Page 49 of What I Should Have Known

I leaned my head back against the trunk. “Emma invited me.”

There was no way I was going to say shit about Kat.

“And you didn’t think to politely turn her down? I mean, how embarrassing that you had to come here with the women.”

“What can I say, the ladies just like me,” I casually replied, and Kat’s eyes shot to me, widening with a reprimand.

“Or you could’ve manned up and got on a horse. Rode with us.” Wyatt took a step forward.

“Kat rode up with you, and last I checked, she was a woman too,” I raised a brow.

Well, that hadn’t lasted long.

“Kat’s not a woman like Emma is,” Wyatt said, lifting a beer bottle to his lips.

“The fuck does that mean?” I furrowed my brows and glanced at the very girl he had just subtly dissed. She shifted her gaze to the ground and stared, unmoving as Emma, seated beside her, glared holes through Wyatt.

“What the hell, Wyatt?” Emma snapped, pursing her lips.

Wyatt threw his hands up in defense. “No, I’m just saying that Kat is—”

“Is what?” I interjected. “Better at this whole ranch shit than you are?”

Emma smirked, yet Kat still didn’t move.

“Oooooo,” Wyatt’s buddy beside him whistled, a grin sliding across his face.

“Shut up,” Wyatt hissed and then returned his attention to me. “She’s just… Kat. Besides, what kind of man has a pink gun?”

There it was. Another jab at how much of a man I was—or wasn’t. But, lucky—or unlucky—for him, the one thing I had no doubts in, no insecurities about, was who I was as a man.

“I do. Pink’s a fucking great color and the bedazzling adds the perfect touch,” I said, glancing back at Wyatt. “It’s not about what the gun looks like, never has been.”

Man, I could go for a fucking cigarette right now and my team, not this asshole…

“And that right there is why you are no man. You’d be spotted a mile away with that thing.”

“Are we in the middle of a fucking war and I didn’t know about it? ’Cause if so, I get to pick teams first so Kat can be on mine.” I shook my head, already annoyed by this conversation.Let me have my damn gun.

“Where’d you get the rifle anyway? I don’t remember any of Kat’s being pink.”

“I painted my own,” I stated.

He rolled his eyes, glancing around the group looking for backup. “And you’re clearly proud of it.”

“Damn fucking right. I think I did a great job. There’s no streaks on it or anything.”

Wyatt scoffed. “I bet you even made that little pink Kevlar vest for your weird thing you call a cat too.”

“Yeah, I did. And she’s not a thing. Her name is Muffin, and she has bigger balls than you do.” As I stooped down to pick up Muffin, snorts of laughter slipped around the campfire.

“She doesn’t have balls,” Wyatt shot back.

“Exactly, princess. Exactly,” I replied and one of the guys seated next to Kat rocked forward, laughter erupting from his belly.

“Ah, shit!” he bellowed between each wheeze. “I like this guy. I really like this guy.”

Wyatt’s cheeks flushed a twinge pinker in the light of the campfire.

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