I set her down and drop my head to the counter, tapping my foot aimlessly on the wooden floors.
Ping.
Amelia
Fine, I’ll be there in a week.
Don’t be late.
Holy shit.
“Cupcake, your new mommy is comingggg.”
She barks, her little body wiggling with excitement. I grin, snag my keys off the counter, and bend down to scoop her up. She licks my jaw as her tail smacks my arm.
“Alright, baby girl,” I murmur, cradling her against my chest. “Let’s go see my fuckass brother.”
Pushing open the front door with my boot, I close it gently. The evening air’s thick with heat and the soft hum of cicadas. Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I walk across the driveway. My Bronco is parked there, waiting, its metallic green chrome catching the last rays of sunset.
I open the passenger door, set Cupcake on the seat, and she quickly climbs up onto the dash, barking. I huff out a laugh, shake my head, then go around the hood, boots crunching on gravel. The driver’s side door squeaks as I open it, and I slide into the driver’s seat, leather creaking under my weight.
The engine roars to life with that deep, throaty growl that never fails to hit me in the chest. I roll the windowdown, letting the warm air rush in, my arm hanging loosely on the frame. Cupcake leans into the breeze, ears flapping, tongue lolling as if she were made for joyrides.
We hit the road, the Bronco eating up the miles between my place and Carter’s. Fields stretch wide on either side, fences blurring past, sky bleeding pink and gold with the sunset.
I pull into Carter’s driveway, the horizon painting his pasture in pink and orange hues. His ranch comes into view, with the worn-down red barn, cows grazing lazily in the distance, and horses grazing in the pasture.
I cut the engine, the sudden silence enveloping me. Cupcake yips, pawing at the window, her tail wacking the leather seat.
“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckle, grabbing her as I step out. My boots hit the gravel, and the air is full of hay, summer, and the faint smell of woodsmoke. “Let’s go see the family.”
I don’t bother knocking. Knocking’s for strangers, and I’m family.
The screen door squeaks as I yank it open, Cupcake squirming in my arms.
“QB1 is in the building, baby!” I holler, striding straight into Carter’s living room. “Hide your wife, hide your snacks, and somebody give me a hug!”
Carter’s voice comes from the kitchen, low and gruff. “Jesus Christ, Maverick.”
Catalina pops her head around the corner, her eyes lighting up the second she spots the dog. “CUPCAKE!” She comes running, arms out, ignoring me completely as she snatches the puppy from my hold. “Look at you, sweet girl.”
Mortally wounded as my sister-in-law ignores me, I canvass their house, analyzing every little thing the newlyweds have done with the place.
It smells like Bath and Body Works exploded in here. The intertwining scents of vanilla, matcha, and the faintest smell of brown sugar invade my senses.
The reclaimed wood beams are still intact, along with the same stone fireplace and leather couches, but now the place has lavender throw pillows with scandalous quotes, a neon sign above the kitchen arch that reads “Kiss the Cook,” and lavender-scented candles burning on every flat surface. She also forced him to remodel their guest bathroom because she said it was ugly.
Don’t even get me started on his shrine of pictures of Catalina in a boudoir photoshoot. Talk about obsessed.
I wanna be obsessed with my wife; I’d be such a good boy.
Carter’s still standing at his wooden kitchen counter, wearing a plain black tee, worn Wranglers, and his gold wedding band on display. No cowboy hat today, just his dark brown hair disheveled and pushed back.
His back is towards me, his muscles flexing as he whisks matcha for his precious wife.
It’s always matcha. His wife has him fully trained.
I want to be at my wife’s beck and call.
