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CHAPTER 27
Jimmy
My arm was slung over my face when Sherlock nudged my hand and whined. I didn’t know what time it was. But I knew I’d been ignoring him for the past few hours. He’d been trying to get me up to take him out to do his business, and that particular whine told me he’d most likely reached critical mass.
“Alright. Okay. I’m up.” I reluctantly forced myself to roll out of bed. When I looked at the clock I saw that it was ten in the morning. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept past eight, much less until ten. Even in my hardcore party days, I’d always been an early riser. Even when I didn’t roll into bed until the sun was rising, I rose well before this, even if I didn’t quite shine.
I stood, and my limbs were sluggish, not fully awake. I felt like I was walking with weights around my ankles and wrists. Sherlock, on the other hand, was not suffering from the same issue. His nails clicked on the wood flooring as he bounded down the hallway toward the back door. His tail smacked the kitchen chair every time he spun in a circle, doing his version of the pee-pee dance.
When I finally made it to the door and opened it, he barreled out of the house, flew down the steps of the deck, and lifted his leg on the first patch of grass his paws hit. No sniffing, just pissing.
“Sorry,” I apologized sincerely when his stream lasted a good sixty seconds. These days, his bladder wasn’t what it used to be. I felt like an ass for making him suffer just because I was feeling sorry for myself.
When he finally finished, his tongue hung loosely out of his mouth and he trotted back into the house and gave my knee a nudge in thanks. That was just like him. He didn’t hold a grudge. There was no animosity toward me for putting him through hours of discomfort. No, he lived in the moment, and in the moment he was relieved to have relieved himself.
It was my own guilt that drove me to open up the top cabinet of the pantry and get him a whole piece of beef jerky.
As I looked down at his droopy face slobbering over the meat stick, I wondered if my dad had ever felt guilt over not being there for us boys after Mama died. I felt bad that I’d let Sherlock down, and he was a dog. We were his flesh and blood.
It was the first time in my life I had ever really tried to put myself in my pop’s shoes. If I felt like this after being turned down by a woman that I’d known less than a week, how fucking devastated would I be if I’d married the love of my life, had four children with her, and then lost her?
Shit. I actually felt sorry for my pop. Not that I’d ever been angry at him or needed to forgive him, I hadn’t. I knew that both my brothers had dealt with that, but since all I’d ever known was Hank and Billy lookin’ after me, I’d never really had to carry any resentment about it not being something else.
I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a sigh. If I was startin’ to compare myself to my old man, it was time to make some changes. I determined right then and there that I was not going to let my heartbreak affect my life. Not because I’d made Sherlock wait to go out, although I did feel like shit about that, but because that wasn’t who I was or wanted my life to be.
My phone buzzed back in my room and I plodded down the hallway to pick it up. Of course, I hoped it was Bella, but I wasn’t holding my breath. She seemed pretty sure of her decision last night. And I got it. She wasn’t feeling the same things for me that I was feeling for her.
She wanted a summer fling, I wanted forever. That was just the way the cookie crumbled.
Even though I had prepared myself, my heart did sink a little when I saw that the message wasn’t from her, it was from Cheyenne.
I’d like to call a family meeting at the bar in thirty. Let me know if that works for everybody.
And she added a happy face after it.
I thought it was adorable. This was the first family meeting my big sis had called, and she’d actually asked if that worked for everyone. I’d never been summoned to a family meeting and had the option to get out of it. If one was called, you went. No excuses.
Not wanting to point it out or make her feel self-conscious, I quickly typed back.
Works for me.
I had never actually responded to a family meeting summons before either. There was no point. Attendance was mandatory.
After a quick shower, I refilled Sherlock’s water bowl and gave him his CBD oil. It helped with his arthritis and kept him comfortable.
I was just heading to the front door when there was a knock on it.
If Bella was behind door number one, I might have to be late. I opened the door and saw a beautiful woman, just not the one that got my heart racing. Reece Torres wore a slinky baby blue floral mini dress that hit her just above mid-thigh, showcasing her toned and tanned legs. Her silky, chestnut brown hair hung down to her waist, which was pinched as if God had blessed her DNA with an all-natural corset. Her light green eyes surrounded by dark, thick lashes and fair skin popped as she looked up at me with a private smile that had always gotten my engine running.
Reece and I had been hooking up on and off for years. She was a sports reporter who was always out of town following teams, but every time she was in town, we got together.
It had been perfect. She was hot. I could carry on a conversation with her, but we both knew what this was. No strings. No commitments. No complications.
Hell, half the time we hooked up, I’d read that she was in a relationship with a triple-A player or a rookie NFL recruit. We never asked questions. We just enjoyed each other’s company for twenty-four to forty-eight hours every six to eight months and left it at that.
This was just what the doctor ordered. So why wasn’t I the slightest bit interested in spending the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours with her? I usually used a term of endearment when referring to her, especially when she showed up on my doorstep wearing a slinky number with that look on her face. But I just couldn’t bring myself to call her sweetie, baby, or sexy. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hi.” Her secret smile dropped with her eyes when she saw the keys in my hand. “Goin’ somewhere?”
