Chute Yeah (The Valentine Boys 3)

With that, he burst out laughing.

And we went to neither place.

We ended up hitting a little mom and pop diner that was on the outskirts of town.

And, even though it was an out of the way place, we still managed to see quite a few cowboys on our way, and women that were dressed a little too scantily for my tastes.

“You’re never going to escape them,” I found myself saying when we were seated.

Banks shrugged. “No. But at least the ones here are ones that I can stand to be around.”

I looked at a particular woman with boobs up to her throat.

“What about her?” I jerked my chin in the woman’s direction.

Banks glanced her way, then returned his eyes to me.

“Okay, so maybe not the women,” he admitted. “But the men? For sure. I’ve ridden with a few of them for years.”

I picked up the menu and started to go through it, deciding what I wanted.

“Can I order for you?” Banks asked, surprising me out of my perusal of the menu.

I blinked, then shrugged.

“Sure,” I said easily.

The waitress came and he said we’d have two specials, one of each. When she asked how we wanted them, he said ‘thick.’

“Water?” she asked.

Banks shook his head. “No, not right now. When we’re finished with those, then we’ll order.”

“What did you get me?” I asked curiously.

He grinned wickedly at me, and my heart throbbed fiercely in my chest.

“A surprise.”

The surprise ended up being a milkshake.

And what a fuckin’ milkshake it was.

Oh. My. God.

“If I could get away with marrying an inanimate object…” I said, taking another delicious pull of my dessert. “Jesus.”

Banks grinned and sucked on his own drink.

We’d traded off milkshakes quite a few times now, and I was torn.

His milkshake was peanut butter, caramel, chocolate drizzle and banana ice cream. Mine, on the other hand, was vanilla ice cream, strawberries, and chocolate.

Both of them were the specials of the house, and each of them had their own beautiful qualities to them.

But I was leaning toward liking the banana one more.

“I think the only thing that could make this more perfect is a brownie.” I paused. “Or a piece of birthday cake.”

Banks lips twitched, and he leaned back in his chair, his face quirking as he did.

“What?” I asked him. “Something wrong?”

He rolled his shoulder over and over again, stretching it out.

“My shoulder hurts,” he admitted. “I must’ve slept wrong on it.”

I burst out laughing.

“That’s the difference between your young twenties to your late twenties,” I told him. “Last week I woke up with a crick in my neck, and I honestly contemplated dropping everything and heading straight to the chiropractor. Damn responsibilities.”

He grinned at that.

“I was in the military,” he said. “I used to do some god-awful, stupid shit. For real. Like, no joke. There were times when we really should’ve died. If I thought about doing any of that now? I really would die. You’d see me dead in a grave.”

“What do you mean?” I pulled my cup with me as I leaned back into the booth, then crossed my feet up underneath of me to get more comfortable. “What kinds of things are we talking about?”

“Drinking. Getting up at four am to run ten miles. Working all day. Then drinking again that night to do it all over again that morning.” He shook his head. “I used to survive on about four hours of sleep. And that was a good day. If I got four hours of sleep now, I might shrivel up and die.”

My smile was soft as I said, “I think you could probably pull it off.” I paused. “You really used to run ten miles?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times we hiked it up mountains carrying our packs.”

I shuddered to think.

The idea of running literally made me want to vomit just thinking about it.

“You don’t like to run?” he asked.

I made a scrunchy face at him, then sucked in the last of my milkshake.

Seconds later he was doing the same.

“I don’t like to sweat,” I said. “That means no running, no weightlifting, no being outside for longer than thirty-five seconds in the summer.” I paused. “What?”

His lips were twitching already.

“Honey, you live in Texas,” he said.

That was true.

“That’s why I said no longer than thirty-five seconds,” I teased.

“What about sex?” he asked. “That’s a sweaty affair.”

My face flushed.

“Umm,” I hesitated. “I’ve…errrrm….”

“Fuck.” He slapped his hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

I smiled sadly at him.

“I’m okay,” I told him. “I’ve seen a therapist. I’ve talked to quite a few people about it. I just… I haven’t found someone that I can stand to do it with more than once.”

That was a lie.

I wanted to do it with him.

Banks made me want and crave him every fuckin’ time I saw him.

Little by little, my fear was being replaced by want and need, and each time Banks looked my way, it only got better.