5
WARWICK
Joaquin is already awake and drinking his coffee at the bar when I make it downstairs.
“Someone’s raring to go,” I say, running my fingers through my unbrushed hair.
His eyes follow the movement, and the amused twitch of his lips probably means I’ve got a huge cowlick sticking up at the back of my head. I pour myself a mug of hot coffee and sneak a quick look at my reflection in the window over the sink. Yep. I look like a five-year-old. Wetting my fingers under the faucet, I attempt to pat down the unruly thatch of hair.
“As foreman, I must set the standard for all the reprobates living here.” He tilts his mug in my direction, and I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or just being friendly. Considering he shot me down last night, I’m going to go with friendly.
“I guess that makes me head reprobate,” I joke, still fussing with my hair as I take the first few life-giving sips of coffee.
“Por supuesto,” he says, grabbing my wrist.
I inhale sharply as he pulls my hand away, quickly taming the obstinate hair with a few brushes of his fingertips, his fingernails lightly scraping along the sensitive skin. My nipples harden, and I wish I’d put on a T-shirt before coming down for my morning addiction.
I’m wearing sleep pants, which aren’t any help at all. The situation gets worse when I remember that I’ve only ever heard him speak Spanish in the heat of the moment.
Más, más, más, Wick. Así, sí, sí, sí. Me encanta tu culo.
Joaquin shakes his head as though he knows what I’m thinking about. To be fair, it’s a good guess that if he’s in the room, I’m thinking about him naked.
Where his son is willowy and strong, Joaquin is pure brute strength. With his rangy build, shaggy black-shot-through-with-silver hair, big square hands, fuck-me muscles, and pretty brown skin…he’s a lot.A lot,a lot.
Anyway, what was I saying?
Oh yeah, head reprobate.
“Anyway, as the head reprobate, I'll take you on a tour of the ranch after breakfast. I know you’ve been to the main house a few times, but we’ve never done an in-depth tour.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, unfairly charming as he tops off my coffee.
A few minutes later, Abel and Colt sleepily join us and gratefully accept their coffee. We get ready and make our way as a group over to the main house, where Desi's made us a full-spread breakfast.
It's been a little bit of an adjustment, Desi and Wy moving away from the ranch. You get used to seeing somebody day in and day out, and I find myself missing Wyatt's warm presence and Desi's sweet, funny personality.
“Oh, Desi’ll come make breakfast for the new guy, but the rest of us…chopped liver,” I joke, grabbing Desi up in a hug. Wyatt playfully narrows his eyes at me and drags Desi away, tucking him under his arm.
I suppose a lesser man wouldn’t have been as patient with me, but Wyatt's never made me feel like I didn’t belong, even in the rough days after he and Renée cut off our arrangement. I've always had a lot of affection for the guy, and I'm grateful he's willing to be playful now.
We all line up at the breakfast bar, pile up our plates with delicious food, settle in around the table, and dig in.
“Dammit, Sam. Why don't you make us breakfast like this?” I pause, looking around the table. “Wait, where’s Sam?”
Just as I ask, the man himself comes ambling out of the hallway, wearing a pretty lavender silk pajama short set, his sleep mask pushed halfway up his forehead, his hair sticking up everywhere.
“Sam is trying to sleep,” he says, all grumpy-cute as he rubs his eyes.
Trip’s expression softens, and he rises, crossing the living room in a few long steps. Pulling Sam into a big hug, he kisses the top of his head. Sam grumbles, but it doesn’t last very long. He more or less immediately melts into his man's arms.
Subconsciously, my hand goes to my chest. Wyatt sees the gesture, and I turn it into a scratch as though I’m just itchy this morning. The slight narrowing of his eyes tells me he doesn't believe me for a second.
I guess that's the downside of working at a place that feels more like a family than a business. Sometimes they see more than is entirely comfortable.
Anyway, I don't care what he thinks he saw. I'm perfectly fine living the bachelor life, happy to get my jollies wherever I want them, however I want them, and as often as I want them. And if watching people find love creates an ache in my chest, that's no big deal.
It don't hurt that much.
