The clubhouse was loud in that familiar, lived-in way—engines cooling outside, glasses clinking, laughter ricocheting off wood and concrete. Poker night had dissolved into chaos hours ago, and now the table was littered with empty bottles and bad decisions. You leaned against the bar beside Jax, arms crossed, watching the brothers like you always did—half amused, half exasperated.

The target of tonight’s entertainment sat completely unbothered in his chair.

Chibs Telford.

He was relaxed, one arm slung over the back of the chair, the other holding his beer like he’d been born with it there. Scar catching the low light, eyes calm, unreadable. And no matter what anyone tried, the man would not blush.

“Told ye,” Tig said, smirking as he nudged Happy. “Man’s immune.”

Happy snorted. “I don’t know. I’ve seen him crack.”

“Yeah, when someone’s bleeding,” Jax shot back, grinning. “Not the same thing.”

They’d been at it for twenty minutes—crude jokes, exaggerated stories, Tig saying things that should’ve earned him a slap. Nothing. Chibs just chuckled, shook his head, fired back with a dry comment that made everyone else laugh harder.

You watched quietly, eyes flicking over him. The way his shoulders stayed loose. The way his mouth curved when he smiled—not wide, not showy. Controlled. Always controlled.

He caught you looking.

One brow lifted, the barest tilt of his head, a silent question only you seemed to hear.

You smiled to yourself.

Jax noticed immediately. “Oh no,” he said, pointing between you and Chibs. “That look means trouble.”

You pushed off the bar and stepped forward. “What? I can’t enjoy the show?”

“Depends,” Tig said. “You got somethin’ we don’t?”

You stopped in front of Chibs, close enough that his knee brushed your thigh. He looked up at you, eyes warm, curious—but still composed. Always composed.

“Sit back,” you said lightly.

A beat.

Then he did.

The room quieted—not completely, but enough. You reached out, slow and deliberate, and hooked one finger under his chin. His breath hitched before he could stop it.

There it was.

You tilted his face up just slightly, just enough so his eyes met yours fully. You leaned in, close enough that your noses almost brushed, your voice low—meant only for him.

“My good boy.”

That was all it took.

Chibs froze.

Not figuratively. Completely. His hand tightened around his beer, knuckles whitening. His mouth parted like he’d forgotten how to use it. The calm, unshakable presence everyone knew just… vanished. Heat rushed up his neck, unmistakable, blooming fast beneath his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” Tig breathed. “Did he just—”

Jax burst out laughing. “Holy shit. She broke him.”

Chibs blinked once. Twice. His brain clearly rebooting a few systems too late. “Love,” he finally managed, voice rough, accented thicker than usual, “that’s no’ fair.”

You straightened, smug and satisfied, brushing your thumb once along his jaw before pulling away.

“Wasn’t trying to be fair.”

The table erupted—whistles, laughter, someone banging on the wood. Chibs dragged a hand down his face, still flushed, still very much not recovered.

And when he finally looked at you again, eyes dark, fond, and completely undone—

Yeah.

Totally worth it.