What I shouldn’t do is sit here and get to know these people. What I shouldn’t do is agree to a night out with them. What I shouldn’t do is look forward to seeing Cowboy in his country element, busting out his moves to impress me.
But that’s what I do, anyway, knowing it’s a piss-poor decision that’s got the potential to get someone hurt. Mostly, me. Maybe Brody. He said he’s fine with casual, and I have to take him at his word, but tonight doesn’t seem casual, doesn’t feel like no big deal. And that worries me.
“Sounds like a plan. Saturday night. Twirl me around the dance floor, Cowboy.”
What the fuck did I just agree to?
Quiet and low enough that no one should be able to hear, Brody whispers out of the side of his mouth, “Fuck yeah, I will, Lil Bit.”
Mama Louise, who’s been silently watching the whole dinner and a show before her, finally interjects. “Language.”
I almost laugh. The air actually bubbles up from my belly and the sound catches in my throat when I realize that she’s serious. A table full of big, growly alpha guys and their wives, who all seem to be pretty awesome themselves, but they all bow down to a single word from Mama Louise. She doesn’t even have to try. Her power here is absolute.
I want to be her one day.
Chapter 12
Brody
“Fuck you doing?” Some people can be described as their bark being worse than their bite. Mark isn’t one of them. His bark is bad. His bite is worse. I’m pretty much the same, but we’ve found some degree of respect in our similarities. For the most part, we try not to piss each other off. It’d be too easy to bury the body on the thousands of acres out here where no one would ever find it.
Not that I’ve considered that. Recently.
Today might challenge that, though.
“Texting.” Translation: what the fuck does it look like I’m doing, dumbass?
“Erica?”
I give him a dark look that threatens imminent violence even though I know he’s pushing my buttons on purpose. “Yep. How’s Princess this morning?”
No one gets to have that degree of familiarity with Katelyn but him. Mark and Katelyn are wound up in each other tight and are possessive as fuck of one another. So using her pet name is damn near like waving a red cape in front of a bull.
He returns the glare, dips his chin, and the battle ends. Hell, it was probably his version of fun. Or more likely, he’s testing out the situation to get a read on me.
“How’s Rix?” The change to the name everyone else uses is as much of an apology as I’m going to get because he’s damn sure not sorry. But my reaction at his using Erica’s given name wasn’t lost on either of us. He’s got reason to be possessive, and the sentiment is returned with his wife. I’ve got no reason to be greedy about being the only one to use her name, and she’s made it crystal clear that we’re casual. Exactly what I want too.
Except . . .
We’ve been texting every day. Pictures of cars and pictures of cattle. Pictures of her short, muscled legs wound up in her sheets. Pictures of my chest with the sheets puddled a bit low.
I haven’t read a single page of a book all week because we sit in bed at night talking, the phone bridging the distance across town. Sometimes, it’s just her voice in my ear. Sometimes, we FaceTime, and I love to see her in thin tank tops with sleepy eyes. We have conversations about our day—work, people, random tidbits of life.
I’ve heard stories about her time in the military and how she had to work twice as hard to prove herself because, according to Erica,
“Apparently, engines are these magical, mystical things that can’t be understood if you have a vagina instead of a dick. The guys hadn’t liked it much when I told them that if I could find a G-spot, I sure as fuck could find a carburetor, but I doubted they could say the same thing. About either of those.”
I’d laughed my ass off so loudly that Brutal had knocked on the door to check on me. When I said I was fine, he’d told me to shut the fuck up because Cooper had school in the morning. Like I wouldn’t be up two hours before Cooper, anyway. But I’d quieted down because I like the kid. And we have plans for a rematch at cornhole tonight so I can redeem myself after getting skunked during our last match.
Erica and I have talked about her coming back to run the garage for her Dad, who retired a bit earlier than she expected. He’s fine and healthy, apparently, which is good, and wants to spend time traveling the US with Janice, which is great. But there’s a hitch in Erica’s voice there, something between her and her dad she’s not sharing.