“You’re insane, is what you are.” I shake my arms out at my sides, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet. “You’re also going to fall over if you’re not ready when I start.”
“Insane. Hungry. Lonely,” he says before taking another bite of the cookie, speaking around it. “I’m always ready, though. Do your worst. I won’t fall over.”
I jab at the bag hard enough to throw him a little off-balance, but not enough to make him fall over. At least he shoves the last of the cookie into his mouth and steps fully into position on the other side. “We need a woman.”
I exhale hard and keep jabbing, throwing every ounce of my own frustration into each punch. “You know it’s not that easy. We’re looking. Be patient.”
“Patient? You sound like Boone.” He slaps the bag lightly with the back of his hand. “I got blue balls here, man. That’s not patience, that’s torture.”
I don’t stop punching. “Then maybe you should work out more. It’s a great stress reliever. We’ve got a nice, heavy bag right hereand I’m doing sprints later. It’ll make you forget all about your balls.”
He groans, leaning back against the wall and forgetting all about the bag. Raking both hands through his sandy blonde hair, he drops his head forward and inhales deeply. “A stress reliever? I think what you mean to say is that it’s torture by sweat.”
“It’s better than whining.” I jab again. “And it works. Guaranteed.”
Looking up at me, he scratches absently at the inside of his wrist, right over the tattoo of a padlock worked into an intricate circuit board snaking up his forearm.
“How about we go out tonight?” he asks, kicking one ankle over the other and crossing his arms as I keep punching. He smirks at me from under the lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. “Let’s see if you’ve still got the other kind of stamina.”
I groan, but my fists keep flying. “Youreallyneed to hit the trail with me later. It’ll drive you crazy if you keep obsessing about this.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Someone’s gotta be the adult,” I say. “Boone’s not here right now, so that leaves me.”
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, be the adult, but if I die of frustration before you find a girl, I’m haunting your ass.”
“Noted.” I punch the bag one last time and step back, letting it swing to a natural stop. “You’ll live longer if you come for a run and besides, you’re already haunting me.”
“Is that a no for tonight?”
A trickle of exasperation rolls through me. “It’s a fuck no. We’ve already talked about this, man. Wherever the girl we’re supposed to be with is, it’s not here. It’s unlikely she’d have rolled into town this morning and then decided to spend her first night drinking at The Uncorked Cowboy.”
“I’man uncorked cowboy.”
I can’t help but laugh as I slide the gloves off and flex my fingers. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re no cowboy. Uncorked or otherwise.”
He pushes off the wall with a sigh. “Maybe that’s what I should do. Build some stables and buy a horse. Become a cowboy.”
I jerk my head toward the view and meet his piercing blue gaze. “Does that look like the kind of terrain that’s navigable on horseback?”
“Maybe a goat instead.”
I chuckle, but right now, I’m only sixty percent sure he’s joking. Dillon, Boone, and I have known each other since high school, and we’re staring forty in the face in just a couple of years. That means I’ve known him longer than I haven’t, but sometimes, I still can’t read him.
“You can’t ride a goat,” I say before running a towel over my face. “I also don’t think goat-riding would qualify you as a cowboy, so I think it’s about time you accepted you’re shit out of luck on that front.”
“I’m shit out of luck on every front,” he grumbles as we leave the gym side by side, climbing the wide staircase that leads to the main floor. “Something needs to give, man. Building an empireand giving back to the community is great and all, but I want more. I need more. I want the woman who completes us.”
“Have you put up the ad for a data-entry specialist yet?” I ask when we hit the landing. “We’re drowning in spreadsheets over here and I’m not complaining, but the business is growing faster by the day. We need an ass in that seat. Maybe you should be thinking about that instead.”
Dillon shrugs. “I haven’t done it yet. Soon. I’ve been busy.”
“Busy inventing breakfast items that shouldn’t exist?” I rub the towel along the back of my neck as we reach the top of the stairs.
Dillon rakes a hand through his hair again and shrugs. “If they shouldn’t have existed, I wouldn’t have invented them. I know you liked the omelet waffles.”
“Pouring beaten eggs and veggies onto a waffle iron is an abomination.” I glance at him as I drop into a stool at our kitchen island. “The ad, Dillon. It’s important. I’m serious here. If we wait much longer, we’re never going to be able to clear the backlog.”
