I snort, thinking of how much Jace makes in a month. “He’s no billionaire. Boy lives with his mom.”
Her lips twitch with the need to laugh. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’d probably still be living at home, too, if my mom wasn’t so shitty.”
Shitty moms? We have that in common, don’t we? I exhale and lift my beer again, keeping an eye on Camdyn as she delivers drinks with the help of Aunt Tilly, who’s watching me like a hawk. I purse my lips at Tilly and meet Kacy’s curious expression once more. “So if you don’t live with your shitty mom, where do you live?”
“Oh, well, I quit my job and left. So nowhere. I live in my car. I’m homeless.” Her face rearranges as if she’s confused. “You know, I was thinking about it, and I’m not sure why people are called homeless. It’s not like they have less of a home. They have no home at all.”
I stare at her, laughing. “You have a point.”
She downs the remainder of her drink. “I need another. You?”
I look to the girls sitting near the bar, who are about two ginger ales into their Friday night. They certainly don’t plan on leaving any time soon. “Sure. Somethin’ stronger though.”
She stands, a new flush to her cheeks, blinking slowly as her fingers wrap around the neck of my beer bottle. “Looks like I might get to see you naked after all.”
I register her comment. I do. But I don’t reply. Words are lost on me. All I can think about is I bet that hand would look good wrapped around my cock. It’d be nice to see someone else cradling him with love for a change.
I’m slouched in the chair to the right of the bar in between the pool tables and dartboards, admittedly staring at Kacy’s ass. I’m also keeping an eye on each one of my kids, but it’s nice to know that everyone in this bar has their eyes on my kids. Another perk of living in a small town.
Dad approaches the table with Camdyn on his back. “I hear someone hit the side of the shop.”
“Yep. That girl over there.”
Dad steals a glance at the bar and tips his cowboy hat up, revealing a light dusting of his graying black hair and even darker eyes. “How bad?”
“Not terrible. I can fix it.”
Camdyn peeks her head around and rests her chin on Dad’s shoulder. “She’s sleepin’ at our house.”
My dad stifles a laugh as if he knows what’s up and shakes his head. “Son…,” he drawls, his voice grating against the music. My dad has a deep rasp to his tone, kinda like a smoker, but he’s never smoked that I know of.
“Go away,” I grunt, trying to ignore him. I know I shouldn’t have told Kacy she could stay with me, but I did, and I don’t regret it. In fact, I’m looking forward to watching her sleep on my couch again. “Don’t you have something else to be doing?”
Every Friday night, my dad comes here. Without his wife. She spends her evening with her sisters at home doing book club, or whatever else a bunch of fifty-year-old women do on Friday nights. Dad comes here to hang out with his sons and granddaughters.
Before I can get him to leave, Kacy returns with a tray of shots, another beer, and what looks to be another Red Label for her. She sets them on the table and smiles at my dad. “Hi. I’m Kacy.”
His smile is sincere, like his personality. You’ll never meet a more hardworking, honest, loyal man than the one next to me. He taught me everything he knows about ranching, automotives, and how to treat a woman. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Bishop Grady.”
“Ah, yes. Another Grady. Let me guess….” She pauses and eyes him carefully. “Dad?” Her eyes drift to mine for confirmation.
I nod.
“And Papa B,” Camdyn tells her, kissing my dad on his cheek.
Kacy wipes her hand on her jeans and then reaches her hand out to my dad. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Grady.”
“Oh, darlin’, call me Bishop, please.” Peeling Camdyn off his back, he holds her to his chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised this little lady a round of poker. Y’all have a nice evening.”
Dad smirks at me, shaking his head as if to say he knows exactly what I’m up to, but I ignore him. Across from me, Kacy slaps her hand down on the table as she sits. “Your kids play poker?”
“Camdyn does. Sev can’t read the cards yet and cheats like nobody’s business.”
Kacy motions to the drinks. “Tilly hooked me up. And wouldn’t take my damn credit card. What’s with this town and not wanting to accept my money.”
I shrug and eye the drinks. “Ya better watch yourself. She serves ’em strong.”
“We’ll see about that.” She takes a drink as I reach down and unbutton one cuff of my flannel, roll it up to my elbow, and do the same with the other arm. “Yep. Strong. Holy shit.” She wipes her hand across her lips. “My God.”
“Told ya. Take it easy, city girl.”
“I can handle it,” she hedges, motioning for me to drink. “Drink up.”
“You don’t have it in you to go toe-to-toe with me on drinking.”
She winks. “Try me, Texas.”
I take the beer and lift it to my lips, watching her eyes as she checks out the tattoos on my arms but doesn’t say anything about them. “You might regret this.”
“Probably not. So, Barron Grady, I met your dad, your brother, and aunt Tilly. Who is awesome, by the way. She shared a story with me about you calling her Aunt Titty until you were five, which I found very entertaining. But do I get to meet your mom tonight too?”
I try to follow everything she just said, but it sounded like word dump to me. “No, you won’t meet my mother.” My eyes drift to Morgan at the bar, standing next to Lillian. I set my beer on the table and take a shot, uncaring as to what it might be. It burns on the way down, and I realize it’s straight scotch. This is my kind of girl. “I got a stepmom you might meet sometime.”
“Okay.” She cocks her head to the side and studies me. “I’m sensing that’s a sore subject?”
I breathe in, unprepared for why bringing up my mom brings a sudden rush of nerves through me. Usually, that’s only reserved when people ask about Tara. “Are my mommy issues showing?”
“Cheers.” She clanks her glass to mine. “I’ll one-up ya, bitch. Mommy and daddy issues here.”
I chuckle, leaning in. I motion her forward and wait until her eyes are locked on mine before I slowly wet my bottom lip with my tongue. There’s an acoustic version of “Into the Mystic” sang by Gretchen Wilson playing in the background. She blinks softly when I smile. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
She winks and sits back in her seat, running her fingertip over the rim of her glass. “Bet your ass I did.”
“Regardless. I win. Wife left.”
Something crosses her face. An emotion of some sort. Regret? No, it’s sympathy. Maybe she feels bad for me. Not enough apparently because her next words are, “Oh, bullshit. You can’t win this one. Wait for it.” She downs another shot and then slams it down on the wooden table. She points her finger at me when she says, “My boyfriend slept with my mom,” over the music.