“Uh-oh,” Rita mutters, lifting her cola and taking a long sip from the straw. She glances at Scarlett across the table, who is not looking up at me. Half-finished burgers rest on their plates. I’m interrupting their dinner, but I need to explain myself to Scarlett. Rita reaches for her purse. “I should give you two a minute.”
“Don’t go,” Scarlett whispers across the table to her friend. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.” Scarlett hasn’t seen her friend because she’s been with me, but right now, I don’t trust that she won’t run before I can say what needs to be said. Finally, Scarlett looks up at me, her face still washed of color.
“Just let us finish our meal. We can talk when I get home.”
Home. At least she still thinks of my place as her home.
I nod, biting my tongue as I turn for another booth two down from Scarlett and Rita, where my brothers sit. Practically throwing myself on the bench seat, I cup my head in my hands, and a beer slides between my arms.
“What the heck happened?” Canyon asks, and I give him the quick rundown of Scarlett seeing me with my arms around another woman.
“You know you don’t owe Scarlett anything,” Blade states, back on the screw Scarlett bandwagon. “It’s not like you’re married to each other.”
My arms fall to the table with such a sharp thud my beer wobbles in the glass. “We’re parenting partners.”
“What the hell is that?” Blade asks.
“You aren’t going to marry her?” Canyon questions at the same time.
“Of course, I’m not marrying her. We all know how proposals work out for me.”
“But this is different,” Canyon reminds me. “She’s pregnant with your kid.”
Maybe. I close my eyes, feeling sick inside. Maybe Scarlett’s correct. Maybe I’m too ambitious to want a baby that might not be mine. The second I question myself, though, I know I’m wrong. Sprout is mine. It’s something I feel in my bones.
“I don’t need to marry her. Scarlett’s still . . . been through a lot lately. We don’t need to rush.” Canyon’s brow furrows as he’s watching me while Blade mutters, “Oh no.”
Glancing up, I notice Redd Bottom making a beeline for our booth with Dillard on his heels.
“Gentleman. How’s it hanging, Bull?” He chuckles. “We got to see your mucky backside on television again. I never can look away from a man working his cows.” His salacious voice implies every nasty word he isn’t saying.
“Got time to watch television, Redd?” Blade interjects. “Business must be bad this year.” Redd’s expression sours at Blade’s slur. Redd makes statues out of wood stumps. The man is dangerous with a chain saw. It’s an art form, but I have no idea how he makes a living off it. Redd’s been known to use his art as an excuse not to help out on his family’s land.
“My wood’s got nothing to do with leisure time,” Redd defends.
“I bet your wood doesn’t get any leisure,” Canyon snarks to his beer as he lifts it for his lips. Blade snorts, and Dillard guffaws behind Redd.
“Did I see you with Louisa Miller in the parking lot?” Redd inquires, and I slam my glass back to the table.
“What do you want, Redd?” Blade interjects. Thankfully, he’s on the inside of the booth, or he’d be attempting to stand and drag Redd to the parking lot.
“Excuse me.” All heads turn to Scarlett, who’s standing just off the edge of the booth. Redd does a double take, and I know the feeling. He’s stunned by Scarlett’s beauty. Those wide brown eyes. That fresh, bright hair. Her creamy skin. Damn, she looks so good.
“Scarlett Russell.” She holds out a hand, and Redd swipes his against his jeans before reaching for hers.
“Redd Bottom.” Scarlett chokes and looks to us to confirm he’s not kidding. His name sounds like a cherry-colored ass. “How can I help you, pretty lady?”
Scarlett points at the seat beside me. “You’re blocking the booth. I’d like to slide back in by my man.”
Blade chokes. Canyon lowers his glass, and I sit up straighter. What?
Redd steps back, and Scarlett slides in next to me, catching my eyes for only a second before glancing back up at Redd.
“So, what are we discussing?”
“The dairy king and Louisa Miller in the parking lot,” Redd says, sounding proud of himself for putting me down.
“Oh, dairy king,” Scarlett whines, drawing out the term in a teasing voice. “And with Louisa Miller in the parking lot. Did she use jumper cables? This sounds like a hint in the game Clue.”
Scarlett pauses, batting her lashes while she insults Redd, who stands still. Her hand lands on the back of my neck and plays with the hairs tickling my nape. “But I like that dairy king comment. However, that program should have come up with something more original. Like rough rider, for the way he takes me in bed.”
What? I choke. Blade snorts, and Canyon just stares at Scarlett while she squeezes at my nape.
“Or even pussy pleaser.” She purrs like a kitty cat and shimmies her shoulders, squeezing her hands together before her chest. “Because he loves to cuddle, and he keeps me satisfied.”
Fuck. What the hell is she playing at? And why am I getting hard listening to her?
Her hand returns to my nape as if she’s claiming me, and Redd does not miss the motion.
“Yeah, well.” Redd swallows, fighting the effect Scarlett is having on him as her brown beauties laser up at him, and she continues to smile. “Bovine Bridegroom takes the win.”
“It did. That’s why I came up with it. I love alliteration.”
Redd’s eyes narrow, and I’m not liking the turn of this conversation. She came up with that label? Her hand drops to my thigh, squeezing at my leg.
“But we made a big mistake in naming Bull. We missed all the other delicious terms for him, and I’m lucky he was able to escape all those other women because now it’s my turn.” Scarlett looks at me over her shoulder, tightening her grasp on my thigh. “I’ve named myself Sticking-around Scarlett because I’m not letting Bull get away.”
Scarlett gazes back up at Redd. “That makes me the future dairy queen, I guess. Or would it be bovine bride? Perhaps I’m just a cowgirl to my cowman.” Scarlett leans forward as if she’s about to impart a secret to Redd. “But I don’t want to share my favorite position on Bull with everyone.”
She fucking winks at Redd, and his mouth falls open. If he isn’t frustratingly turned on by now, the man is a monk. He blinks, fighting her spell and turning deep red to match his name.
“Well. I—” His stammering causes Scarlett to give a little wave with her fingers while the heat of her other hand seeps through my jeans like a possessive claim on me.
“Have a nice night, boys.”
Redd steps away from the table, and I watch his retreat. Dillard glances back over his shoulder and gives the table a thumbs-up as if he’s proud of us.
“What the hell?” I blurt.
“Damn, I knew I liked you,” Canyon states.
“Let me out of the booth. I see someone I know.” The strain in Blade’s voice gives away all the sexual tension built up in him, and I hate to think he’ll sneak off to the restroom for a moment alone at the expense of Scarlett.