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“Well, at least you’re both dressed this time,” Bobby drawls from behind me. There’s an undercurrent of fury, though, one I’ve never heard from him before. Bobby was always our alibi, Bruce’s best friend and brother who helped us sneak out as much as we could or sneak in whenever we had to.
I might be realizing I’m a bit wilder than I thought, but being caught astride Bruce still isn’t exactly a comfortable position. Nor is this the first time Bobby’s caught us, though the last time was a very long time ago.
My spine straightens, and I don’t look over my shoulder, staring at the tree over Bruce’s head in embarrassment instead. “Hey, Bobby, how’re you doing?”
He snorts disapprovingly. “Not as good as you two, apparently.”
Bruce looks over my shoulder, seemingly having a conversation with Bobby through dark-eyed angry scowls alone. Even I flinch, and they’re not directed at me, so surely, Bobby is cowering. “Did you need something?”
Bobby hums for a second, and I imagine he’s stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Dinner. Mama Louise invited Allyson and Cooper . . . good kid, by the way . . . to dinner. He’s already snapping green beans at the kitchen table, so I was elected to come hunt you down to extend the invitation. Knew where you’d be.”
It almost sounds like an accusation?
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I say politely, my manners automatic even though something’s off about the invite. I turn slightly to finally see Bobby. His eyes tick over me, but just as fast, return to Bruce, giving me a chance to do a quick scan of my own.
Bobby’s grown up too. His lanky limbs have filled out into bulges of muscles—from working on the farm, I guess—and his previously round face is all angles and shadows. He looks like a model, and I bet he has women chasing him twenty-four seven. Ironically, his darkly Hollywood looks do nothing for me and actually trigger a small flinch in my gut. I don’t like pretty guys. They can hide monsters beneath the attractive façade.
Guess I like my men a bit rougher around the edges, like Bruce, where what you see is what you get. Not that Bruce is my man. Definitely not that.
He’s currently death glaring at Bobby, who’s making a damned good attempt at returning the frown. I suddenly feel like a gazelle caught between two competing lions. I know it’s the lionesses that hunt, but my mind doesn’t care about National Geographic level accuracy right now.
I sense danger, and my gut reflex is to apologize even though I’ve done nothing wrong. But I check myself and instead go to my second instinct—mitigate this, mediate it, deescalate whatever the hell’s going on.
“Or that’s not sweet?” I say, trying to figure out what’s wrong between the two boys who were the best of friends when I knew them. “We don’t have to stay if you don’t want us to.”
“It’s very kind,” Bruce reassures me, squeezing my thigh. “Here, lemme help you up, and we’ll go back to the house. You can check on Cooper while Bobby and I have a chat.”
Why do I get the feeling that chat will be done with their fists and not their tongues?
“Uh, okay.”
I move to stand and Bruce helps set me on my feet before rising from the ground himself. He adjusts his cock in his jeans with zero shame, somehow turning me on again but pissing Bobby off another degree or so.
Bobby spins on his booted foot and stomps back through the trees.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Bruce quietly. “Why’s Bobby so mad?”
Bruce squeezes my hand and sighs softly. “He was there for me through the worst of it and it was ugly as fuck. He’s got my best interests at heart and is mad at my utter lack of self-preservation.”
It hits me hard. Bobby’s not mad at Bruce. Well, maybe a little, but mostly, he’s mad at . . . me. Upset at the past and scared that I’m going to hurt Bruce again, worried he’ll have a repeat performance of propping him up through the heartache. Just like Brody said. Bruce’s brothers hate me, I realize painfully.
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. It’ll be all right.” The reassurance doesn’t feel so comforting this time. I don’t want to cause problems between them, and I don’t want Bruce to tell Bobby that everything’s fine because I’m not sure it is.
I’m not sure I am.
I climb in the Gator with Bobby and Bruce anyway and head for the house. Bobby’s going too fast, getting airborne over every bump, and I have to hold on to the oh-shit handle to keep from flying out. He even skids just a little on the dry grass when he slams on the brakes at the back of the house.
