I pull back, crossing my arms over my chest and trying the old cleavage trick. It doesn’t work, damn him. “I don’t need to, asshole. The doctor said ‘as needed’ andit isn’t needed.”
He sighs, putting the pill back into the orange bottle and setting both it and the fancy new water bottle he’d bought down next to me. “Baby,” he starts, setting his hands on the counter on either side of me.
“Don’t ‘baby’ me.”
“Tex,” he says instead, as if that’s any better. I wish I still hated that stupid fucking nickname. “Dr. Carson assured you over and over again that it wasn’t addictive.”
“Anything can be addictive if you let yourself rely on it.” Even him.
He tilts his head, getting those wrinkles by his eyes that he gets when he’s trying too hard to read me. I hate them. After a beat, he sighs, kissing the uninjured side of my forehead and pushing away from the counter.
“Fine,” he says, walking over to the hooks by the wall and putting on his hat. “But you promise you’ll take them if you need them?”
“Sure,” I placate him. I’m going to the bar as soon as he leaves. If I take that damn medicine, it’ll just make me too drowsy to drive. Honestly, I almost think that’s the effect he’s after, rather than the pain-dulling one.
Today’s the first day he’s agreed to go back to his chores on the ranch and he’s already starting later in the day than he ever would’ve allowed himself before I came into his life and set fire to his routine. I was really good at destroying things like that.
“I mean it, Tex.”
“Aware.” He can mean it all he wants but it doesn’t have any bearing on whether or not I’m going to do what he wants. It’s not like he’s going to spank me if I disobey him. He’s barely touched me since the hospital.
Maddox opens his mouth to say something else, and then apparently thinks better of it, shaking his head and opening the cabin door. I can just barely see my pickup outside behind him. Kenny brought it over when she and Jameson ransacked my house for me. The boxes of my things were still lined up againstthe wall in Maddox’s bedroom, despite the closet space and four drawers he cleared for me. I purposely left the box with my vibrators open, but Maddox hadn’t even noticed, as far as I could tell.
“Have a good day at work,” I mumble, feeling just a little bit bad for being so stubborn when it was clear he just wanted to help me.
He grunts in response, closing the door behind him.
I give it a bit, making sure he’s actually going to work today instead of coming back to check in every hour. The bar opens at three and I don’t particularly want to be there when it opens unless I’m behind it serving drinks. It’s not worth everyone seeing the colorful state of my face unless I can get pity tips for it.
Dale whistles when I walk into the bar, hobbling around it to pull me into a hug. I’m not really a hug person, but I make an exception for Dale. He’s gentler than he usually is and I can’t really return the gesture, considering one of my arms is in a sling, but I do my best with my working arm, knocking my wrist brace against his back.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he drawls.
I snort. “A sight, for sure. How’s my bar doing? Run it into the ground yet?”
“Almost,” he says, hands on his hips as he nods. His eyes continue to flick over my face and the parts of my body he can see—a lot less than usual, granted. Typically, my work uniform consists of short little denim shorts and graphic tees I’ve made into crop tops, but I’m bruised literally everywhere and when I tried on my normal attire this morning, it didn’t feel armor-like anymore.
“Not for lack of trying, I’m sure. Who’s on staff tonight?”
“Angie,” he says, in a way that makes it sound like Angie’s been on staff the past several days.
“When was her last day off?”
“Hey, I’m not working her any harder than she’s asking to be worked!” he says defensively. “She’s off tomorrow night.”
“Who works tomorrow night?”
“I do.” He stands up straighter, proud. I roll my eyes. “I can handle my own damn bar.”
“Sure you can, Dale,” I tell him, walking around behind it. The liquors are out of order—the rum on the left side of the tequila instead of the right. I don’t see the ice scoop and I don’t go looking for it, knowing it’s inside the bin and knowing it’s only going to piss me off if I push open the bin and see ice in there from last night. I open the fruit fridge and see already-prepped lemon and lime circles—not wedges. I love Angie, but we have very different ways of doing things, and her ways irk the shit out of me.
“Why don’t you call Angie and see if she wants the weekend off?”
“Now why would I do that? The Dodgers play tonight.”
I roll my eyes at him. “The Dodgers play damn near every night from March through September. You’re telling me you don’t miss any games?”
“Not if I can help it,” he grumbles.
