Page 7 of Taming Bull

“That good, huh?”

I snorted. “I don’t get it. He likes me. I know he does. He just refuses to admit it. Why? Is there an award he’s trying to win for keeping his hands off me or something? Has it become an Olympic sport? Do I have the plague?” I raised my arm and looked it over. “Smallpox? Is my flesh falling off?”

She fought a smile and picked up the roast. It had to be heavy, but I didn’t dare offer to help. Monica had been mastering her prosthetic, and she sure as hell didn’t need me doing shit for her. “I see no leprosy or smallpox. Just a beautiful, frustrated young queen.” She slid the giant pan into the oven, and then gestured toward the dining room. “Come. Sit. Tell me all about it.”

With Monica and Stocks at the helm, the once dilapidated old shelter had come a long way in the past two years. We’d been renovating the hell out of the place, replacing the roof and flooring, updating sketchy old lighting and electrical boxes, and painting everything in warm, comfortable colors. Monica had named it The Castle, because she only took in queens who’d had their crowns knocked off by life. She gave us a safe place to sleep, provided three square meals, and pushed us off our asses, encouraging each of us to do something amazing with our one wild and precious life.

And it was impossible to make excuses to a one-armed badass who courageously practiced what she preached. Trust me, I’d tried.

Although Monica was all about straightening our crowns, I didn’t think The Castle was a fitting name for the shelter. I’d never been in a castle, but they seemed cold and pretentious to me, and our home was anything but. Warm, cozy, and full of yummy food smells, the shelter was now every good thing I remember about my grandma’s house. After she passed away, I never thought I’d experience this sense of safety and belonging again, but Stocks, Monica, and the rest of the Ladies First crew had made it happen.

I owed them more than I could ever repay, and I couldn’t wait to finish my apprenticeship so I could start giving back.

Sitting in the chair beside Monica’s, I dropped my head, planting my face against the cool surface of the table, and sighed dramatically. “The friend zone is a black hole from which there is no escape.”

Monica chuckled. “So says Google.”

A recent internet search for ways to get out of said friend zone had yielded that answer. At the time, I’d refused to accept the wisdom of Google as fact, but it was proving to be far truer than I cared to admit. This black hole was like a commercial grade vacuum and I was nothing more than a speck of dust. “It’s worse than I could have imagined. He didn’t friend zone me, he… he little sister zoned me.”

Skepticism filled Monica’s eyes as she watched me. Then she shook her head and let out a low chuckle.

Her laughter stung. “It’s not funny,” I said. “The man I’m desperately and irrevocably in love with sees me as his little sister. If anything, this is tragic. My life is over. I might as well go find a convent and become a nun now.”

“Our little Lily is always so dramatic.” Visibly struggling to control herself, she patted my hand affectionately. “I’ve seen the way he watches you. If he’s sister zoning you, it’s some sort of backwoods Ozark kind of family.”

I snorted, cautiously hoping she was right. Replaying the scene from the bar in my mind, I’d had him. There was nothingbrotherlyabout the way Bull had responded to my flirting. He wanted me.

So, why the hell wouldn’t he take me?

“Fucking sister zone. As if the friend zone wasn’t bad enough,” I lamented.

“Sister my ass.” Monica started singing the dueling banjos from the movieDeliverancein a compilation of do-dos. She was a ridiculous human being, and just being around her made me feel better. “Goddamn, you play a mean banjo,” I quoted.

“I bet you can squeal like a pig,” she quoted back.

“What’s going on here?” Stocks asked, his tall frame filling the doorway to the living room. Tall, with dark hair and the kind of muscles guys develop through service in the Marines, dozens of hours of physical therapy, and two years of hardcore home remodeling, Monica’s husband was handsome. He was also one of the best men I’d ever known. Crossing the room to join us, he brushed a kiss across Monica’s forehead. She closed her eyes, looking so damn blissful from his affection it made my chest hurt. The way his fingers slid down her arm, maintaining every second of contact they could until he stepped away said far more than any sappy poem or declaration of love.

Monica looked from him to me and raised her eyebrows. “He got a real pretty mouth, ain’t he?”

I cracked up. No matter how bleak my love life was, I wasn’t dead yet, so that was funny.

“QuotingDeliverance,huh?” Stocks asked. “Must be serious. One of you better start squealing like a pig.”

Monica winked at him. “Later.”

“Gross,” I grumbled.

As Stocks puttered around the kitchen, Monica watched me like she was trying to figure something out. Finally, she asked, “Are you high?”

“What? No. Why would you even ask that?” Drugs had never been my thing, and Monica knew why. Drugs would also get my ass kicked out of the shelter, and I didn’t relish the idea of being homeless.

“Your pupils are huge.”

“The lighting in here sucks,” Stocks said, coming to my defense. “I was thinking we should add some LED recessed lighting across the ceiling here.” He pointed up.

“It’s not that dark.” Monica’s stare didn’t relent. “What’s going on with your eyes?”

I dropped my head into my hands, preparing to admit yet another failure. “I’m not high. I had an eye doctor appointment before I met with Bull. I read that guys are more attracted to girls with big pupils, so I let the doctor dilate them.”

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