Bull (The Buck Boys Heroes 1)

Goddammit.

My wife’s not-so-secret admirer must be on the move.

“Thanks for the drink,” a voice says from behind me. “It’s not often that anyone in this city does something like that. I appreciate it.”

I don’t wait for Trina to respond. Instead, I turn and look up at the guy who has his eyes pinned to my wife. “No problem. Enjoy your night.”

“You look familiar.” He points a finger at Trina. “Have we met?”

You have to be fucking kidding me.

I’m sitting right here. She has a diamond on her finger the size of Saturn.

Trina smiles. “I don’t think so.”

He studies her carefully. “I swear I know you. I’m going to go sit back down and figure out when we first met.”

I turn to look up at him. “You do that.”

He ignores me because my wife is so fucking beautiful he can’t tear his eyes away from her. “I’ll be back when I figure it out.”

Trina’s gaze trails him as he walks away.

I finish what’s left of my drink in one gulp. “We’re done. It’s time to go home.”

Chapter Eighteen

Trina

If pressed, I’d give myself an eight out of ten when it comes to reading people. I credit that to the fact that I grew up in a small house with fourteen other family members. Not everyone was direct, so I developed a sixth sense when reading between the lines of what someone says and finding the hidden clues in their demeanor.

If I’m not mistaken, my husband was jealous when the guy at the bar came over to talk to us.

It was another instance of someone recognizing me from my family’s bakery. I know that for a fact because I worked the counter one Saturday afternoon a few months ago to help out, and he ordered a birthday cake for his sister.

We flirted, he left without asking for my number, and I waited for him to call the bakery to ask someone there how to reach me.

That never happened.

I could have confessed all of that at the bar, but I decided to keep it to myself since I was having a drink with my husband.

I glance over at Graham as we ride the elevator up to his penthouse.

He hasn’t said one word to me since we left the bar.

This is as pissy a p.m. as I’ve ever seen, but I don’t point that out because I’m still clinging to the very slim hope that after this charade is over, I’ll still have a job at Abdons.

It may not be as an assistant to the CEO, but there are plenty of executives who could use someone with my expertise.

The elevator slows as it nears our destination.

Graham finally turns to look at me. “I’m sure Lloyd is asleep. I’m going to call it a night.”

Relief flows through me.

I’m looking forward to a hot shower and an episode or two of the show I’ve been trying to binge-watch since back when I was single a few days ago.

“Me too,” I respond with a smile. “By the way, thanks for the martini.”

It was one of the best martinis I’ve had.

I prefer to sip a cocktail, but since my husband turned into a major grouch after that guy at the bar spoke to us, I had to down the delicious concoction in one gulp before we raced out of the place.

I suspect I’ll be fast asleep within the hour.

“Not a problem,” he says in that non-romantic way he has.

My smile droops because why waste it on a man who is looking at me with a scowl?

The ding of the elevator draws both of our gazes forward.

As the doors slide open, I feel Graham’s hand wrap around mine. I glance down in disbelief. I thought I was done playing Mrs. Locke for the night.

“The lovebirds are home!”

I look up again to find Mr. Abdon standing in the foyer, dressed in a red robe over black silk pajamas. He’s holding a glass of something in his hand. My guess is that it’s scotch.

Graham draws my hand up to his mouth to lightly graze his lips over my knuckles.

That shouldn’t make me weak in the knees, but it does. I could blame it on the martini, but why lie to myself?

I like when my husband’s lips brush against my skin. It makes me wonder what it would feel like in places he can’t see.

I shake off that thought and delve back into the role of a lifetime.

“Lloyd,” I say his name as Graham leads me off the elevator. “It’s late. Why are you still up?”

I trust that doesn’t sound accusatory. I didn’t expect to see him. I was counting on making a dash for Mr. Locke’s bedroom as soon as the elevator’s doors opened.

“How could I not stay up to say goodnight to two of my favorite people?” He asks. “Was dinner to your liking? Bette said you left. Am I right to assume you went dancing?”