Page 122 of Wild Eyes
Clyde scoffs. “No better time, wouldn’t you say?”
My eyes narrow as I watch them, trying to figure out the friction. “What’s going o?—”
“Sorry I’m late.” Rhys towers over us as he ambles to our table, mouth set in a grim line despite his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Was working on something.”
My head tilts as I regard him. “Working on something? Does this mean you’re finally going to tell us something about yourself? Because right now, I’m pretty sure you’re a secret porn star.”
Rhys’s cheek twitches, and he huffs out a dry laugh. “I am not a porn star. Though I am flattered by the guess.”
“I thought he was a porn star too,” Bash says as he ties his shoes.
“I’m not—” Rhys cuts off, raking an agitated hand through his hair. “Listen, I’m planning a wedding. Wondering if you guys would like to come to it?”
“Who’s getting married?” I ask, now confused. “Wait, are you saying you’re a wedding planner?”
“No. I’m getting married.”
We all stare at him with blank faces. I can only speak for myself, but I have no doubt the other guys are just as stunned as me. Rhys is a mystery. He comes and goes from town with no explanation, and he makes no attempt to share that information with us. Hell, I didn’t even know he was living with Tabby until Skylar told me. I guess that’s why I have a hard time imagining him being in a relationship.
The man is an island.
“To who?” I ask.
He tilts his head to both sides, as though he’s cracking his neck, before looking over my head like he’s found something interesting on the wall across the room. I fall for it and turn to check. But there’s nothing, just a wood-paneled wall with pin holes in it from old posters.
We all watch with bated breath as he lifts his hand to squeeze the back of his neck before he finally answers.
“Tabitha.”
If I thought I was stunned before, it’s got nothing on how I feel now.
“Like Tabby? Chef Tabby? Bighorn Bistro Tabby? Wants-to-kill-you Tabby?”
“Yep.” Rhys nods firmly and gets to putting his massive bowling shoes on while we all stare at him in fascination.
“I thought you guys hated each other?” Ford sounds suspicious.
“Feelings change,” he mutters as he laces his shoes.
“Well, I, for one, am happy for ya. Hate sex is some of the best sex, as far as I’m concerned,” Clyde says, eliciting groans from Ford and me and a glare from Bash.
Rhys ignores the offhanded comment, though. Instead, he pushes to stand and glares down his nose at us all. “Looks like I’ll be here for the long haul. So we should try not to suck so much. I hate losing.”
And with that, he marches over to the screen to input our names for the game.
We go on to lose, but not as badly as usual.
After bowling, Ford drops me off at my empty house, and I try not to let that niggling sensation of loneliness creep in after what was a fun night. When I cross the front door, the light over the stove is on, but there’s no sound. No laughter.
“Fuck you!”
There’s just Cherry.
Skylar was nervous as hell to leave her behind, but I promised her that if I could take care of a barn full of other people’s horses, I could take care of one mouthy parrot.
“That’s fuckin’ rude, Cherry,” I say back as I toe off my shoes.
“Fuckin’ rude. Fuckin’ rude.”
