TanzieGrisham’s return is what I imagine a tornado to be like. The door opens and he busts in, his large frame filling the doorway before he slams the door behind him.
The calm energy of the room electrifies as he moves around, pulling his shirt over his head. He follows with his boots and pants. I note that he’s wearing the same thing he had on when he left last night.
“Get lucky last night?” I ask. It’s a childish thing to say.
“I went to see my daughter,” he answers. His tone is flat. The answer is simple and truthful.
“Oh,” I say lamely. “Well, I feel stupid now.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Most people don’t even know she exists.”
That shuts me up right quick. Why would he tell me he has a daughter? I may not be involved in club business, but I understand how dangerous it is to share inf
