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“It’s about a woman?” I could hear the intrigue in his voice.
I remained quiet.
He hooted. “Are you and a cop tangling over a woman?”
“Fuck off.” I started to end the call, but repeated, “Tomorrow, Monroe.”
“Yeah, yeah—”
I hung up, a wave of humiliation washing over me.
He was right. Me and a cop? Who the fuck was I? I might dress up in football pads and run after a quarterback, but strip all that away and I was still a criminal who grew up in a trailer park.
I had nothing to lose here, so I dialed Billie’s number one more time.
Her voicemail came on, the automated impersonal one, and after it beeped, I said, “This is Brett. It’s not lost on me that this is my third time reaching out. I’m not sure if I did something wrong, or maybe I read you wrong and this is your way of letting me know you’re not interested. I figure one more time, and I’ll pull back from here. If it’s the case that I did something wrong, I can only say that after I found you Monday night, I felt like finally I got the luck. In my life, that’s not normally been the case. I meant everything I said to you Monday night. Meant what I said in the text. And Tuesday, some things happened that took me out of state, so I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reach out until late. I’d been looking forward to maybe talking you into letting me grill a steak for the two of us. I was hoping for that night, but I’m now realizing I was getting ahead of myself. I apologize for that. So, this is me officially scaling back. If you’d like to have a conversation or even share a text message, know that I’ll be happy to hear from you, maybe learn more about your chickens. I hope things are good on your end.”
I hadn’t read Billie wrong. She knew it, and I knew it.
I’d wait for Monroe to get back to me, and then I’d figure out my next step.
Because I wasn’t scaling back.
I had lied through my teeth.
12
BILLIE
He called.
He left a message.
I didn’t listen to it.
Nope.
Though I totally wanted to.
I really, really wanted to, but I stuck to my guns, as Lo liked to say.
It was Friday night, and Lo, Roger, and I were on our way to Jack’s BBQ. Travis was meeting us there. Lo was dressed to the nines in a little black dress and gorgeous thigh-high boots. Her hair was high on her head in a ponytail with long tendrils curled down to tease her back. She had hoop earrings too.
I couldn’t compare, which I knew, so I didn’t even try. I wore a black tank top and jean shorts, the kind that stopped just over my thigh, so they weren’t mini shorts. They were respectful. I’d kept my hair down, though I always got hot so I’d have it up in a braid or a clip by the end of the night. And I wore little black boots. They were cute, and they fit in. They didn’t stand out like Lo’s thigh-high ones. Hers were marvelous.
I’d kept my jewelry to a minimum, a chain necklace resting down between my girls. I thought it looked classy.
Roger and Travis wore plaid button-down shirts and Wranglers. Both filled them out nicely, but I was going to focus on Travis since he wasn’t my kind-of brother-in-law. Travis was at the bar, a woman next to him with her hand on his arm. His head turned toward the bartender as he leaned forward to talk to him. As the bartender nodded, leaving, Travis reached up and pointedly removed the woman’s hand from his arm. His head swung back, his eyes no-nonsense as they slid past her and came to me. They stayed on me, widening a little, until he said something to the bartender and headed our way.
The woman was left behind, and she knew it.
Lo snorted, watching.
“Oh, man. She got denied hardcore,” Roger said.
Travis paused before stepping in next to me, and his hand stretched up to touch the small of my back. I gave him a nod, and he closed the distance. He drew me to his side and grazed my cheek with his lips before murmuring in my ear, “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a smile, surprised to feel a little breathless.
