“Hush, woman,” Judge said. “You worked in those heels and that sexy as fuck outfit you wore for me last week. Don’t ruin the fantasy.”

Ophelia let out a soft laugh. “Your fantasy is me wearing that around other—”

“Great. It’s fuckin’ ruined, princess,” Judge bit out.

“That’s on you, psycho.”

I was used to their back and forth. We all were. For as long as we’d been Court of Mayhem, Judge had lived and breathed the club—until Ophelia. We were happy he had something else to obsess over.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to hear where their conversation would inevitably lead.

“I’ll go,” I cut in.

“Huh?” Judge muttered distractedly before getting back on track. “Right. Appreciate it. Try to figure out some new angles. Have any issues, call me.”

I focused out the window in time to see my new neighbor struggle to pull a tote out of the back of the van. I expected to see a man storm down the walkway, but there was no one.

There hadn’t been anyone else the whole time I’d been standing there like a stalker.

“Can you gimme an hour?”

“I’ll let him know,” Judge said as I clicked off.

I had a walkway to storm down.

2. Welcome Home, Noodle Arms

CHAPTER 2

WELCOME HOME, NOODLE ARMS

MAC

I hurt.

My arms are noodles.

My legs are noodles.

Great, now I want noodles.

Wrapped up in trying to ignore the ache that’d infused every inch of my body, my sudden craving for noodles, and the fact the tote wouldn’t unwedge itself from the van, I didn’t notice anyone.

Not until I turned in a frustrated huff and ran into a wall.

Since I was in the road, it seemed like an odd place for someone to suddenly build a wall. Unless a cartoon coyote built it to trick a roadrunner, of course.

Not to mention, walls didn’t have arms that tried to reach out and steady me before I dodged them.

They also weren’t made of solid muscle.

“You okay?” the wall asked, his voice impossibly deep and rough.

Instead of answering, I rushed to apologize. “I’m the one who ran into you. Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.”

His lips hitched up on one side, a deep dimple forming. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

His smile—and two dimples—grew. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

I could understand why my concern amused him. Given his size, I could launch myself at him at full force, and it’d likely feel like getting hit by a feather.

Given his everything, I could launch myself at him for a variety of reasons.

Hypothetically, not actually.

Never actually.

It was just the hormones speaking.