Not wanting to overthink it, I get into the company truck and make the short drive to Wild Heart. I normally hit the horn a couple of times to let Ant know I’m out here, but Bram is waiting for me. Seeing him makes my heart pound, but I can’t let it show.
Instead, I pull up beside him, my bad-boy smile in full effect. “You’re one bossy son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“Are you wearing your new boots?” he asks, ignoring my attitude as he cranes his neck to see for himself.
Gesturing for him to back up, I open the door and stick out my foot, wiggling it about. “They’re beautiful, and they fit perfectly. Thank you…Dr. Barlowe,” I say, unable to keep the desire from my voice.
Adjusting his collar, he gives me a short, sharp nod.
“And the water bottle?”
Biting back a laugh, I hold it up.
“Why is the water red?”
“It’s Kool-Aid,” I respond, holding back a chuckle. It’s sugar-free Kool-Aid, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Touching his fingers to his forehead, he shakes his head in that sexy, disapproving way.
“Ignacio.Kool-Aid isnotappropriate for hydration. You need clean, filtered water to stay hydrated all day.”
“But I don’t like plain water, Dr. Barlowe.”
Tensing his jaw, he sticks out his hand. “Give it to me. I will refill it with water and something thatisn’tKool-Aid.”
I hold the bottle just out of reach, taking the time to peruse his body. He’s wearing pressed pants and a white button-down without a single wrinkle. Better, the sleeves are rolled neatly, putting his strong, tattooed arms on display. I wonder if he’s done that for me the way I did it for him last Friday.
Stepping in close—so fucking close—he squeezes between me and the steering wheel, stretching to take the bottle from my extended hand. Once he’s captured the bottle, he starts to pull away but stops for a second, our faces so close I can feel his hot breath on my lips.
Straightening, his eyes fall to my crotch for just a second before he walks off.
“Nice to see you again, Dr. Barlowe,” I call out, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.
Other than a slight shoulder roll, he doesn’t respond. A few minutes later, Ant comes out with the bottle in hand. Not going to lie—I’m a little disappointed.
He gets into the truck and puts my water bottle in the cupholder, explaining in Spanish, “Bram said to bring this out to you. He added some of the cut fruit from breakfast to it.”
I snort. “He made fun of me for bringing Kool-Aid.”
Rolling his eyes, Ant nods along. “He is forever wrinkling his nose at my food choices.”
Something like jealousy fires in my belly. “Oh, does he make you eat healthy?”
Ant raises his brow. “Makeme? I don’t think anyone couldmakeme do anything. Not anymore.”
People might assume as an ex-convict, I’m the tougher one, but more and more, I’m finding that Ant is built differently. Still, Justin pointed out that Ant only ever uses Spanish with me. At first, I thought he didn’t know how many people in our circle speak the language at least a little, but Justin said it’s because he trusts me. Which—just a guess—means he was punished for speaking Spanish at some point.
I’d just assumed and started speaking Spanish with him because I thought it’d be more comfortable for him. Now I do it on purpose so he can take back his language.
“True, I can’t picture someone making you do anything, even if Bram is a massive hard-ass.”
Ant uncrosses his arms and turns to me, wrinkling his nose. “Hard-ass?”
“Yeah. Like, even at dinner last week, he was still all stern and judgmental.”
He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Please, that’s just the outside. He doesn’t like people to know it, but he’s a real kitty-cat.”
“Seriously? Did you just call Dr.—Brama kitty-cat?”
