Page 48 of Hard to Love
“I’ll stick with the grass,” Alex said.
A few hands later, Alex and Cal were up by three marks. The looks Greer’s brother was shooting him had backed off from complete dismemberment to merely dick-hacking. If they kept winning, Alex might be able to keep all his favorite body parts. Greer might appreciate that. His lips curved at that thought.
“Your play, Villanueva,” Cal barked from across the table.
Shit.The guy apparently had mind-reading abilities.
A shuffle-stomp sound came from the side of the house.All four men were on their feet in a flash, Alex reaching for the gun he no longer carried and Cal producing one and aiming it in the direction of the sound. “Talk,” he yelled.
“It’s Coop,” a voice called back.
The other three guys immediately relaxed, and Cal’s gun disappeared somewhere under the table. A shape rounded the corner of the house and slowly made its way toward the deck.
Cal and Ty jumped the deck stairs and landed on the ground to flank the person. “Man,” Cal said, “what the fuck are you doing coming all the way around the house? And why didn’t we hear a car?”
“Bad enough that a grown man has to have his mom drive him around. I’ll be damned if I let her drop me at the door.” The guy jabbed one of his two crutches toward Cal. “Back off. I got this.”
Cal and Ty both took a step back, but it was obvious they were primed to move in again. The new guy—Coop—shuffle-stomped his way into the light.
Motherfuckerwas right. But it didn’t have anything to do with damn good tequila.
The guy wore cargo shorts, but rather than a leg protruding from the left side, he wore a metal prosthesis from the thigh down. And Alex had been feeling shitty about his life? What right did he have to feel sorry for himself when all his parts were whole and working?
Coming up the steps, Coop stumbled. He immediately maneuvered his left crutch to brace himself against the deck railing. “Still getting my sea legs under me,” he muttered.
Wisely, no one mentioned he was a dick-for-brains to use up his energy by walking all the way from Cal’s front gate. Once the man was on the deck and stable, he pointeda crutch in Alex’s direction. “Who’s the new guy?”
“Some leather tooler Delaney’s got her sights set on,” Cal said, but without all the eye-weapons he’d been shooting at Alex all night. “Cooper Crowe, meet Alex Villanueva.”
They both did the ’sup chin lift instead of shaking since Cooper’s hands were busy holding him up.
“Looks like y’all don’t need a fifth at the table tonight.” Cooper nodded at the dominoes scattered over the wood.
“Know what?” Alex said, easing his chair away from the table enough so Cooper could easily maneuver between the two with his crutches. “I suck at 42. Cal here’s been saving my ass all night, and I’ve gotta take a piss anyway. Why don’t you play for me?”
As the other men settled back at the table and Alex headed out into the yard to relieve himself, Sawyer tipped the tequila bottle toward him. “Don’t even think about leaving yet, Villanueva. We haven’t grilled you yet.”
And even though Greer’s brother backed up the good-natured threat with arms crossed over his chest, Alex strolled around the side of Cal’s house feeling like he might have found something that had been missing from his life since the night he’d gotten his brother killed.
Chapter Fourteen
When Greer begged her brother for details on the guy-date she’d set up for Alex, Cal had gone completely tightlipped other than saying, “I’m still deciding.”
Men.
Women made up their minds about one another in the time it took them to scan from shoes to handbag. Why couldn’t her brother see Alex was a good guy? He just had a thing about opening up to people.
Well, Alex could just get over himself today because he was helping her check in all the competition registrants whether he liked it or not. Hearing the shower running through the wall of his apartment, she didn’t bother knocking on the door, just let herself in and wandered through the small space. On a side table, she found a stack of magazines—a couple on leather working, a copy ofCowboys & Indians, aSmithsonian, and a high-end women’s fashion edition.
She was still flipping through it, glaring at the emaciated models when she heard the bathroom door click open. “Should I be worried that you have a copy ofELLE?”
“Dammit, Greer. Ever heard of that social courtesy called a knock?”
“You were in the—” She glanced up at him, and the rest of her sentence dropped like a cinder block.
She hadn’t really considered his state of dress or undress when she’d strolled into his place.
Big mistake.
