Page 178 of Things Left Unsaid

There’s no point in lying. I shove him in the side, hard enough he almost falls off his chair. “What’s with the flirting, asswipe?”

“I was being nice!” he grumbles, settling himself on his seat before punching me in the shoulder. “Also,OW. That hurt, dick.”

“You were flirting. ‘He’s the one who introduced me to peanut butter and fluff, Zee,’” I mock.

“Firstly, that sounds nothing like me. Secondly, you have it worse than I thought if you can get jealous over the most asinine sandwich in the world.” He takes a big bite. “Callan was right.”

“He often is, the little shit. But about what?”

“This being a business arrangement but you’d be good for each other.”

“And you figure that how? At least Callan’s hung out with her!”

“I did too,” he defends. “You’re both so fucking nice, it’s sickening. Both packed with guilt for shit you didn’t do and overcompensating when you’ve nothing to compensate for. Hero complexes?—”

“Says the goddamn soldier,” I deride with a huff.

“So I’m perfectly placed to make the diagnosis,” he states smugly. “You’re both sweeter than this fluff. Honestly, it’s puke-inducing. Callan was right about that too. Why are you pussyfooting around her? That’s what I don’t understand. You’re obviously not screwing?—”

“Don’t talk about my wife like that.”

His grin is slow. “‘My wife’ again, huh? Mr. Possessive.”

I grit my teeth. “It’s the only thing I’m allowed in this relationship.”

He cups his ear. “Say that louder for the people in the back.”

“You heard me.”

“So, you want more?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“I mean, she is beautiful. Who knew the McAllisters made girls so pretty, huh? Maybe if our ancestors had fucked, we wouldn’t have been at each other’s throats for centuries. Why steal a dozen steers when you could marry the enemy?”

“She’s not the enemy.”

“Naw, she’s ‘your wife,’” he mocks, including the finger quotes and everything.

I scowl at him and start eating.

“You both like each other, so why haven’t you made your move?”

“Because this isn’tSweet Home Alabama.”

“Sweet Home Pigeon Creek doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“No. It doesn’t,” I agree. “We’re in this for one reason only.”

“So what’s with the puppy-dog eyes as you ask her to go riding with you?”

Trust him to call me on my bullshit. “Why did you come home again?”

“And the invitation to go into town? Sounds like a date to me.”

My scowl darkens. “Condoms.”

“Huh?”

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