Page 53 of A Little Broken

Yeah. Not fucking likely.

The fire dances around her silhouette, and the view shoots straight to my cock, reminding me of what’s underneath. What I thoroughly explored all those nights ago. The visceral reaction only feeds my frustration.

I’ve thought about that night more times than I can count. Second guessing whether or not I made the right decision tocarry her secret with me or if I was fucking over an innocent man who isn’t even real. And here she is, pretending I don’t exist.

Well, if this isn’t a blow to the ego, I don’t know what is.

Fuck, you’d think I pissed in her drink or some shit.

“Hey, Birthday Girl,” I announce.

Her body tenses as she turns to face me, locking her arm with the cowboy next to her. “Oh. Hi, Pax. This is my…”—she gulps—“husband.”

“H-husband?” the guy balks.

I scan the guy up and down, then let out a low laugh. “Seems you’re as surprised as I am.” I turn to Tate. “No offense, but I think you can do better, Tate. At least find a guy who knows how to cover for you when you’re lying out of your ass, especially when it’s a habit of yours.”

Anger flares in her pretty gaze. “Who says I’m lying?”

Your best friend, I want to answer, but I bite my tongue. Stepping forward, I ignore her question, letting my attention roll over every inch of the woman. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze flicks over me, though it’s less blatant and a hell of a lot less curious. Like she’s analyzing a math problem or some shit. “You do, too. Seems the rockstar life has treated you well.”

“It has,” I confirm. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Visiting. Yup. Me and Carter love to travel.”

“Been here two nights,” Carter chimes in, his southern accent thick as hell.

“Carter, huh? What happened to Archer?” I cock my head. “Are you a black widow or something, Tate? Kill your husbands after fucking them over?”

Something flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for me to analyze. She crosses her arms and lifts her chin in defiance. “Seems you’re as funny as I remember, and while it’sbeen a real treat catching up, our flight leaves in the morning, so…we should probably get back to the hotel.”

“Really?” Carter’s eyes pop with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning. “There ain’t nothin’ that would make me happier, darlin’.”

She forces a smile and peeks at me. “Good to see you again, Pax. If you ever come to…Georgia, let me know.” Her shoulder lifts. “Or don’t.”

“I’m from Texas, darlin’,” Carter says.

I tip my head back and laugh. Seriously, where’d she find this guy?

“Yeah, but we’re moving to Georgia,” Tate clarifies through gritted teeth, too stubborn to give up the bullshit, though I’m not surprised. Once a liar, always a liar. “Remember, Carter?”

“Ah, hell. You’re right. I thought you meant next week, not in a few months, once we get done unpackin’, and everythin’.”

“Great cover,” I interject and clear my throat. “You mind if I steal your girl for a minute, cowboy?”

“I, well, I—” Beads of sweat cling to his forehead as he looks at Tatum like he’s caught between a rock and hard place. He’s probably weighing the pros and cons of backing down, curious if she’s worth the effort of potentially having his ass kicked. Don’t get me wrong. The guy looks like he’s used to tossing around bails of hay. But me? I look like I was raised on the wrong side of the tracks, and desperate men are capable of anything. Right now? I’m desperate and pissed off that I bought her bullshit all those years ago.

Sensing his indecision, Tatum throws her boy toy a bone, grumbling, “I’ll be fine, Carter. You can go.”

“Sure thing. I’ll, uh, I’ll be right over here.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward a table set up with hotdog and s’mores supplies, then beelines it away from us.

Funny. If the roles were reversed, there’s not a chance in hell I’d let her out of my sight. Honestly, even with the roles where they are, I still don’t want to let her out of my sight. Not until she apologizes for lying to me and tells me her fucking reasoning behind it.

“He seems…” I hook my thumbs in the loops of my jeans and rock forward, bringing us chest to chest. “Like the furthest thing from a rockstar you can get.”

Drawing a small zigzag in the sand with her bare toes, she stares at the ground and mutters, “Maybe my taste has changed.”

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