Page 16 of Eight Seconds to Fly

Frankie growled low. He swore in a long continuous flow of Portuguese, that sounded more poetic than it had any right to be. “Don’t worry, T.M. We’ll celebrate. Fuck them.” He squeezed my shoulder and some of the tension left my body. Frankie was right. Fuck ‘em.

Dylan looked between us, but unlike Branch, he didn’t seem to look at Frankie like he was a threat to God-knows-what. “You know what, I didn’t wanna go to that stuffy shit anyway. My buddy has a bar downtown. Francisco is right. You should celebrate.”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, and they had one of those weird, macho dick mind-melds where they sized each other up. Apparently satisfied, Frankie grinned. “Sounds good. Call me Frankie though.”

Dylan shook his hand like they’d only just met. They started to work out logistics, and I stood between them, my mouth hanging slightly open. “Hey! I just want to go home and sink some beers and eat a burrito. I don’t wanna go out.”

Frankie just rolled his eyes, and winked at Dylan. “We’ll be there.”

Like hell we would.

I glaredat Frankie as we stood outside Records Bar and Grill, the Uber pulling away from the curb behind us. Fucking Frankie. Honestly, the man could talk a woman out of her panties in five seconds flat. He was pretty and charismatic and so damn earnest that you were agreeing to shit before you even realized it.

Which was why I was dressed in my favorite denim skirt and my good boots. I had on a white tank and an embroidered wrap. I’d even done my damn makeup, but I wasn’t going to examine why too hard. All I knew was that it wasn’t because I wanted to impress Dylan.

No damn way.

Liar.

“Don’t look at me like that,Gatinha.You needed to get out, shake the mood. There will be other rounds, other bulls. People will get used to your face. It will be all okay.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. He was calling me Kitten, so I knew he was feeling a little guilty about maneuvering me into tonight.

I sighed. He was probably right, but it didn’t make me feel less surly. He held open the door for me and I slipped into a room that smelled of beer and barbeque. Country music hummed softly in the background, and people were crammed into the corners. I couldn’t see Dylan anywhere, and I threaded my way through the crowd. The WBRP event had brought a lot of out of towners here and the bar was doing a good trade tonight.

Frankie leaned down. “I see him in the back,” he yelled over the noise, grabbing my hand and leading me through the crowd. It was easier for him than for me. I was like 130 soaking wet and not very imposing.

Frankie was tall, 6’4 and broad and handsome as hell. Women looked and men got out of the way. I was insanely jealous of the talent.

When we stopped at a table and I peeked around his shoulders. I almost turned and walked right back out. It wasn't just Dylan, but also Beau and Branch.

Well shit.

Frankie cast me an apologetic look and I narrowed my eyes at him. He’d asked me about my past with Beau and Branch, but other than to tell him that they were from my childhood, we didn’t get into it much.

Dylan gave me a wide grin as they all got to their feet, their good southern manners shining through. I went to pull my hat from my head, briefly forgetting that I left it at home and it was just my normal riotous curls. Dylan leaned across the table, kissing my cheek. “I’m glad you came out, Tessa.”

I couldn’t help but smile as Frankie pulled out a stool for me and I climbed up. He disappeared up to the bar, already knowing what I liked to drink. I sat under the gaze of two ghosts from my past, and a former one night stand. Yeah, this was a shit idea.

“Shouldn’t you be at the WBRP Cookout?” I asked Branch, and he shrugged.

I raised my eyebrows, and he blew out a breath. “I hate that shit. South West Motors isn’t my sponsor. I have no obligations. I’d rather be here.”

What the hell did that even mean?

“How’s the shoulder?” Beau must have seen the wheels turning in my head, because he jumped into the silence, just like he’d done when we were kids. Always the mediator between Branch and I. I smiled softly at the memory.

“Feels better than it has in awhile. You have miracle hands.” At his grin, I felt the urge to slap a hand over my mouth.

That wasn’t what I’d meant. My pink cheeks seemed to amuse them all, as a low chuckle went through the group. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”

Beau threw back his head and laughed. “Doesn’t make it wrong though, does it Nugget?”

Thankfully a waitress appeared with a couple of baskets of buffalo wings and fries. She batted her eyelashes at the guys, all of whom were attractive in their own right. They just had this earthiness that made you want to throw your panties at their heads.

Dylan with the jaw and the tattoos.

Branch with the dimples and the million dollar smile.

Beau who looked at you like you were the only woman in the room.

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