“Thanks, baby.” Ever laughed, scrunching up her nose. “Is it a fetish relating to the sound of a base guitar?”
Ruckus made an impressed face and started to nod, glancing at Nasa before going from nod to shake.
“Nope, but that's a really good guess. Shoot!”
“Kill it ded, Mama!” Lyon shrieked, throwing his hands up over his head and wildly kicking his legs in support of his mother. Adorable.
Ever took her shot, nailed the target dead center, and did a little dance in time to Lyon's triumphant chant of, 'Mama killed it dead!'
“Alright, Dillon, basorexia. Go!” Ruckus cut his hand through the air like he'd dropped a checkered flag before a drag race, putting his whole body into it, giving an exaggerated lean forward with his hand cupped around his ear.
Dillon looked to see Nasa trying to hide his smirk by taking a drink from his beer bottle. Dillon knew he'd picked this question personally for her.
“Basorexia is the overwhelming desire to kiss someone.”
Ruckus shot a fist into the air and did a goofy ninja move. “Correct! How the hell did you know such a weird, obscure fact?”
Dillon turned bright pink to be the focus of everyone's curiosity, but the wink Nasa shot her sent a flurry of butterflies winging through her belly.
“I didn't have a lot of money for beer when I was in college, so I got smart and went on trivia nights with the poli-sci geeks to drink free.”
“I know where we're going for Ladies’ Night.” Ever chortled, sharing a suggestive waggle of her brows with Athena and Ripley.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Ruckus chanted, discarding his trivia cards in favor of stealing Lyon from Roar to bounce and chant with the boy whose lung power rivaled his own.
Dillon took her shot, and when she hit the target precisely in the center despite the raucous noise, the entire lot of spectators went wild, clapping and hollering like she'd won a championship game instead of a game between growing friends.
The girls were graceful losers but demanded a rematch of Texas Shoot'em at some point in the future, to which Dillon happily agreed.
They cleaned up their weaponry, washed their hands, and on the porch, Nasa poured Dillon a glass of hard cider, pear-flavored. It was crisp and sweet, perfect for the lingering heat of the summer day.
It never even crossed Dillon's mind to ask where the cider had come from or who'd made it.
“I wanna peace the bass!” Lyon announced, wiggling free of Ruckus's hold to run to his father.
Roar gently thumped his daughter's belly through her harness, giving Lyon a serious look of doubt.
“I dunno, son, the girls sure went through a lot of bullets. Think you can do it before dinner?”
While Lyon went on to assure Roar he was totally capable, Dillon looked to Nasa in confusion. “Peace the bass?”
Nasa chuckled while he peeled Elka out of her headphones, tilting his head toward the range.
“We got a little paint ball gun last year to let Lyon shoot like the rest of us, and even though it was play, Top started to teach Lyon basic gun safety. Rule number five, always police the brass.
“The paintballs don't have cartridges, so we toss a few down while he's shooting for him to find later. To keep reinforcing the rules in a positive way, we give him a penny for every shell casing he finds. Kid has an impressive piggy bank going.”
“Unka Gee got me a bid mannet, daddy. I'll get aw the bass afore dinners, I pawmiss!” Lyon pleaded piteously. His begging face was camera-worthy as he clung to his father's leg, bottom lip poked out and everything.
“Alright, little man, go to work.” Roar curled his arm around Ever, drawing her in to his side with a huge grin to watch their son take off like a rocket.
Lyongrabbed up a little kid-sized bucket from a spot by the stairs, a cat litter scoop, and a long magnet on a pole.
Dillon scooted closer to Nasa, her shoulder touching his thigh so she could keep her voice low enough not to impede Lyon's progress.
“I know we live in Texas, but isn't he a little young for shooting?”
Nasa swirled his fingers through the short hairs at her nape before settling his palm across the back of her neck, his thumb stroking up and down her jugular.
“Yeah, but he's a curious little monkey. As careful and protective as we are with him, he sees a lot, hears more than we think, and tries to imitate us all the time.
"It's cute as hell, but Ever worried if we didn't get a handle on teaching him how to be safe, he'd pick up a gun we put down and walked away from one day to act like one of the big boys, and accidentally shoot himself.
“He can't get more than bruises from the paint ball gun—unless he somehow managed to aim at his eyeball—or accidentally hurt one of us, and when he gets bigger, we'll all teach him to responsibly use real guns.
"Giving him payment for a job well done teaches him some work ethic, and with as much energy as he's got packed into that tiny little body, any work we give him can only tire him out.”
Dillon watched Lyon running back and forth with the magnet out in front of him, a serious frown of confrontation on his face.
It was rare for Dillon to see happy, well-adjusted children. The ones she usually saw were withdrawn, scared, sometimes battered and bruised, but Lyon was open and sweet.
He ran up to every adult he met and confidently struck up a conversation, completely unafraid of the men around him. They were his uncles, his family, and his sister seemed just as comfortable to be picked up and passed from man to man for kisses and snuggles.
Not one of the rough and tumble bikers shied away from the little girl, actually accusing one another of hogging Harper, and the trash talk as to who Harper
