Page 1 of Already Callin’ You Mine

1

JACE

“So, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

I stop, breakfast burrito halfway to my mouth, my best friend’s words more than a little concerning. And leaving me with lots of questions—some I allegedly may or may not want the answer to.

Lowering my food back down to my plate, I sit back, lifting a brow to quietly prompt him to continue. Truthfully, I have no idea what the hell is going to come out of his mouth next, and I’m intrigued.

Let’s hope I don’t end up regretting this.

“But I kinda know the leader of this motorcycle club. And I was thinking it might be cool if we did a self-defense event with them.”

Owen Meyer shrugs one of his shoulders, as if what he just suggested was perfectly normal. That I, Jace Hayes, vice president of personal safety and security at Hayes Industries, the Fortune 500 company that my family still owns and operates out of our rural Georgia town, host a self-defense event with a motorcycle club.

A motorcycle club. Of all the things in the world.

Not to be stereotypical, but isn’t that who people generally think they need self-defense skills to fight off?

“Before you say it, I know what you’re thinking,” Owen says, cutting off my thoughts. “Isn’t a motorcycle club the kind of group people think they are going to need to defend themselves against?”

Damn, he really did know what I was thinking…

Might as well have pulled the words straight from my brain.

“But that’s the point. Because these guys aren’t what you think.”

“So they aren’t questionable characters that ride around leaving nothing but chaos in their wake?” I joke, busting out the most stereotypical thing I can think of.

Owen makes a face, one that tells me I’m not entirely off track. But I leave it be. He did warn me not to ask questions I didn’t want the answer to.

At the end of the day, it’s not a bad idea. And what I really need is an idea, period. So this at least puts me on a track.

I sit back, the old chair wobbling underneath me from the movement. Dolly really needs to get some new furniture in here. Of all the things I’m not going to do, telling my sister-in-law how to decorate her diner—the one she took over from her grandmother, who both she and the diner are named after—ranks high on the list. I’d rather this chair completely give way and land me flat on my ass than mess with her. Especially in said diner.

I do want to still be able to have breakfast here.

I also value my ability to walk, and there’s little doubt in my mind that my older brother Hux would kick my ass if he felt like I upset his bride in some way. Dolly is far from a wilting flower, and she can both dish it out and take it as well as anyone I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean Hux would stand for it.

Closing my eyes, I push all the air from my lungs, letting the burn settle in before I inhale again. The question isn’t really if hosting such an event is a good idea—it’s more if I can translate the idea to social media. Because apparently I need to start doing such a thing.

Despite the fact that I feel that it’s a complete waste of time.

“Is that social media worthy though?”

Owen shrugs again. “I dunno. I’m a cop; what do I know about that stuff?”

Fair point.

“Wait, the Georgia State Patrol isn’t doing all of those ridiculous coordinated dance videos?”

Owen scoffs. “Nope. And don’t give anyone any ideas.”

I laugh, trying to imagine Owen all dressed up in his uniform, trying to do a line dance. We’ve been friends since we were kids, so I’ve seen him attempt to dance plenty. And I do mean attempt—because when it comes to Owen, it’s not that the music doesn’t move him, it just moves him ugly.

“I like the idea.” I grab my burrito and take a big bite. “You think they’d do it?”

Even if I don’t use it for the social media push that Bronwyn Ainsworth-Keller, Hayes’s director of marketing, is forcing me to do, it would be something different. Something no one would expect. Something that would get under the skin and annoy the hell out of some of the more uptight residents of Hickory Hills.