Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the jewelry store.” He had to admit, he was a little disappointed. He really hated it when the women in his life didn’t get along.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of Legend Jewelry. It stuck him as odd that he knew exactly what he wanted in an engagement ring for Lyric. Him … Heath Montgomery, who’d never bought jewelry for a woman. Sure, he’d given past girlfriends lavish presents, but never jewelry.
He could see it in his mind. He wanted a giant heart-shaped diamond on a thin platinum band as the engagement ring, and a plain platinum band for Lyric’s wedding ring. On the inside of the band, he wanted tiny sapphires—that matched her eyes—in the shape of the constellation Lyra. It was classic and a little quirky … just like Lyric.
A 1950s delivery van pulled into the parking space next to him. It had “The Wright Way Bakery” painted in bold red on the sides surrounded by colorful flowers and the occasional Día de los Muertos skull. Harmony stepped out. The van suited her, and so did the art on the side. Death metal, skulls, and killer brownies—Harmony had found her calling in life. He really was lucky to have her as his sister.
* * *
Chapter 21
* * *
Lyric was exhausted. Thanks to Heath, she’d spent all day listening to her mother and Gregor talk about weddings.
Big weddings, small weddings, society weddings, yacht weddings, beach weddings … the list went on and on. While she kind of understood Livinia’s interest in big society weddings—in her mind Lyric and Heath were going to have the wedding of the century here in San Angelo—she really didn’t understand the two-hour-long conversation about yacht and beach weddings. Because, really, the closest thing they had to a body of water in San Angelo was Lake Nasworthy, and nobody was putting a yacht on that thing. Hell, most of the time people were hard-pressed to paddle a canoe around it.
Her tension headache had its own migraine. Fake wedding planning was hard work.
She wandered into the kitchen. Something was up. The table was set for two and a bottle of wine was open on the counter.
“I made dinner.” Heath hunched his shoulders sheepishly. And just like that, her heart melted, and the distance she’d been keeping between them came crashing down. He opened the oven door and pulled out a casserole dish. “Lasagna.”
“That’s one of my favorites.” The scents of basil, oregano, tomatoes, and cheese filled the air. It smelled amazing.
“I know. I wanted to surprise you.” He put the dish on the stove and closed the oven door. “Are you hungry?”
He moved over to the refrigerator to get out the salad he had crisping here, and though he was trying to fake it, she could tell from the way he was moving that he was in a lot of pain. The last thing she wanted was to have him moving around the kitchen serving her when his knee was bothering him. He never complained. Nope, Heath wasn’t a complainer.
“Sure, but there’s something I really want to do first.” She hated to burst his little domestic bubble—and she was hungry, just not for food.
“Oh.” His whole face fell.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Her eyes went to his shirt, and she imagined that eight-pack and sucked on her bottom lip.
He must have caught the hint in her voice, because suddenly Heath looked a lot less dejected and a lot more interested. “What?”
“A shower.” She took his hand and gently started tugging him toward the stairs. “I need to relax.”
“Of course you do.” Heath’s frown had definitely turned upside down. “Do you need any help with that relaxing?”
Playing the femme fatale didn’t come naturally to her, but she’d seen Harmony do it enough times to be able to fake it. “You know what? I think I just might. Are you volunteering?”
“Absolutely. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, after all.” He squared his shoulders and accepted the job.
This was a little bit naughty and felt so right. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Halfway up the stairs, his knee nearly gave out on him, and he slammed his fist into the wall. Not hard enough to do any damage, but definitely hard enough to hurt. He must have hated what he perceived as weakness.
She wrapped an arm around him, and they took it one step at a time. He wouldn’t make eye contact. There was shame on his face.
Most of the time he was so upbeat that Lyric hadn’t realized until now how much his injury had been weighing on him. How could it not be?
And he was in physical pain too. She hadn’t realized just how much.
Tonight she wanted the world around them to disappear. They both needed a night off. No thinking about the future, or the wedding, or football … just some good, clean—or, well, dirty—fun.
Tomorrow could take care of itself. It always did. For tonight, they were living in the moment.