Stripped Down

J.J.’s hand falls away. He’s such a pretty boy on the outside. I know he’s got a wild side and that he treats women like they’re his own personal box of chocolates and he’s never met a flavor he didn’t like. Unlike his older brother, he doesn’t need to be in control all the time, so he starts walking again.

“You sure you’re okay?” He waits until we’re standing in front of my RV and I’m reaching for the door to ask his question.

“Yes.” I might not even be lying.

“Shit, Rose.”

That sums up my past, but I’m not letting it be my future. I’ve got a chance here in Lonesome to make some of my dreams come true, and that’s more than most people get. Angel’s actions hurt me, making it hard to breathe if I think too much about what happened in his bedroom. He blows hot and cold, and clearly I like the hot part way too much.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell J.J. and open the door. He snags the back of my borrowed flannel. I’ll bet he recognizes it, too.

“Don’t let him hurt you,” he says quietly. “I love my brother, but that name of his is false advertising. He’s not the same since he came from Afghanistan, but I’m not making excuses for him, either.”

One of the things I love about J.J. is his no bullshit approach to life. He plays hard and he drives even faster than he rides on the rodeo circuit, but he has no filter. He doesn’t lie and he never dresses shit up. Admitting that he’s right about what happened between me and Angel, however, means letting him in more than I like. It means being vulnerable, and I don’t do vulnerable.

“It takes two,” I remind him, taking a tiny step forward. He lets go of my shirt.

“He shouldn’t have fucked you. You’re family.”

But I’m not. Not legally, and not really in any other sense of the word. I was more like a long-term house guest that Mendoza Senior couldn’t wait to unload. “My momma hooked up with your father. Six months of doing the horizontal mambo while the rest of us pretended nothing was going on doesn’t make me family. They didn’t get married. Your dad didn’t adopt me.”

His dad had spent most of his time pretending I didn’t exist. It was easier for him that way, because men like him didn’t marry women like my mom, but my presence was a constant reminder that sex had consequences.

He nods. Slowly. “Did he rock your world this afternoon?”

I can feel the blush heating up my face, damn it. I thought I’d left my blushing days behind me. “You really want a blow-by-blow account of your brother’s moves?”

J.J. holds up a hand. “The executive summary works for me.”

“It was…” I have to stop and think of the right word. Angel got off. I got off. I don’t know if we’re even going to do it again, although we’re both dancing around the R-word. Relationship. I guess we have that already, and now it’s up to us to make it a good one. “It was everything.”

“Everything, huh?” A slow smile creases J.J.’s face. “And you think he’s gonna let you just walk away?”

I wave a hand at him and step inside the RV. “My life, my rules.”

Having completed my walk of shame complete with cowboy honor guard, I’m really fucking glad to be home. The RV isn’t much and inside it probably looks like every other RV driving around middle America, but it has wheels and I have the keys. If I really want to, I can drive off right now and I never, ever have to see Angel again. That goes right in the win column.

Rory is slouched on the couch, texting and drinking with a bottle of Grey Goose in a bucket of ice by his side. The homemade chiller would be better if the bucket hadn’t been liberated from the horse barn. God knows what it’s held before.

Rory looks like his night hasn’t gone much better than mine. His hair stands on end and he’s acquired red streaks in the dark blond. Rory may drink every day of the week, but he only colors when he’s upset. He’s apparently cultivating the mountain man look, because he hasn’t shaved recently. Stubble roughens his jaw and he’s wearing an open flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans that hang low on his hips.

I blink hard. I won’t let Angel make me cry. “It would be so much easier if I was attracted to you.”

He extends the bottle. “Rough night? Because I’m having a pity party on our couch and you’re invited.”

I’m not usually pro-alcohol, but tonight’s an exception in every way. I swipe the bottle and swallow. Then I cough accusingly.

“That’s not Gray Goose.” The crap I just swallowed tastes like a combination of white vinegar and nail polish remover.