He ignored me as he headed through the open sliding glass door.

Judge stood and gripped Ophelia’s chin to tilt it up. “Hollywood said he stocked your pineapple vodka. You want that?” At her nod, he kissed the top of her head. “You got it, princess.”

God.

My heart.

“Don’t bother fighting it,” Ophelia said, confusing me for a second. “They’re typical Mayhem men.” I knew what she meant because of the emblem on the back of the leather vests, but she explained anyway. “It’s their motorcycle club, and I think being bossy is part of the criteria to get patched in.”

“I learned that yesterday.” At her raised brow, I explained, “When I was unloading the moving van, Ward tried to make me sit while he did it all.”

“‘Tried’? You mean he didn’t get his way for once?”

“No.” I raised my chin and fought to keep a straight face. “I stood while he did it.”

“I bet he didn’t know what to do with himself,” Ophelia said with a laugh, making me lose the battle as I smiled.

“How do you think I felt? I was losing a battle with a stuck tote, and suddenly there’s a wall of tattooed stranger ordering me to rest.” I shrugged. “But Ward unloaded it faster than I could’ve, so it was appreciated.”

She tilted her head. “Ward. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call him his real name. I don’t think I even knew it.” Her focus went to the door her man had gone through. “Judge has been Judge since birth, so I sometimes forget the guys have actual names, not just nicknames.”

“Judge is his real name?”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder where the beautiful, broody man had moved to lounge on the couch with a full manspread. “And his brother is actually named Jury.”

Once she mentioned the familial connection, it was easy to see they had similar eye color, hair color, and build.

“Where’d you move from?” she asked.

“Pennsylvania.”

“Good. I don’t have to scare you off with warnings about the winters.”

“Nope. I’m sure you get worse than the lake effect I’ve always dealt with, but it won’t be too much of a shock.”

“Hopefully.” Ophelia’s gaze went beyond me to the shared fence. “Hollywood mentioned your aunt died and left you her house. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I should’ve corrected her. But like with Ward the day before, it was easier to just let it be. It didn’t hurt anything. But it would hurt to field questions I didn’t want to answer.

I couldn’t answer.

Instead, I repeated the same thing I’d told him—which, despite the trickle of guilt that swirled around my heart, wasn’t technically a lie. And a technical truth was a win in my book. “She was a stranger.”