Page 37 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“I think he’s afraid that Jade will take the reins.” Levi washes down a bite of pie with a swig of beer.
Dean raises his eyebrows. “That’s not it. We all know he’s into that sort of thing. And we don’t judge.”
I’d ask what he’s talking about, but I already know it’s the rumors. It’s always the damn rumors.
“But maybe it’s confined to the bedroom?” Dean tilts his head at me, but I don’t look. “I get it. You like to keep your submission in the bedroom, but outside of it? Too much risk. You’re all dominant.”
I hate my brothers.
“Did the meeting go well?” Wheeler asks, changing the topic, but only to another one I’m not interested in discussing.
“Fine.” I turn the mug in slow circles, the amber liquid swirling.
“Fine?” Levi tears into a wing, stripping it clean and chewing on it.
“Yeah, fine.”
“No details?” He drags a napkin across his jaw, missing half the mess.
He doesn’t even notice, too focused on his next bite.
“What else do you want? A play-by-play? If so, you should’ve had your ass in there. The bottom line is, everything is ready and everyone is lined up to go.”
More baskets of wings hit the table, a pitcher of beer follows, and then another glass thuds against the table.
“Well, uh... about that.”
When did Beck get here?
We are two brothers short of all the Wilde siblings being under one roof. Which usually ends in punches and brawling, just like Jade said.
He nods like he wants me to scoot over.
Getting stuck in the middle of these two? Not happening.
I stand, and he slides in; the denim of his jeans rustles as he stretches his legs out beneath the table.
A pool ball smacks into another with a sharp clink.
I glance over.
Lord, I have zero control.
Solid shot.
Didn’t expect her to sink it that smoothly.
Beck leans back in the booth, cradling the cold glass of beer. There’s a slight shift in his posture that’s a bit uncomfortable.
“Spit it out.” I hate conversations that drag on.
“I, uh... there’s a heifer at the ranch that’s about to drop any day now. I was hoping she’d give labor before the rodeo, but it’s not lookin’ that way.”
I froze mid-sip. “Don’t you dare.”
“I can’t go.”
Motherfucker. Son of a bitch. Butter my ass.
