Turn and Burn (Blacktop Cowboys 5)

What gave Fletch the right to just waltz in and holler at them anyway?

She smiled sassily. “Tobin is massaging my ankle because I twisted it walking up the path.”

Fletch stomped over. “Let me look at it. I am a doctor.”

Tanna rolled her eyes. “You’re a veterinarian. Big difference.”

“Not in this case. A limb is a limb.” He motioned to Tobin. “Scram.”

But Tobin held his ground. “No offense, Fletch, but Tanna does have the right to refuse medical treatment. You can’t make her let you look at it.”

“Fine.” He plopped his butt on the coffee table and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’ll just watch how you treat her.”

Tobin’s lips twitched. “See what I get for bein’ a nice guy? A load of criticism and attitude.”

“Not from me,” Tanna said sweetly. “The world needs more nice guys. Genuinely good guys like you.”

“Bull.”

His vehemence shocked her. “What makes you say that?”

Tobin frowned and used his thumb to rub the outside of her calf, gently rotating her foot with his other hand. “Nice guys get trampled on. Women claim they want a nice guy, but that’s not true. They want a bad boy, regardless if those men treat women like shit.”

“Not all women are like that, Tobin. I steer clear of domineering ass**les.” Tanna shot Fletch a haughty look.

“No offense, Tanna, but I’m betting you don’t go for domineering types because you pick guys you can boss around and control.”

She felt Fletch studying her and she met his gaze.

Fletch drawled, “I think Tobin’s hit it on the head.”

“So I should apologize for bein’ a strong woman and speaking my mind?” she demanded. “For knowing what I want?”

Fletch shook his head. “No, but you’re doin’ the same thing as those other women.”

“Which is what?”

“Putting the type of guy that doesn’t fit your criteria in the friend category,” Fletch said.

“A category that I’m very familiar with,” Tobin grumbled.

Tanna looked at Tobin. “Were you planning to ask me out on a date?”

Tobin’s cheeks reddened. “Maybe.” He blew out a breath. “Okay, yeah. I wanted to ask you out. So sue me. I’m a guy. You’re hot and you’ll be living next door to me all summer. But when I brought you a cup of coffee, you immediately demoted me to that friend zone.” He laughed self-consciously. “Which now that I think about it, is a double whammy hit on my masculine pride. You just admitted I’m the type of guy you usually go for—nice, easygoing, I don’t mind letting a woman call the shots. But that’s not enough for you.”

This conversation was going nowhere fast.

“I’ll bet you’re never shoved into the friend category,” Tobin said to Fletch.

“Wrong. But know what’s worse? If I’ve got a woman in my bed, then afterward she changes the parameters and wants to go back to bein’ friends—talk about a swift kick to my male pride. Especially when I know the sex rocked her world.”

She looked away from Fletch’s accusing eyes and wondered how she could keep herself from blushing. Or keep Tobin from noticing.

But Tobin was focused on Fletch. “I gotta admit that sucks worse. I mean if the sex was blah . . . that happens. But if it was awesome and she still bailed? She’s running scared.”

“Interesting theory, wouldn’t you agree, Tanna?”

Her gaze snapped to Fletch’s of its own accord. They engaged in a heated eye f**k that raised the temperature in the room at least ten degrees.

Tobin’s sigh broke the moment. “I just remembered something I forgot to do.” He set her foot on the cushion as he got up and vanished down the hallway.

Before Tanna moved, Fletch slipped into Tobin’s place and picked up her foot. “How about if you let me take a look?”

Those big, rough-skinned hands were cupping her foot, gripping her calf and rotating her ankle. His eyes remained on hers as he maneuvered her foot.

“Does that hurt?”

Tanna mooed.

Fletch threw back his head and laughed. And damn damn damn why did he have to have such a sexy, carefree laugh?

“You are ornery. You know what I do with ornery patients?”

She shook her head.

“I hobble them. Tie them up with straps or ropes or chains. Then I can keep them right where I want them and they can’t get away. Or run away.”

“How long are you gonna beat on that dead horse?” she asked with annoyance.

He froze; his hands, his body, everything stilled.

“What?”

“I hate that phrase. A dead horse is serious, sad business in my line of work. Especially since I just had to put one down a little bit ago.”

That made her feel like shit. “I’m sorry. After what I’ve been through, I oughta know better than to use that awful phrase too. Consider it forever struck from my vernacular.”

“There’s that contrite side I remember.” His fingers started caressing her shin again. “But I surely do like it when you get all kinds of fired up, sugar twang. Makes that Texas drawl more pronounced. More fiery hot and sweet.”

How was she supposed to respond to that?

“Answer the question in English,” Fletch prompted. “Does that hurt?”