“What are you doing in there?” I called out.
I was about to get up when he didn’t answer right away, but he came waltzing in with my favorite mezcal, a shot glass, an orange, and one of my frozen gel packs.
“Where did you find a tray?”
“It was on top of your fridge, hon,” he said as he set the heavy tray on the bed. Grabbing the orange, he handed it to me. “Here, can you peel this? I don’t want to ruin my manicure.”
Shaking my head, I took the orange and peeled it with my comparatively rough hands, then took apart the segments while he poured the mezcal. He winked as he took a segment from me in exchange for a shot glass.
“You know, you didn’t hafta get so fancy with this,” I said, even as the smell of citrus made my mouth water.
“Honey, if you’re gonna do something, do it right.”
“Well, if we’re getting technical, you’re supposed to drink mezcal with worm salt, and I refuse,” I said, sticking out my tongue.Blech.
He held up his segment. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I touched my shot glass to his fruit, then knocked back the fiery alcohol and followed it up with my own slice of orange.
Skylar slipped the entire piece in his mouth, chewing as he refilled my shot glass. “Drink up.”
I did as he told me to, and the familiar warmth spread out from my neck and chest down into my belly. I didn’t drink much—I had businesses to run after all—so the mezcal hit quickly. I chased the smooth alcohol with another segment, humming as it burst on my tongue.
Skylar reached out and pushed my hair off my face. “Someone’s a cheap drunk.”
“I’m not cheap. Or drunk. I’m relaxed.”
“And your knee?”
“Still sucks, but I care less.”
“Good.” He stroked his chin as he gauged me with a look. “I’m gonna take it real slow and try to slide off this boot without yanking too much. That work for you?”
I bobbed my head, the move loose. “Fine by me.”
He stole more of the orange and ate it slowly, probably to give me a few more moments to allow the mezcal to filter through my bloodstream. Then, ever so gently, he wiggled my stubborn boot off my stubborn foot.
“Shit,” I spat out, then held out my shot glass.
Sky was quick to pour me another. “Now, don’t overdo it. If you yak all over yourself or further mangle your knee, I’m gonna be pissed.”
I bit my lips. “I might be a lightweight, but I need at least two more shots of this to worry about that.”
I decided not to mention throwing up in the stables earlier.
“Good man,” he said, pressing the final bit of orange into my mouth. I accepted it from him, accidentally sucking on the tip of his fingernail along the way.
“Oops, sorry.” I sighed, enjoying the sweet citrus. “Wait? Am I supposed to take my pants off now?”
“I’m thinking I should do that for you, cowboy.”
Heh. I kinda liked it when he called me cowboy.
Sky had me stand and hold my bed post as he worked off my belt buckle and lowered my zipper. With a slight push, my jeans fell to my ankles.
“I’ll have you know the last time I removed a man’s pants for him, he bought me that pretty little Porsche out front,” he said as he helped me gently step out of the pooled material.
“Open a dude ranch, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” I blew out raspberries. “I think you chose the better career path.”
