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I mean, not that I was rethinking my whole “no kids, all party” plan for the rest of my life or anything. But, yeah, it was an interesting night.

I’d actually strolled my ass around the convenience store for a while before hoofing it all the way back to the clubhouse. Took well over an hour, and even when I got there, I didn’t really want to do anything but go upstairs and crash.

Alone.

Since then, we had a couple of drops to do: guns to hand off to people with dubious intentions but a lot of cash. It cut into the partying time. We’d had church another night. Afterward, I didn’t suggest a party, so we didn’t have one.

Really, the only reason I suggested it that night was that I was sick of Velle looking at me sideways, likely drawing all sorts of conclusions in that head of his.

I was regretting ever telling them about the little rescue mission. Even if I did leave out a lot of the details about it.

Because they’d been attaching my mood to the incident ever since.

And I hated how correct they were.

I mean, for fuck’s sake, I hadn’t done more than play pool games and do shots with a woman since that night. Even that, my heart wasn’t in. Let alone any other part of my anatomy.

I’m not saying I’d never had a dry spell in my life. But I’d never not reached for a woman when they wereright therefor the taking.

“Why’s there no food?” Kylo asked, his hand on his stomach as he looked in the near-empty fridge.

“Eddie is sick,” York told him. “Sent a text this morning saying he had a stomach bug and that we’re on our own. Then reminded me where the take-away menus are since he knows none of us know how to cook.”

“I mean, we could feed ourselves,” Kylo objected.

“And Caymen can cook. Well, grill anyway,” Dixon supplied.

I wasn’t about to pipe in and say I could cook as well. Unlike Eddie, while I could do it, I didn’t enjoy it. So I wasn’tcommitting myself to being Eddie’s fill-in when he was sick or busy.

“Take-out it is,” I agreed, spreading the menus out.

Being a spoiled bunch, though we couldn’t decide on just one place. So I added an obscene tip to get someone to pick it up for us, then started making something fruity for the club girls and their friends to drink when they showed up.

From there, it was all the usual shit.

Dixon cleaned the pool. Caymen set up the giant inflatable TV. Velle queued up the playlist. Kylo and York blew up the battle Q-tips and the beer pong table.

And I… didn’t do jack shit.

Just waited around for the food to arrive as the party started to rage out back.

“Fuck Benny,” Mackie grumbled when he tried to make a grab for a chip on the table but couldn’t quite reach it.

“Sorry, man. Kylo is the sucker. I don’t wanna be on that psycho Remy’s bad side. So… here’s an almond instead,” I told him, dropping one into his bowl.

My phone buzzed as the macaw climbed his giant body back into his cage to eat the nut.

Food arrived, it seemed.

Happy for something to do, I swung open the door.

And, somehow, there she was.

Standing several feet back from the door, tucking her phone into her pocket.

She looked almost the same as the night on the street: white tee, jean shorts, and flip-flops, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

If possible, she looked even more exhausted—and thinner—than a week before.