Page 48 of Eight Seconds to Ride

Whit’s cheeks flush pink. “I ran into him at the grocery store. Like, literally ran directly into him because I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. For someone as professional and in order as Whit is, he’s very much unaware of his surroundings sometimes because he’s off in his own head so much.

“And what? Apologized to him by letting him dick you down?”

Whit narrows his eyes on me. “No!” His cheeks are bright red now. Even the tips of his ears are earning color. “But he did ask me to dinner once he helped me pick up the armful of groceries I was carrying.”

“How romantic,” I quip. “How long’s this been going on?”

“About a month.” Taking a right, Whit drives down the long, gravel road that leads to the ranch. “He’s really nice, and cute. A nurse at the hospital.”

“What’s his na—”

“What the hell?” Whit breathes out, cutting me off. Turning my head forward, I see what he sees, my blood pressure soaring. There, on the side of the house, are Conrad and Sterling. It looks like they were moving bales of hay but got hot because they’re both shirtless as Conrad sprays Sterling with the hose, Sterling laughing as he gets soaked. Like, head thrown back, belly laughing. He’s in athletic shorts that cling to his body since he’s wet. “Does heeverwear a fucking shirt?”

Turning my head, I take in Whit’s narrowed gaze and the tight clench of his jaw.

My heartbeat echoes loudly in my ears as we climb out of the truck. It takes both of them a minute to see us, clearly too enthralled in each other to notice anything around them. Sterling’s the first to spot us, his face falling when he finds my gaze. Conrad looks like the same stoic man he always does. Unbothered to the fullest degree as he turns off the hose.

“Hey, Whit,” Conrad says in that deep, throaty voice of his. Glancing over at me, he nods. “Shooter.”

Giving him a terse nod, I say, “Conrad.” My tone is more clipped than it usually is with him, but something about the situation just grates on my fucking nerves. Turning my gaze to his right, honey-colored eyes watch me with a look I can’t place. “Sterling.”

As much as it annoys the fuck out of me—for a reason I refuse to look too closely at—that Sterling is prancing around in front of Conrad glistening and shirtless, shorts clung toeverycurve of his bottom half, I can’t deny how fucking hot he looks.

“So sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this was,” Whit growls out, taking me by surprise. “But I have the medicine you needed.”

Conrad’s brows bunch before he schools his features. “Uh, yeah, let me show you where she’s at.”

It’s apparently a group effort because we all seem to follow Conrad into the pasture. I was hoping to get to talk to Sterling for a minute while they were gone, but I guess fucking not. Once we’re done, Whit drives us to the bar instead of the restaurant we were planning to go to for lunch, ordering us a round of shots as soon as we sit down. They get dropped off, and we pound them back, Whit ordering another round. And another. And then one more for good measure.

Apparently, getting wasted mid-day on a Wednesday is the move we’re taking today.

I’m antsy as I sit here, annoyance still flaring inside of me the more the liquor spreads under my skin. Lifting my eyes, they connect with Whit’s, a similar emotion radiating off of him as well. Neither of us says anything for a moment, maybe not wanting to be the first one to admit our frustration. Finally, like I knew he would, Whit cracks.

“What the fuck wasthatabout?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “They looked pretty fucking friendly, though.”

“Why the fuck doesn’t that guy ever wear a shirt? And what was so funny? Conrad isn’t even that funny.”

Shaking my head, I murmur, “Sterling is the bane of my fucking existence.”

Whit watches me for a moment, curiosity shining in his gaze. I think he might ask me about it, but instead, he says, “Yeah, well, whatever you do, don’t marry the guy, only to get divorced and have to see him all the time.”

The bite to his tone has me pausing. Most of the time, Whit seems so relaxed and calm. I’ve hardly ever seen anything get to him, but today, it’s different. Like the last time we went together to Conrad’s. “What happened there anyway?”

Eyes darting to mine, he seems surprised that I asked. And honestly, I’m surprised too. It has always been this sort of unspoken agreement to not ask either of them about what happened. It was clear they wanted to keep it private, but hey, we’re both here, drinking and bitching. May as well. I know he’s going to eventually ask me about Sterling. So, tit for tat.

“It just didn’t work out,” is all he says, sadness wrapped around each word.

“Yeah, but why, though? It seemed so out of the blue.”

He flags the bartender down, ordering another round of shots. “If we’re doing this, we need way more alcohol.”

Sniggering, I say, “Fair enough.”

Whit blows out a breath. “There is no one set reason, really, but more of a collection of things that slowly chipped away at our exterior.”

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