Free Chasing Claire (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) by Paula Marinaro Page B

and munched on wild berry scones drizzled with Tupelo honey, I checked the list of required reading for the third time.
    Then I groaned.
    “I am up to four hundred bucks, and I still have two classes to go.”
    Glory didn’t look up.
    “I thought you were going to check the used-book site,” she murmured around the pencil in her mouth.
    “This
is
the used-book site.”
    Glory sighed and nodded in sympathy while I punched in some numbers on my calculator.
    My roommate was busy furiously scratching down some numbers of her own on a yellow legal pad.
    “Shit, at this point I’m going to just about break even for this catering job. Maybe I can skip the truffle oil and use something else,” she said thoughtfully. Glory’s ponytail had slipped off the top of her head and her T-shirt rode one smooth shoulder. Her brows were knit together, as she chewed absently on the end of a pencil.
    “Five books? Five books? You have got to be kidding me. One course and there’s five books for it?” I began to punch in more numbers.
    “I wonder if it’ll make a big difference if I use portobello instead of shiitake,” Glory murmured.
    “I can’t believe this! Damn! The books for the last two classes aren’t selling used.” I groaned.
    Glory and I parallel-played with each other like that all afternoon. Each of us was lost in our own world.
    Neither of us heard the car pull in, but we both looked up when we heard the screen door open and then slam shut. My sister stood dripping wet in the middle of the living room. She had the baby in one arm and a suitcase in the other.
    Uh-oh.
    “Diego left,” she blurted out. “Can I stay here?”
    So much for happily ever after,
I thought.
    Glory and I moved into action. She grabbed Willow, and I put my arm around my sister.
    “Oh, Raine! Sure you can, honey. You know you can always stay here.” I began to fuss like an old hen.
    “Your old room’s just the way you left it,” Glory sang out reassuringly. Her ice blue eyes warmed in sympathy.
    “Here, let me take the baby,” I said while Glory steered Raine to the couch.
    “I’ll put on a nice cup of tea.” I smiled into Willow’s sleepy eyes and kissed her head as she curled to my shoulder and stuck a thumb in her mouth. Then I started toward the kitchen.
    “What?” Raine let herself be guided, but she kept looking over her shoulder at me. Then she stopped and pivoted.
    “What is wrong with the two of you?” Raine volleyed a look from me to Glory and then back again.
    “You two are acting like . . . Oh my God! You think that Diego and I? Really? Geez!” Her eyes went wide with sudden understanding.
    Then she put her hands on her hips and shook her head at us.
    “I didn’t mean he left
me
! Prosper sent some of the boys up to the north county this weekend on club business. I called him from my cell last night and begged him to send Diego along with them.”
    “Why would you do that?” Glory asked.
    “Let’s just say that the man is driving me crazy. When he isn’t jumping at every tiny noise that Willow makes, he’s all over me.”
    Then she paused dramatically. “Look at this,” Raine said with disgust written all over her face.
    Then my sister jerked open her jacket to reveal a soft blue T-shirt, and some impressive breasts. It was evident that Raine’s naturally thin body had filled out with the birth of the baby. Now front and center with her post-baby body, I had to admit it, Raine’s breasts were at least twice the size that they were pre-Willow. And that was sort of saying a lot, because small breasts did not exactly run in our family.
    “Look at them! They are
huge
. And they
leak.
It’s ridiculous. And Diego. Jesus. You would think that man has never seen a pair of tits before. He can’t keep his eyes off me. He is like a kid in a candy store.”
    Just then Willow started to cry, and two small wet spots began to appear like voodoo magic on the front of Raine’s shirt.
    She kept talking, and I