Griffin (Ruthless MC 3)

Her parents exchange soft smiles. Then her mom explains, “We never hated each other. We just had to get out of our own way and remember that.”

Then more kisses. O2 makes sure to say “Ew!” a bunch of times. She even falls to the floor and dramatically clutches at her throat, so they know just how disgusted she is by their icky behavior.

But the truth is, she kind of loves her parents not hating each other.

She hopes they stay this way forever.

CHAPTER 36

BERNICE

“So what do you want me to do with your hair?” the stylist at the Benton Grand’s salon asks for our pre-wedding consultation appointment.

This is the first time anybody’s asked me this question in years.

Box braids became my go-to in New York. Practical and long-lasting, with zero upkeep—pretty much the perfect do for a busy mother.

But the past few weeks have brought all sorts of changes to my routine.

Crazy rough sex at night, followed by gentle good-morning loving before I make breakfast for the three of us and Griff takes O2 to school. Weekends filled with family outings and me reading ebooks by the pool while O2 and Griff splash and swam. Lots of dirty words and sweet baby making in between.

I keep waiting for Griff to get bored again.

“Do you ever miss the lifestyle that came with being a big music star?” I asked during one of our morning sleep-ins when he little-spooned me before I could little-spoon him.

“Nah,” he answered without a second of hesitation. “Living like that was about dumping shit into holes that couldn’t be filled. You and O2 are the opposite of that.”

It was a strange way to put it, but I understood.

And I feel glowy now as I look at myself in the mirror. The opposite of boring. Not because I’m trying to pretend I’m someone I’m not, but because I’m finally just being the person I want to be.

“We specialize in extensions, but we have a braider available on an as-needed basis,” the stylist tells me. “If you want, we can call her in to give you an updo for the wedding.”

Yes, braids would be still the most practical choice for me. But hmm…I turn my head from left to right. “If I wanted to try something new today, do you think you could squeeze me in?”

“Sure,” she answers with a glance toward Whitney, who’s sitting in a chair right next to Nora Benton herself, the self-dubbed Irish Queen of Vegas.

“What were you thinking?” the stylist asks me.

Griff might still call me Red, but maybe Bernice isn’t as boring as I thought after all.

I smile at the stylist in the mirror and tell her exactly what I want.

“Oh, look at you! I love your hair!” Whitney calls out when I come into the nail section of the salon, looking shiny and brand-new.

Apparently, Greg Latham arrived while the stylist was finishing up my do. He and Whitney are doing their ex-besties routine again—sitting in side-by-side spa chairs, with an empty spot on each side.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” O2 calls out, running to jump into the spa chair beside him. “You’re getting your nails done too?”

“Little granddaughter, you do not want to see how bad these hooves would be if I didn’t get them buffed and sanded every two weeks. And my favorite ex-wife still insists I maintain well-groomed nails.”

“That’s right!” Whitney agrees as I drop into the spa seat beside hers. But then she loudly whispers behind her hand, “Plus, Merri refuses to do any of this girly stuff with me.”

I just laugh and ask Greg, “How was your trip out to Rhode Island? We missed you at the Sunday pool party.”

“Unproductive,” Greg grumbles. “But Whitney, tell Bernie about my fundraiser idea while I catch up with my favorite granddaughter.”

“I’m you’re only granddaughter!” O2 points out with a teasing laugh.

“Yes, she is,” Whitney mutters. “Since Geoff refuses to ask out any of the lovely women I keep trying to set him up with.”

You know I’m back with Tennessee folk because my A++ Southern Gossip Detector fires all the way back up. Since I can’t think of a tactful way to ask Whitney about the pregnant wife Griff mentioned Geoff having when we first met, I make a mental note to get the full story from my future husband when I see him back at home tonight.

But Whitney doesn’t dwell on the subject too long. She switches from dissatisfied mother to socialite-with-an-agenda in the next instant.

“Anyway, Greg was just telling me that I should ask for your help with the Latham Foundation Christmas fundraiser. He reminded me about how Griffie bragged about you being a talented event planner.”

I jolt a little. “He told you that?”

“Are you not a talented event planner?”

I shake my head. “No, I am. Sort of. I mean, I hadn’t really given it any consideration lately. Really, I’m just trying to get past the wedding. But I was on that path before I got back into nursing when O2 was born. I guess I’m just…”