Angel (Love, Daddy 1)

I meet her eyes for a split second, then look away. “Couple hours north. But not for a while.”

There’s a click and the bathroom door opens behind her. Roger emerges, looking like the Cheshire cat who just fucked the queen of hearts. I give him a death stare, but all I get in return is an open mouth grin as he jerks his head toward the bedroom, bouncing his eyes between me and sofa Sally.

“Where have you been?” Sally tries her best to keep the conversation flowing, but the only thing flowing is thoughts of me taking my best friend out with a shot to the jaw.

Roger answers for me. “Oklahoma, honey, he’s been in Oklahoma. Where the women are scarce and the sheep wear wedding bands.” Roger grins as he tucks his plaid shirt tails into his jeans. It’s a miracle he’s not wagging his dick in Sally’s face asking for a clean-up.

I roll my eyes so hard the room spins. My hackles are up and if he wasn’t my best friend I’d already have flattened him. Tonight I am not in the mood for his shit. Sally makes this ‘pssssffftt’ sound as she springs back upright, disappointed that I’m not interested in her inflatable triple Ds.

“So.” There’s that word again, but it’s from the brunette this time. “Are we going out or what?” She follows Roger, fussing with the hem of her black dress. Although ‘dress’ is a generous term, the thing she’s wearing is more like a tank top that’s stretched just enough to keep her from getting arrested.

“Of course we are.” Roger stuffs his wallet into his back pocket and shoots me a sidelong glance. His teeth are on show again. “What do you say, Chad? Ready to head out?”

When he bobs his eyebrows I almost lose it. Just lucky for him I’m standing by the front window and I can’t be bothered to make the leap to the front door to knock him out. His grin widens and he grabs his keys, points one at me.

“Well, buddy?” He checks himself in the mirror, runs his fingers through his military-grade haircut. It’s near blond, a throwback to his family’s Scandinavian roots. Mine, on the other hand, is brown like maple syrup.

That’s what my mom used to call it. No self-respecting dude would say they have ‘maple syrup brown hair.’ I guess being back in my home state is bringing back thoughts of my mom and dad.

Other thoughts too. Memories. Some that would be better forgotten.

“Well, I know I’m ready.” Roger slaps me on the shoulder as he breezes past. “Or maybe you want to shave that thing off your face first?” He attempts to grab at my beard, and God knows there’s plenty of it to grab, but I smack his hand away with a growl. As I lean back I rub at the hair on my cheek with my middle finger.

Roger chuckles and gives me the finger right back.

“Well, I like it.” Sally stands up and copies the brunette, adjusting the hem of her jean skirt in a show of false modesty. “I think beards are sexy.”

Roger nods. “Uh huh. Of course you do.”

She smiles at me and bats her eyelashes, Roger’s playful insult going right over her head.

“Ready, Chad?” Roger toys with my name. He’s looking my way, meeting my eyes, measuring just how pissed I am. His toothy smile spreads like wet paint.

My urge to take him to the ground, put him out with a half-nelson and then go find a quiet, empty bed is compelling. But even though he’s half asshole, there’s something comforting about being around him. He’s familiar, and right now familiar feels good. He never fails to entertain, that’s for sure. He flashes me his best shit-eating grin, turns and grabs his black Stetson off the hat rack.

I crack a smile and shake my head. “Let’s go.”

Roger motions towards the door. “Ladies, shall we?” When he pulls it open the breeze brings with it the scent of lilacs and fresh cut hay. The crickets are starting to sing as a dusting of stars pierce a wide country sky.

The girls jostle and giggle with each other as they trot out the door, followed so closely by Roger that he’s able to give the brunette a loud slap on her ass to send her on her way.

He looks back over his shoulder. “So, now that you’re back, you planning on keeping your Oklahoma look? You channeling a little bit of the old Forrest Gump? You know, running from coast to coast. I’m just saying, people gonna have a hard time deciding if you’re a homeless guy, a sociopath or a Viking.”

He wrangles me out the door and slams it behind us.

“Will you shut the fuck up? Where are we going, anyway?” We fall in step across the wooden planks of the front porch toward the steps.

Sally turns her head as she walks in front of us. “That rugged look is hot. I like it.”

“Which car?” Brunette asks. Roger never introduced us and I’m not interested enough to ask her name.

“Whichever you want, ladies, your choice.”

They laugh and rush on ahead, leaving me and Roger to walk together. For a moment it’s like old times. “I have to admit, you’re doing well,” I say, nodding at the lineup of cars.

Of the three vehicles arrayed in front of us, the Ford 350 pickup would be my first and only choice. Roger knows that, which is why it’s the one he used to collect me from the airport. It’s as big as the fucking plane that brought me in, with black dual tires, four doors and an engine ready to haul the weight of a dozen Clydesdales.

The girls don’t give the truck a second glance; they head straight to debate between the Mercedes and the Range Rover.