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“Because I left the woman I fell in love with back home, and that girl is you, Bex.” Here goes my attempt at patience. I’ve never been one to be patient.
A small surprised gasp escapes her lips.
I let go of her hand. “But I can be your friend if that’s what you want. Your call. You let me know. See you tonight for setup, Bex.” I turn and skip down the stairs.
I want her to chase after me, but I don’t expect it. Not yet. She has trust issues with me, which I understand. I’m here to prove to her she can trust me with her life. I ain’t going anywhere ever again.
My bike is waiting for me to finish its tune-up in the shop. So are my brothers. They surround me.
“Do you need a kick in the nuts?” Alyx grabs his crotch with his wrapped hand. He must’ve cut himself. Blood seeps through the material.
“A couple broken ribs?” Blue punches me not so lightly in my middle.
“What about this pretty face?” Rock slaps my cheek before I have the chance to take a throw at Blue. “Do I need to slap it around?”
“Fuck you guys,” I growl, but I like that they’ve been protecting Bexley while I’ve been gone. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to marry her.”
My brothers stroll off, mumbling threats and congrats at the same time. As they skitter away, I see my dad standing not fifteen feet away.
Watching.
Listening.
And looking none too pleased with what he overheard.
***
BEXLEY
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WORKING IN THE tentwith Johnny is pure torture.
Friends my ass.
Why did I think sleeping with Johnny was a good idea? Every time we accidentally brush up against each other, I feel hands massaging my body. Every time our eyes meet, my panties melt. Thank the stars he’s not spending the night here. He and Otto have made it abundantly clear they’re not camping together. Good. Because I’m not going to be Johnny’s side piece for the few minutes he’s in town.
I wonder if that’s what’s really bothering me. Or is it the fact that I’ve been thinking about him all week and dreaming about him every night.
I reach for a black linen tablecloth for the last table.
Johnny’s hand covers mine. “Sorry.” He’s not sorry. His hand lingers.
I slant my head and glare at him. “Do you know the difference between a onetime fling and friends?”
“I do.” His grip tightens. “Have you picked one?”
“You know I have, and you’re acting like a lost puppy dog looking for a new owner. Sometimes a scrap is a scrap and not an invite for permanency.”
A broken half chuckle crackles out of him. “You and these twisted analogies.” He releases my hand but dips his mouth to my ear. “Saturday night was not a scrap. It was a fucking meal I’d like to devour all over again.”
I snatch the tablecloth. “I’m not offering seconds.”
He’s right; these analogies are ridiculous.
I storm away. Not far. Across the small ten-by-ten tent to the last table. I shake the tablecloth open with a little more force than necessary.
“What’s got you all wound up?” Otto smoothes his arm over the tablecloth, creating more wrinkles than not.
