Page 35 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Oh fuck.” I begin to stand, but Wheeler catches my arm.
“Ignore him. We’re not here to sing ya a happy birthday. Just have some beer and wings with your brothers.”
I slowly lower myself back down.
“It’s kind of funny if you think about it.” Levi goes at his wings, slopping sauce on his beard like a caveman.
“Her birthday is funny?” Why did I even ask?
I’d rather hit him square in the jaw.
He shakes his head. “No. That she’s older than you.”
Wheeler chuckles.
“Why is that funny?” I don’t really want to know.
Maybe I’m digging for a real reason to pop him one. Lord knows, the thoughts have been on my mind for months. I should’ve poked him with the cattle prod.
“Because you’re used to being the oldest and in charge.” The sauce hangs off his beard like a damn animal. “The boss man. It’s no wonder it never worked out between you two.”
There is no “you two,” but I don’t say it. I ain’t in the mood to defend myself all bloody night.
“I’m not the boss man,” I growl instead.
My brothers crack up in laughter.
I grunt, half-sipping my beer, biting back the urge to tell them to shut the hell up.
Dean rushes to our table and gives me a shove with his knee. “Move over.”
I glance down, narrowing my eyes at the pie he’s crouching over, like it’s some secret stash. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hurry up.” He nudges me again, this time with the heel of his boot, and hard enough to get my attention.
My jaw tenses. “Dean—”
He doesn’t give a damn, though. “Move over or get the hell up so I can get in.”
I’m about to protest, but then I hear Levi snicker. “Told you. Bossy as hell,” he mutters to Wheeler under his breath.
I get up.
Dean slides into the booth, pie in hand, crouching to keep it hidden until he drops it onto the table with a grunt.
“A whole pie, huh?” Wheeler eyes the sugary surface of the pecan pie.
“Yeah, and no candles. I listened.” Dean yanks my shirt right out of my jeans. “Sit down. Now.”
“Piss off.”
As I slide into the seat, Bucky’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Dean! What the hell is that?”
Dean waves at the older man. “Nothing over here, sir.” He glares at us, pulling the pie closer to him and out of view.
Bucky’s face turns beet-red, striding toward our table. “You know damn well there’s NO food allowed in here from that old hags’ bar.”
