“Whoa there, tiger,” he half-growls and half-laughs.
I blink a few times, and reality begins filtering back in. We’re in public. At a bar. And I’m practically mounting my best friend in front of people I grew up with. In fact, there’s Pastor Dan. I manage a weak wave his way and make a note to avoid him for the next fifty years.
Several people cover their mouths to hide their mirth, and I bury my flaming face in Dallas’s shoulder as his body shakes with laughter. But not before noting that Shane has disappeared.
Chapter
Fourteen
CONFUSED AS A GOAT ON ASTROTURF
Dallas
It’s day seven of waking up with a raging boner so hard I can feel my heartbeat in my balls. I’m pretty sure that’s not healthy. Middle-aged guys can’t handle this sort of temptation without an ensuing heart attack. Yeah, Shelby’s taken to wearing oversized sweats and T-shirts to bed, and I’ve been joining her, both of us religiously sticking to our own side of the bed. But just the idea of her being so close all night is driving me out of my mind.
I blame the kissing. Damn, the woman can kiss. She’s feisty in conversation but then goes all soft and warm and malleable in my arms. Honestly, I’ve become a little obsessed with her mouth. I find myself staring at her lips when we’re talking, daydreaming about ways I can get her in public and therefore have a reason to kiss her.
Hell, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and just stare at her sleeping like some kind of creep, wishing I could pull her into my arms and wake her up with a kiss that turns hotter and leads to peeling those damn sweats off.
Instead of doing any of that, I slide out of bed, gripping my dick and willing it to behave. I told Ridge I’d ride out with him at daybreak to look over the herd. Nelly lifts his head from his dog bed. I swear he’s shaking his head at me. I flip him off, and he whines as he lowers his head back to his paws.
He’s taken to ditching me in favor of shadowing Shelby. Even my own dog prefers her company. Believe me, he deserves the middle finger.
My worn jeans feel like concrete as I try to stuff myself into them. Maybe I just need to rub one out in the shower. I was holding off doing that, thinking it would be cheating on Shelby somehow. You know, just testing my willpower in case we make this engaged thing long-term or even get married for real like we promised on that napkin. And so far, it sucks.
I don’t think I can be married to Shelby and remain celibate. It’s impossible. One glance at her licking her lips after she eats supper at my table, or the shape of her ass when she bends over to pull her boots on, and I’m ready to nail her against the wall and damn the consequences.
I am all too aware that I sound like a teenage boy who can’t control himself. At the ripe old age of forty, you’d think I’d have a handle on my raging hormones, but it’s like this fake engagement with Shelby has created some sort of midlife hormonal renaissance.
Ridge isn’t the only surly one this morning as he and I ride out on Whiskey and Echo, Ridge’s preferred no-nonsense horse. We’re quiet, enjoying the scenery while a sense of dread puts a damper on the morning. The humidity is cranked high already this morning. Even the insects are taking the day off to keep cool. I’m hopeful we won’t find any more sick calves. With the ones we’ve lost already, we’ll take a pretty significant financial hit this year, but it won’t devastate the ranch. At least accordingto Pops. I don’t want to think about what will happen if we find more.
“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Ridge finally asks after we’ve been riding for over half an hour.
I look over in surprise. Ridge isn’t a talkative guy on a good day. I figured he’d appreciate my sour mood and the quiet ride even more.
“I could ask you the same.”
Ridge grunts. “Tiffany Grace is going to her parents in South Carolina for a visit.”
I deserve a fuckin’ buckle for holding back the eye roll. There’s a time and place for talking shit about Ridge’s wife, and to his face is not one of them. “Seems like an odd time to leave when we need all-hands-on-deck.”
He doesn’t answer for a bit. When he does, his tone makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. He never does. Those two have been having problems for the entirety of their marriage. There’s no love lost between the rest of us and Tiff. We keep nudging Ridge in the direction of divorce, but he’s stubborn as a mule. Guess he wants to wallow in his unhappiness for the rest of his life. Sounds like torture to me.
“Can I ask you a question?” It’s out before I have a chance to rethink what I’m about to ask.
Ridge grunts, which I take as a yes. He has a lot of grunts, and after forty years of knowing the guy, I pride myself on knowing the difference between his various grunts.
“How’d you know you were in love with…your wife?” I stumble over my words, refusing on principle to call her Tiffany Grace. The woman’s got her nose so high in the air she can smell a storm coming from across the Gulf.
Ridge’s jaw clenches even harder than usual, but as we come over the ridge and see a cluster of the cattle we’ve been looking for, he answers me. “Not sure I’m the authority on this topic, butwhen she had me so crazy in the head I couldn’t live without her, I put a ring on it.”
I grimace, spitting out a laugh. “So, being messed up in the head is how you know?”
“Yup,” Ridge mutters, then clicks his mouth and takes off toward the herd, leaving me behind to contemplate what I’m pretty sure is bad advice. Because, according to Ridge’s definition, I’m in love with Shelby.
And ain’t that a kick in the pants?
“Fuck,” I say to the breeze. “Maybe I should have asked Pops.”
