Yesterday? How had he missed it? He reached for her hand, but she hastily withdrew it. “I don’t think so,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist and forcing her to show him.
“It’s nothing, really,” she said. “I tried to scrub my hands clean after work and then applied moisturizer. That probably irritated it.”
No shit. “Band-Aids in the bathroom?” At her nod, he went upstairs, forgetting his foot was hurting.
Once back, and though she kept insisting there was no need, he disinfected the scratch and put a Band-Aid on it. Afterward, she hid her hands under the table, giving him an apologetic smile and then lowering her gaze. “They’re a mess. Too rough.”
She was so outspoken and sure of herself, it hurt to see her feeling self-conscious about something. He tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Did you hear me complaining yesterday, Grease Barbie? I had my hands on you as much as you had yours on me. Did I seem unhappy at any point?”
Rachel shook her head, and he kissed her.
“So, what do you do on Sundays?” he asked, looking around. “You feel like going out? Boston?”
She took a bite of her toast. “I like doing nothing but laze around on Sundays.”
“You want to take a dip in the lake?”
She paused for a moment. “If we go to the yard, Max will see us. If Max knows, Wilma knows. Just warning you.”
Okay, day in it was. “Netflix and chill?”
Her smile brightened her whole face. “Yes. The series we watched with Sara and XL? Aren’t you intrigued about what happened with the Professor and Lisbon?”
He hated to admit it, but he was. “You got it.” They moved their breakfast to the coffee table and he saw her blush as she glanced at the couch. “Yes. The sex was spectacular. Every time.” Her blush deepened. So adorable. He kissed her. “You taste like strawberries. Your pussy tastes like peaches, sweet and tangy. Loved it every single time I ate you out yesterday. And every single time I fucked you. And I will be doing all that again today—but not just yet, so you don’t need to blush.”
Letting out a cute snort, she sat and grabbed the remote control. “There goes the beast, getting ahead of itself.”
He wasn’t sure how many hours they spent watching the series. Discussing what was happening, laughing and grimacing and cursing—at the bitch negotiator-slash-torturer, at some asshole named Arturo, and at how badly shit was hitting the fan. After several episodes, they went to the kitchen and put some pizza in the oven. They ate it in front of the TV, sipping beer, throwing popcorn at the screen, and yelling at every wild turn of events. Until there was a loud banging on the door.
“Rachel, open up! I know you’re there.” A male voice. Then the rattling of keys in the lock.
Shit. Adrian got up and pulled on the shirt that was lying on the couch while Rachel walked to the door. Before she reached it, it was flung open, and a seven-foot-tall African American man, built like a tank, stepped in. Squeaking, Rachel ran at him and jumped, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him loudly all over his face and hugging him. “T-Bone. How did you know I was here?”
The guy was laughing. “Couldn’t track you with the cell, babe. Saw you through the window.”
“I got a new cell,” she explained as the giant put her down. She must have remembered Adrian then, because she turned to him. “Adrian, this is T-Bone, my little brother.”
Riiiight.
Her little brother was anything but little, especially as he walked to Adrian and loomed. “Who is he, and what is he doing half-naked at Wilma’s?”
Adrian wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Rachel had no issues. “He’s the sheriff. We were eating pizza and watching Netflix.”
T-Bone must not have required more explanation, because he offered Adrian his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to the frozen image on the TV and then looked at Rachel. “You haven’t seen the new season yet? Shame on you. Got any pizza for me? I could watch it again. I’m just passing through, though, I have to split soon.”
“Of course. Right, Adrian?” she said, dashing to the kitchen. “Let me put another pizza in the oven and we’ll be set.”
T-Bone stared at Adrian. He was probably in his mid-twenties, a regular at the gym for sure. Without Rachel around, he looked even more intimidating, if that was possible. “You fuck with her, you deal with me.” His voice was low, making sure his sister didn’t hear.
Adrian was going to ask T-Bone to define “fuck”, but he decided to refrain. “Understood.”
T-Bone nodded and then sat in the middle of the couch, a manspread that didn’t leave room for interpretation; Rachel and Adrian had been chaperoned. What goes around comes around.
She walked into the living room, gave her bro a soda, and shooed him to sit in a corner. She sat in the middle of the couch, which was where she’d been before the interruption. “By the way, we would appreciate your discretion. We don’t want the OGs to know about… this,” she finished, pointing at Adrian and herself.
“What? You two hanging out together, in practically nothing more than your underwear?”
“Exactly,” Rachel replied and winked at Adrian, offering him a sweet smile that shot to his chest, squeezed it, and proceeded straight to his cock. Apparently, the motherfucker had lost any survival instincts whatsoever and was already growing from half-mast to full salute.
Thankfully, the siblings were engaged in other matters.
“And what’s in it for me, sis?” T-Bone asked, with true little-brother-bratty attitude.
“I won’t beat you? Now eat,” she ordered, putting a slice of pizza in his mouth. “You’re too skinny.”
Adrian begged to differ, but again remained silent. He had more pressing issues, like trying to get his dick to deflate enough so that Rachel’s seven-feet-little brother wouldn’t use him as a punching bag.
T-Bone grumbled something about her being a bossy pants but obeyed. “You’ve been stuffing me with food since I was little.”
“It didn’t take, obviously.”
She pressed play, and in no time the three of them were cursing at the screen. When the timer went off in the kitchen, Adrian got up, but Rachel wouldn’t have it. “You’re injured. Stay.”
T-Bone glanced at his walking boot. “Hurt in the line of duty, Sheriff?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Rachel again made the first move. “The OGs broke his foot and tased him.”
“Those sweet grannies? What did you do to them?” he asked, stunned.
“He arrested them,” Rachel offered, bringing in the piping-hot pizza. “And me.”
“You arrested my sister and my step-grandma?” T-Bone asked, deceptively sweet. “You’re lucky I don’t hit injured old men.”
Adrian choked on his beer. Rachel patted him on the back. “Please. I’ve seen the sheriff fight. Not sure you can take him, injured or otherwise.” Thank God someone was defending his honor, because he himself couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Besides, we kind of deserved it. Breaking and entering, attempting to bribe an officer, disorderly conduct.”
T-Bone narrowed his eyes on his sister. “You’re returning to your old ways, I see.”