Don’t
High
“HEY! HIGH!”
Striding out from the back of the store toward the Compound, hearing Cherry’s call, High looked toward the garage to see her quickly coming down the steps to the office in her high heels.
He changed directions and started moving her way.
“I’m in a bind,” she called when she got to the bottom of the steps and started rushing to him. “The tires don’t fit!”
High said nothing. He just kept walking across the expanse of tarmac to her.
“The buyer is coming on Monday and Joker’s decided on different tires, not recutting the wheel wells,” she went on, still hoofing her way to him. “I called the first two suppliers and they don’t have what he wants. And I—”
They met. She stopped. He stopped, too, and lifted a hand so she’d also stop yapping.
“What you need, Cherry?” he asked.
“I need tires,” she replied. “Which means I have to call around to everyone to find them and that means I can’t go get the champagne.”
His brows drew together. “Say again?”
She threw out a hand in agitation. “I can’t get the champagne.”
“What champagne?” he asked.
“For the event,” she told him. “Tack and I are donating twelve cases of champagne to this fund-raising thing happening downtown. They called and needed underwriting. They were in a bind because something had happened and the champagne donation fell through. It’s a good cause and a big event and any big event needs champagne. But there wasn’t enough time to get the brothers together so they could vote on the donation so I decided Tack and I would donate it personally.”
“Thinkin’ the brothers would cover you, you thought it was worth the cake,” High informed her of something she absolutely knew.
She shook her head and grinned at him. “Doesn’t matter. Tack and I need write-offs too.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, and got to the point. “So what you need from me?”
She nodded. “Right. Well, it’s ordered, the champagne that is, and they need it because the event’s tonight. They also need it in time so they can get it in the fridge to chill. I was supposed to go pick it up and take it there. The store can load it and they have guys at the event location to unload it. I just need the pickup. But now I can’t—”
“Where’s the booze and where’s it gotta go?” he asked.
Cherry smiled big and shouted, “You’re the greatest!” before she shocked the shit out of him by leaning in, putting a hand to his chest, and getting on her toes to press her cheek to his.
Fuck.
She’d never touched him.
A decade he’d known the woman and she’d not touched him.
Not once.
She moved away, still smiling but also giving him the info he needed.
He nodded. “On it.”
“You’re my savior today, or you’re King’s Shelter’s savior.”
King’s Shelter. They took care of runaways.
Yeah, a good cause the brothers would totally vote to support.
He didn’t get into that again with her.
He told her, “You can keep talkin’ to me or I can go get your shit and get it to the hotel.”
She kept smiling. “Then I’ll shut up. Thanks, High. You’re the best.”
She continued to smile as she lifted her hand and then the woman touched him again, squeezing his biceps before letting him go, turning on her heel, and sashaying toward the garage like she had all day and wasn’t in a rush to find some tires.
He didn’t think of that. Not when he was watching her ass move in her tight skirt, an ass that was beyond fine even after popping out two kids and being firm in her forties.
Tack was a lucky man, seeing as Cherry was his woman.
High stopped watching her ass and went to his bike, which he rode to Boz’s place so he could switch it out for his truck.
Then he went to the liquor store, got that booze, and drove to the location, stopping behind it at the loading area where Cherry told him to go.
A kid came running out as High angled down from the truck.
“Got a delivery,” he told the kid. “From Tyra Allen. Donation. Champagne.”
“Right.” The kid nodded, not looking into High’s eyes, something High didn’t like all that much because there was no reason why he wouldn’t. Before High could get a lock on that, the kid muttered, “Be right back.”
Then he turned and sprinted into the building.
Fuck.
He hoped this didn’t take forever. He didn’t have anything to do that morning but he had to go view more houses early in the afternoon. Something he wasn’t looking forward to. Something he didn’t like doing and not only because he’d already seen eighteen of the fuckers, none of which was right for him and his girls. But also he’d started that mission not liking moving through other people’s houses trying to visualize their shit gone and new shit in it so he could make it a decent place for him and his babies.
On that thought he caught movement, focused his attention on the door, and felt his body snap tight.
Millie.
Fucking Millie walking out, her hair back from her face in twists and pinned at the base of her neck in a big bun, her body encased in a turtleneck sweater dress the color of toffee, a dress that skimmed every fuckin’ curve—and she had a lot of them—her feet in shiny, fancy, sexy-as-fuck high-heeled boots.