him. I knew he had a soft spot for Jax, but I figured that was a reflection of the type of loyalty my best friend commands, not of Tristan himself. Apparently, I was wrong.
"I guess I should go thank him," I mutter to Lucy. With a nod and a swat to my ass, she wanders off to go find someone else to talk to.
I take a hesitant step toward the bar. Then it becomes two, and three, and the next thing I know I'm standing in front of Tristan.
He turns his even gaze toward me and raises a brow. I open my mouth to say something, but it's at that moment that Aiden notices me standing there.
"Hey, Remy!" he chirps happily. He stands up from where he's sitting at the bar and offers me the barstool. "I assume you want to ream Tristan out for whatever he just did. Here, take my seat. Max and I are heading back to the rest of the group now anyway."
I chuckle uncomfortably. "Uh, thanks." By the time I take the seat and turn toward Tristan, the boys are gone. "I, um, just wanted to say thank you for what you did. And said."
I stumble over the words. It feels awkward to aim them at Tristan.
He stares at me with his usual unyielding gaze, letting none of his feelings show. After a few moments, he asks, "Is she safe with him tonight?"
I turn my attention back to the coc
ktail I've been nursing for the past hour. I take a quick swig when I remember its existence. "Yeah," I answer easily and honestly. "They live together. And he's not abusive—or at least not physically. He's just kind of mean. I don't think she realizes the effect he has on her. But he would never hurt her. I'd never let him." Then something occurs to me, and I chuckle. "Plus, that crazy bitch has too many daggers in her purse to be in any real danger."
Tristan's in the middle of gesturing at the bartender when he turns back to me with a startled look. "Seriously? She carries daggers?"
I grin. "And a few knives. It's been a while since I've seen what's in her purse."
Tristan's lips twitch into a grin, then he nods in approval. "Smart girl," he mutters. "I figured she was okay, since I doubt Jax would let her be around anyone that's actually dangerous. But when I saw him with her, I just wanted to make sure."
I nod, nervously spinning the drink in front of me. "Well, thank you anyway," I murmur. "That was… really nice of you. You know, to threaten him and all."
The usual cocksure grin appears on Tristan's face. It will never not be disconcerting that he has only two expressions: arrogant and stoic. "What good is all this muscle and talent if I don't use it to boss people around once in a while?"
I roll my eyes at his arrogance finally making an appearance. I let out the tight breath I was holding, feeling much more comfortable with this version of Tristan that I know so well.
Just then, the bartender appears with two shots of tequila. I look quizzically at Tristan.
"Isn't tequila your preferred drink?" he asks, sliding one of the shots in front of me. "I figured we both need it after that bullshit."
