Page 155 of Butter My Biscuit

“Let me drop you off at work, and I’ll take your truck back to your place and meet you for lunch.” She waggles her brows, laughing.

“That’s a damn deal,” I say, knowing I don’t let anyone other than her drive my truck.

* * *

By the time I’m home and dressed in some worn Wranglers and a T-shirt, I’m more than three hours late.

“Maybe I should just call in sick.” I slide my lips across hers. “Lovesick.”

Grace shakes her head with a laugh and turns me toward the door. “Time to go, bud. You made your bed, and now, you’ve got to sleep in it. Beckett is gonna befurious.”

“Totally worth it,” I say as we leave and drive the short distance to the training facility.

It’s times like this I’m glad I live five minutes from work. We pull up to the barn. Beckett’s truck is parked on the side, along with Sterling’s. She hops out of the truck and meets me in the front, claiming my lips before she leaves me.

“Try not to drive it like you drive your car,” I tell her.

“Might go for an off-road cruise,” she singsongs. “Put that four-wheel drive to use. There’s something sexy about a woman in something like this.” She pats the dark green paint.

I shake my head. “Go for it, but no going to DMR, okay? You know how protective I am of my baby.”

She snorts. “I wouldn’t fuck up your truck.”

“I wasn’t talking about my truck.”

Davis Mountain Resort has the worst roads in the area, and there’s no driving to the top without a truck that can handle it. Kinsley had to pick me up a few times when I called in favors, and it busted up her alignment. Something I paid for. But it’s also where some shady individuals go to get lost.

She tries to hold back a smile, but fails.

“Be good. See you in a few hours for lunch?”

“I’m gonna be the whole buffet.” She smirks, then climbs in, sitting behind the wheel.

I adjust the cowboy hat on my head, taking one last look at how damn sexy she is, then shove my hands in my pockets. I make my way through the barn, smelling the sweet scent of spring while I whistle the harmony of one of London’s songs that’s been stuck in my head.

“You’re fired!” I hear Beckett yell from his office.

I make my way through the entryway, walk past the tack and storage room, then enter the office. Beckett is sitting at the desk, and I laugh, plopping down in the chair in front of it, then kicking my boots up on the hardwood. His eyes widen when dried mud falls on a few of his papers.

“Say it to my face,” I urge, staring him down with a smirk. “You can’t fire me. I own half.”

Moments later, I see someone enter the doorway through my peripheral vision, and when I see Grace, I immediately laugh.

“Don’t be too mean,” she tells Beckett, sitting on my lap, and I wrap my arms around her. “It’s kinda my fault.”

His face relaxes. Beckett can be pissed at me all day, but when it comes to Grace, he’s a softy, and he’s always treated her like she’s the sixth Valentine sister.

“The only reason I’m not kicking his ass to the curb is because of you,” he tells her. “But, damn, am I glad you two finally got your shit together.”

Grace bursts into laughter, then shifts her weight to kiss me. “Me too.”

“Gonna be completely fuckin’ honest though. It’s a little strange, seeing you two open about it. But, damn, better than all the denial.”

I chuckle and give a shitty fake cough. “Think I’m sick today.”

Grace turns around and places her hand on my head. “Yeah, I think he’s got a fever.”

Beckett laughs. “Get the fuck outta here. Both of you. But tomorrow, be on time.” Then, he studies Grace. “Make sure he’s on time.”

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