Page 136 of Sharing Shane

“Yeah. She’s jazzed about it.”

“Her friends from the support group are coming?”

“Far as I know.” Shane stepped into his boots, careful to do it quietly. Seth was asleep down the hall, and he didn’t want to wake him. “They’re bringing the kid, too, so that should be interesting with the puppy.”

“I love how you call him a puppy when he already outweighs you.”

“He doesn’t outweigh me. He might outweigh Veronica before long, though.”

Wyatt sat up against the headboard, the covers falling to his waist. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“Game’s on at noon, dinner at halftime.” Shane picked up his keys and shrugged into his jacket. “If you want to come early, you can.”

“Seth probably won’t be up for a few hours, but we’ll be there by kickoff. Do you need us to bring anything? Maybe a pie?”

Shane lifted his hands to tie his hair back. “You’re going to bring a pie?”

Wyatt shrugged. “If you need a pie, we’ll bring a pie.”

“You’re going to make a pie.”

“I’m not going to make a pie, I’ll buy a pie. Do I look like Betty Crocker to you?”

“It’s Thanksgiving Day, Wy.” Shane finished tying his hair back.

“So? Meijer is open.”

“Thanks for the thought, but we’re covered for pie. Could use some beer, though.”

“Meijer has that, too.”

“Great. Get some beer.” Shane leaned over the bed, lingering over the kiss just long enough to wish he had time to climb back in. “See you later.”

“You and your woman. Speaking of Veronica, you think she might be up for another get-together soon?” Wyatt’s grin turned impish. “I’ve had this hankering for peaches lately.”

Shane straightened, amused. “We’ll talk about it. But not today. Don’t make Thanksgiving weird.”

“I’m the soul of discretion,” Wyatt said soberly.

“Uh-huh. By kickoff,” Shane said. “If you’re late, we’re making you do the dishes.”

Wyatt grinned. “I’ll just put all the plates on the floor for the dog to lick. That’s why you got him, right?”

“Gross, Wy.” Shane headed for the door. “Very gross.”

“I’ve seen you do it,” Wyatt told him.

“Don’t tell Veronica or you’ll never taste peaches again,” Shane warned.

“Damn, that’s cold.” Wyatt clutched his chest as though wounded, then laughed. “Love you.”

Shane paused at the door to smile at Wyatt, all tousled blond hair and sleepy blue eyes. “Love you, too. See you in a couple of hours.”

He let himself out of the house and climbed into his truck, the radio on low as he made his way through town. The city felt nearly deserted in the dark of pre-dawn, and he was pulling into his driveway in less than half the time it normally took. But the lights of home were already lit, and he could hear music when he let himself in the back door.

Dolly Parton, he realized, heading for the kitchen as the opening strains of 9 to 5 rang through the house.

“If you so much as lick this bird, I swear you’ll never sleep on the bed again,” he heard Veronica say over the music, and rounding the corner, came to a stop. She stood at the wide island in one of his dress shirts, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, the tails flirting with her bare thighs. Her hand was halfway up a turkey’s ass while she lectured the gangly mutt who sat patiently at her feet, his head nearly level with her waist.

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