Page 24 of Unloaded
“What’s up with the pet name?” I question, and I swear he blushes. His hands clench the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, but he doesn’t answer. “Well?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he denies. “You know how some people say honey or sugar all the time.”
“I’m not buying it,” I declare. “In all the time we’ve been around each other, at the restaurant, on catering events, and at Marley’s or Shelby’s homes, I’ve never once heard you call anyone, including Marley and Shelby who you adore, angel.”
I turn in my seat to face him. A muscle begins ticking in his jaw.Shit!I’ve really set him off this time, but I’m not backing down. I purse my lips and cock my head to the side with as much resting bitch face as I can muster. I can wait him out for an answer.
10
ROSCO
Fucking hell!This is my own damn fault. I knew better than to pull into the parking lot ofBaby Girl’sinstead of going straight to the address Luke had given me for the event. I can’t seem to keep myself from looking out for the brown-haired temptress.
Rachel Miller has driven me wild with need from the first moment I laid eyes on her. When I’d caught her scent at Mrs. Cruise’s luncheon, I was a goner. She has invaded my thoughts and even my dreams.
I’ve had a hard-on for months that I haven’t been able to slake. Not that I’ve sought out someone to help me with it, and my hand just hasn’t given me the relief I need. I know what I need to ease it, but I refuse to go there. Rachel deserves better. I know once I’ve crossed that line I won’t be able to hold back. I’m unsure if I’d ever be able to let her go, and I can’t do that to her.
I’ve been a grumpy-ass due to my frustration. Another reason I’ve been avoiding being around the damn siren. Even though I know it would be better for both of us if she hated me, I don’t want her to. My brothers have noticed my mood and lack of female companionship, which has only made matters worse.They’ve taken every opportunity to goad me about it and push me to admit I want Rachel.
I should’ve texted Celeste, a friend-with-benefits I’ve had for a while, for a hook up, but it feels wrong. I can’t stand the thought of fucking anyone other thanher.What the hell is wrong with me?
When I’d pulled intoBaby Girl’sand seen Rachel about to climb into that POS, ancient van she drives, I’d seen red. My imagination had run wild. I’d imagined her van breaking down, leaving her on the side of the road, and some psycho killer stopping to help. I’d never see her again.
So I’d done the only thing I could. I’d demanded she ride with me. Then she’d sassed me, and I’d thought for sure I’d come in my pants. Her tantalizing scent had been all around me, which had short circuited my brain. I’d had her over my shoulder and seated in my truck before I’d had time to process what I’d done.
Now I’m stuck in my truck, breathing her in, and I’m aching so bad in more ways than one. She’s physically killing me with her scent, and when she sasses me, fuck it’s too much. I want to pull over on the side of the road and turn her over my lap to swat those lush ass cheeks. I can just picture her creamy skin pinkening from my hand. My cock is straining against the fabric of my clothes so painfully. I reach down to adjust things to a more comfortable position. Her head drops as she takes in my movement.
“Are you not going to answer?”Damn!She’s persistent, like a dog with a bone. I sigh heavily, debating how to answer.
“What does it matter?” I deflect instead, which earns me a scowl. She flops away from me in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest to stare out the window.
“Don’t pout,” I goad, all the while wanting to kick my own ass for saying that last part. I need to leave her alone not continueto engage in a conversation that will get us nowhere. She already thinks I’m an asshole.
Do I really want to reinforce that impression?Yeah, that’s exactly what Ineedto do. It’s better she despises me than to believe there could ever be anything between us. Yet I don’t want her to hate me.
“I’m not pouting,” she retorts. “I’m brooding over the fact that a tyrant has kidnapped me then pretends I don’t exist. I just don’t understand you.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” I tell her. “I’m a simple man. I look out for my family. They are what’s most important.”
“I’m not your family,” she accuses. “So why are you ‘looking out’ for me?” Her hands lift to either side of her head while her fingers curl to make air quotes.
“You work for Marley and Shelby,” I begin. “They love you like a sister. So by association, you are family. I believe we’ve had this discussion before.” She snorts, shaking her head.
“Whatever.” She turns back to stare out the window.
The rest of the drive passes in an uncomfortable silence. We arrive at the address I’d been given for the event. I pull in behind the second van. The driveway is blocked by a gate next to a large box with a buzzer. Jason presses the button. I can just barely hear him say, “Baby Girl’s Catering. We have three vehicles.”
After a brief pause, the gate opens as a voice comes from the box. “Park around back.”
I follow the vans around to the back of the home and park behind them. Rachel is out before I can get the truck in park. Rolling my eyes, begging whatever deity will listen to me for patience with this woman, I exit my truck.
My eyes scan the area. The event is to be held on the back lawn of a large Tudor style home. I take note of the trees surrounding the edge of the lawn, watching closely for any signs of someone hiding in them.
Rachel is directing the staff with the unloading of the vans. A large white tent has been erected on one side of the massive estate’s lawn, while multiple round tables covered with white tablecloths and chairs surrounding have been set up in nearly every available space. I take note of what appears to be an armed guard at the gate where Rachel and the others are carrying the food through to the venue site.What the hell?
The man holds up his hand when Rachel and Cindy, another of the servers, reach him. I stalk closer to over hear the conversation. “I need to see some identification,” the man grumbles. Rachel pulls out her wallet to show him her driver’s license and a business card fromBaby Girl’sCatering. The man scrutinizes both documents a moment before nodding and allowing the women through the gate.
When Jason, Matthew, and I approach, the man studies us, taking in our builds and how we carry ourselves. He again holds up his hand. “What are you gentleman doing here? Do you have an invitation? If so, you’re a little early.” I step forward to represent the group.
