Chute Yeah (The Valentine Boys 3)

Because Banks Valentine is my kryptonite, went unsaid.

After placing our orders with the waitress, I tried not to allow my gaze to stay on just Banks.

I smiled at everyone, made small talk, but all the while I was hyper aware of who was sitting directly across from me.

I also learned that Banks didn’t talk much. His family did all the talking for him.

Even when the topic was directly related to Banks, he still didn’t talk.

Like when and where his next rodeo was, and which bull he hoped to ride.

“Banks wants to ride any bull but Scooby.” Codie laughed. “Scooby and him are too friendly.”

My brows rose in confusion.

“Banks feeds him treats when nobody is looking,” Codie explained. “Or, at least, he thinks nobody is looking.”

My lips twitched into a small smile.

“I do not.” Banks disagreed.

But before he could go into more detail, everyone’s plates were passed out by a passing waiter.

Everyone but Banks and my meal.

“Umm,” Banks stopped the waiter. “You’re missing the dessert.”

He looked confused. “You don’t want that at the end of the meal?”

Banks shook his head. “No, we want it now. Which is what I told the waitress when I ordered.”

The waiter nodded his head, even if he looked at us like we were both super weird, and hurried off toward the kitchen door.

“Why is it that they always screw that up?” I wondered aloud.

“Because it’s not normal to order dessert with the meal,” he murmured. “And they think they have it right in their head, and that’s the only way that it works. According to them.”

I picked up my drink and swallowed a hefty gulp before saying, “Okay.”

He winked, and my heart started to hammer.

And when our food finally did arrive—almost ten minutes after everyone else’s—I tried really hard not to stare at the man as I tried each decadent piece of food there was to try.Chapter 9My phone is always on silent. And no, I don’t care if I miss any calls.

-Banks to Callum

Banks

I watched her lick her fork and barely contained the urge to moan.

And it had nothing to do with the chocolate cake that I was eating, and everything to do with the way she licked the apple pie filling off of her fork like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. She even moaned and hummed as if the sound effects were completely necessary.

I took another bite of the chocolate cake, and was bringing it up to my mouth when she said, “Are you going to finish the rest of that cake?”

I looked down at the cake and saw that it was only about a quarter of the way eaten—by me.

“Do you want it all or just a bite?” I wondered.

She bit her lip.

“The way you’re going to town over there makes me want a bite,” she admitted. “But chocolate cake is my favorite, and I’m worried that if I try some, I’m going to want to eat it all. And I want to try everything on the plate first. I just wanted you to know it’s my favorite and not to eat every bite.”

I twisted the plate and moved to the brownie.

She eyed it like I was eating her best friend.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You like brownies, too?”

She nodded.

I twisted the entire plate around so that the apple pie was in front of me, and the brownie and chocolate cake was in front of her.

She smiled at me.

It was a small smile. An intimate one that I knew was only meant for me.

And it made something inside my belly tighten.

I’d always had a thing for Candy.

Always.

It was weird because even though I had something for her, I always wondered if she reciprocated in any way.

But when I’d try to move in, she’d take a step back, putting even more distance there.

Then she acted like I was a nuisance rather than a person she wanted to be around, and for a teenage boy, I’d taken that hard.

I’d also done some shit to her that I should’ve never done.

But all I could say was that I wasn’t that little kid anymore.

I did a lot of growing up since then.

A lot.

I also had control now. I could do and say things without them coming out the wrong way as they used to when I was younger.

Plus, I’d done a lot of growing up in our house that night when my father had been aiming his gun at my mother’s head.

I’d never be the same person that I was when I was younger. No matter how hard I tried.

But I did have the same feelings about the girl in front of me still.

After all of these years, I still wanted her.

I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to see her in the front seat of my truck. I wanted to look up while I was running from a pissed off bull and see her staring at me with worry.