Page 129 of Double Bucked

I finish my meal, swallow back the rest of my beer, and stand. The pool table is empty, so I start racking the balls.

I need to shake this terrible, dark feeling rolling around in my chest.

Time to get your mojo back, Claire.

“You two! Get over here. Grab your sticks.”

Everett and Ransom join me. Everett chalks his cue. “You’re not playing?”

“Oh, I am.” I lift a cue from the bunch. “I’m playing against both of you. Two against one. Should even the playing field.”

Before today, I didn’t want them in the same room together, let alone on the same team.

They were oil and water. More likely to kill each other than look each other in the eye.

Now…

They’re practically breathing in sync.

They both light up at my challenge. It’s that look. The competitive glint in their eyes that makes my heart flutter and my blood race.

I’ve locked horns with a double-headed bull, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ransom snorts out a laugh. “Your funeral, princess.”

Pointedly, I ask Everett, “You’re not going to let me win again, are you?”

He rolls up his sleeves, revealing the ropey veins up his forearms. He’s getting serious now. He instructs, “Break, Claire.”

The front of my body kisses the felt green as I line up my shot and hit the mark.

It’s only a little after nine when we get home, but it feels well past midnight.

I should be exhausted, but I’m not.

My blood is buzzing. We feel close—really close—to something big.

How did Ransom describe it?

The heat before a storm.

The three of us get ready for bed. This is a new routine that feels, somehow, familiar. As though we’ve been doing this the whole time. Dressing down. Taking turns in the shower. Brushing our teeth side by side in the sink. There’s a strange, natural cadence to having both of these men in my home, in my bed, and in my life.

Now that I have it, I don’t know how I ever existed without it.

I’m the longest in the shower, so I’m the last. I exit, feeling clean and steamed-fresh.

When I come out, Everett is sitting in his robe on the edge of the bed. Ransom is splayed in the tall chair in the corner, wearing nothing but gray cotton pajama pants and his Stetson tilted over his face. He has Everett’s AirPods in his ears, which Everett is manipulating with his phone.

“This is white noise,” Everett says. He presses a button. I watch him watch Ransom’s expression. “This one is green noise. And brown noise. My personal favorite, but everyone has their own preference.”

Ransom tilts his head. “Do it again?”

“White noise. Green noise. Brown noise.”

I sit on my side of the bed. I pull out my tub of moisturizer and slide it over my legs. “Aw. Are you two swapping ear wax now?”

“There’s a rigorous cleaning process.” Ransom tries (and fails) to keep a straight face.

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