Page 249 of Daddy's Pride
But also wasn’t not mine.
“No love life,” Juan repeated with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Sadly, I’m still not surprised to hear it. But I’m not talking about the fact that you’d be happier with a boy of your own.”
“Someday.”
He waved my comment off. “I know, I know. But I’m talking about today, not someday.”
My lips twitched. “I thought the club was closed on Monday nights.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not today-today. This weekend. You know what I meant. Quit dodging the question.”
Juan really did know me too well, because he held up a hand to stop me before I could point out that he didn’t technically ask me one.
“Okay, you want me to spell it out for you, hermano? I mean that you have not been to the club in months. Are you getting laid somewhere else?”
“Is that your business?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yes? Are we or are we not family? And don’t give me any bullshit about blood. You know what I mean.”
I did know, and I appreciated it even when he was being a pain in the ass. And even if—after all these years—the vast difference in what “family” meant to the Ruizes versus what I’d grown up with still caught me off guard sometimes. But in a good way.
Even if it was also sometimes an annoying as fuck way.
“North?” Juan pressed, his brow lowering with concern. “You’ve been… preoccupied lately. Dime la neta, do I need to worry about you?”
“No. I promise. I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy.”
His eyebrows rose higher and higher with every statement I made, until I had to laugh at myself, too—a little ruefully—for how hard I was selling it.
It was still true, though.
Our business was growing at a steady rate, our crews were solid, and I was happy. My relationship with Owen, such as it was, filled up something in my life that even scening at the club never had.
But—not that I’d ever agree it was any of Juan’s business, chosen family or not—it had been a while since I’d gotten off by anything but my own hand.
Months, in fact.
I dug my fingers into my scalp, scrubbing through my hair, and vaguely noted that it was probably time to schedule a haircut. I guess I really had been a bit preoccupied lately.
“See?” he said triumphantly. “That! You do that when you’re frustrated.”
I dropped my hand.
Shit, I had a tell?
“I really am fine,” I insisted. “But I’ll think about the club, okay? You’re right that I haven’t had a scene in a while.”
“In months,” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and giving me a look that dared me to deny it.
“Yeah, yeah,” I agreed with a grin, distracted as my phone vibrated in my pocket. “In months. I’ll let you know about this weekend, okay? Just let me think about it.”
He grinned, relaxed and happy again now that he thought he was getting his way. “Okay,” he said, walking backward toward the door to my office while giving me a pair of cheesy finger guns. “See that you do. Now, do you want to head down to the courthouse to check into those permits, or do I have to do it?”
“Don’t even try it, brother. That’s all you.”
He muttered a few choice curses in Spanish as he left, and the minute he was out the door I pulled my phone out… with what might have been an embarrassing amount of speed if Juan were still here to give me shit about it.
But he wasn’t, so I didn’t give a fuck.