Page 23 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

Walking around the shops, I couldn’t find a single thing for Devlyn. What the hell did someone get for their baby momma?

Flowers?

A thank-you card?

A fifty-dollar gift card to her favorite restaurant?

Though now that I thought about it, that last idea might get me out of trouble in the future. Woman was hungry all the damn time. Refusing to give up, I spotted Mademoiselle Moriarity walking toward me. Looking around, I ducked into the nearest store and sighed. “Damn, that was close.”

“May I help you?”

Turning slowly, I spotted a smiling young man barely in his early twenties leaning against the counter, taking a long, good look at me before he licked his lips and clearly said, “Hot damn. Santa did get my letter this year.”

The young man’s confidence was so unmistakable that I couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Santa’s got a strange way of granting wishes,” I replied casually, scanning the store for anything remotely useful for Devlyn.

“Depends on what you asked for,” he countered, his grin widening. “Need help findin’ something? Or are you just window shoppin’, ’cause, Big Daddy, I don’t mind lookin’?”

I ignored his flirtation and picked up a plush stuffed bear with a small red bow tied to its neck.

It seemed harmless enough, yet sentimental—a gift that wouldn’t send the wrong message.

“You think this would work for a first-time Christmas present for the mother of my children?” I asked, holding it up.

“For a baby momma?” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Hmm, depends. Are you trying to say ‘thanks for the kid’ or ‘I still care’ ? Because that bear’s giving me ‘sorry for being an ass’ vibes.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples, and put the bear back on the shelf.

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, Big Daddy, I’ve got an entire section for stupid mistakes. Follow me.”

I hesitated but followed him deeper into the store when something caught my eye. Stopping, I walked over to the wall and stared at the aquarium with a baby alligator in it, and when the small hatchling hissed at me, I smiled.

“How much for the hatchling?”

“Oh, Jerky isn’t for sale. He’s my baby.”

Grinning from ear to ear, I turned to the young salesclerk and said, “Everything is for sale. Name your price.”

He sauntered closer to me, trailed his index finger down my chest, and whispered, “What did you have in mind?”

I raised an eyebrow, amused but not entirely surprised by the clerk’s audacious response. “Well, aren’t you bold? But I was serious,” I replied, my tone firm yet playful.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Boldness is kind of my thing, Big Daddy,” he said, emphasizing the nickname with a teasing smirk. “But Jerky? He’s special. Not just any customer gets to walk out with him.”

“Consider me not just any customer,” I shot back, leaning casually against the counter. “Or maybe you just haven’t named the right price yet.”

His grin flickered for a moment, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like intrigue. “Alright then. Let’s play a little game,” he said. “You want Jerky? Show me you’ve got the nerve to earn him.”

I crossed my arms, curious now. “That sounds more like a challenge than a price.”

“Oh, it’s both,” he replied with a wink. Stepping closer to the aquarium, he tapped the glass gently, letting the hatchling hiss again. “How far are you willing to go for something that bites back?”

Twenty minutes later, I was in the back of his shop leaning against a bed frame, naked from the waist up as he snapped pictures of me. When I ducked into this shop, I never thought in a million years I would be posing for boudoir photos.

Nope.

That was definitely not on my bucket list.

“That’s it,” the clerk said. “Flex those muscles for me.”

“So what are you going to do with these photos?”

“Besides drool over them?” He chuckled, then added, “I’m going to use them to start up my website. I don’t want to be behind the counter for the rest of my life. I want to be self-sufficient and do something I love.”

“You have this store, kid. That seems pretty self-sufficient to me.”

“I do.” He sighed, lowering his camera. “But this was my uncle’s store. He gave it to me when he passed, but selling trinkets and tourist shit isn’t my dream, you know?”

“And taking pictures is your dream?”

“Yep.” The kid nodded. “I want to turn this place into a premier boudoir photo studio where people of all shapes, color and sizes can come from all around to get their photos taken. I want to show people how truly beautiful they are. There is already enough hate in this world. I just want everyone to see the beauty in it, and that starts with them seeing themselves as beautiful.”

I studied him for a moment, the earnestness in his eyes catching me off guard. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable.

“I’ve seen people walk into this shop looking defeated, tired, or just invisible to themselves.

But the moment they step in front of the camera, something changes.

It’s like they remember who they are. And if I can bring that spark back for even one person, then it’s worth it. ”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight I hadn’t anticipated.

I glanced down at the camera in his hands, the tool of his dream, and suddenly the situation felt less absurd and more.

.. transformative. Here was someone daring to chase after what made them come alive, even if it meant starting with a borrowed shop and an unlikely model.

“Well,” I said, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, “I hope your website gets all the traffic it deserves. And hey, if you ever need a testimonial about how you convinced a random stranger to strip down in the name of art, I’m your guy.”

He laughed, genuine and heartfelt, before adjusting his camera once more. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, let’s get one last shot—the one where you look like you own the world.”

Fifteen minutes later, I walked to the door with Jerky safely encased in a cardboard box carrier and asked. “I didn’t get your name.”

“You can call me anything you want, but my parents named me Eliot Jenson Ross, and my friends call me E.J.”

I stiffened.

The name hung heavy between us, a ghost resurrected by syllables I hadn’t heard in years. Eliot Jenson Ross. E.J. The man before me, with his camera and quiet determination, was a far cry from the Elliot I’d once known—or rather, the brother I’d tried so hard to forget.

His eyes, those unguarded, earnest eyes, had the same spark of curiosity, the same unrelenting need to see the world in a way no one else could.

“And you are?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I whispered, “Gator, but you can call me Wade.”

“Merry Christmas, Wade.”

I managed a nod, gripping the box carrier a little tighter as I stepped outside.

The cool evening air met my skin, but my head was swimming too much to feel it.

Eliot Jenson Ross. Of all the names in the universe, it had to be his.

It was like some cosmic joke, a thread from a life I thought I’d buried being yanked loose when I least expected it.

The streetlights flickered on as I walked towards my truck, my mind replaying his words: “You can call me anything you want.”

I chuckled at that, but what I wanted was clarity, a way to reconcile the memory of another Elliot—the brother I’d lost.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I placed Jerky’s box on the passenger side. He let out a curious hiss, tilting his head as if to ask what was wrong. “Yeah, buddy,” I muttered, starting the engine. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, my phone rang. Reaching for it, I saw Juju’s number and answered, “Man, you would not believe the weird shit I did tonight.”

“Boss, we’ve got a situation.”

Groaning, I rolled my eyes. “Just tell her I will stop and get her a damn sandwich.”

“It’s Jolly. She’s back.”

And just like that, I stepped on the gas.

Twenty minutes later, I slammed on the brakes, stopping mere inches before I damn near crashed into the back of The Bourbon Bar.

Grabbing Jerky, I raced inside, hurriedly placing Devlyn’s gift on the kitchen table before marching toward the main barroom to find my crazy ass woman laughing at something Jolly had said.

My brothers all congregated in the corner, watching intently, almost as if waiting for the big smackdown to begin.

Walking over to them, I whispered, “What the hell is going on?”

“No clue, boss,” Worm piped up, his eyes fixed on the two women siting at the bar. “Logically, Devlyn should have body slammed Jolly by now. Yet she hasn’t. There’s a missing variable and I can’t figure it out.”

Groaning, I looked at Juju. “Explain?”

My VP shrugged. “No clue, boss. Ain’t got nuttin’.”

“Maybe it’s all those beignets?” Braveheart offered.

“What?” I asked confused.

“Yeah, you see, Devlyn was gobbling up a whole bag of them. Wouldn’t even share with Donut and after he asked nicely, too.”

“I did, boss.” Donut nodded. “I asked real nice.”

“Maybe it’s a sugar rush?” Thore offered.

“Still ain’t right. She didn’t share. I only wanted one,” Donut grumbled, crossing his arms as he glared at my woman.

“Like you could only eat one beignet,” Worm scoffed.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to piece together this bizarre puzzle. “So, let me get this straight,” I said, glancing between them. “Devlyn’s in an uncharacteristic sugar-induced truce with Jolly, and all of you are too busy sulking over beignets to figure out why?”

Juju snorted. “Pretty much.”

Braveheart sipped his drink thoughtfully. “You ever think, boss, that maybe Devlyn’s just, I dunno... evolving?”

“Evolving?” I echoed skeptically.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Like... emotionally. Or whatever. Maybe the sugar opened up some kind of cosmic pathway to enlightenment.”

“Or maybe she’s just plotting,” Juju offered with a shrug. “Could be the calm before the storm.”

“You know,” Worm chimed in, “I once read this theory about baked goods and emotional vulnerability. It’s called the ‘donut effect.’”

Donut perked up. “Finally, some respect for pastries.”

“That’s not a real thing,” I shot back, shaking my head. “And can we focus here? There’s clearly something going on, and it’s not just powdered sugar and emotional awakenings.”

“Maybe they’re bonding over some secret we don’t know about?” Thore offered, scratching his beard.

“Or they are comparing notes,” Donut whispered, as I turned toward him. “You know, ’cause you fucked them both.”

“Oh fuck,” I groaned, rubbing my hands down my face.

“You better get over there.” Juju glared. “Before Jolly spills the truth about Mardi Gras.”

“For the last time,” I sneered. “It was a simple misunderstanding. That’s all.”

Juju chuckled. “Then why did you two get an annulment?”

“Because,” I began, pointing a finger at Juju, “someone misinterpreted a harmless costume party.”

“Then next time, don’t come dressed as a groom.”

“It was last minute, and it was all I had!”

“And Jolly?”

“Who knows with her? Woman ain’t all there, and you know it.”