“She shot me down,” I say, hands in the air.
It was just old habit, not actual interest, anyway. Only one woman I like focusing my attention on these days.
“It won’t happen again. Besides, I like ’em a little more fiery. Thicker.” My brows nudge up, asking for agreement, but the Grady brothers both look away, like they have no clue how to respond to that.
Ronnie, though, he offers me a fist bump and I accept it graciously. He knows what’s up.
I lucked out running into him on my day off at the salon downtown. His wife is a stylist (maybe the only stylist there, actually), and she gave me a trim while he was hanging out there, and he and I got to talking. We swapped numbers, and, well, here we are.
Plus, all their women are across the street at the new wine bar that opened today, Smoky Sips.
The soft opening today signaled that every single business downtown is now open. Apparently it’s been years in the making, and these people are making a pretty big deal out of it. Had some press there and everything.
The café closed early after the big rush, and the whole team got the night off to celebrate. Me, with this crowd, and Lexi with her sister, Weston’s girl, and Ronnie’s wife.
“Speaking of,” I growl, leaning forward. I’m getting a little backed up when it comes to Lexi, and even the thought of her is apparently enough to get me a little too excited. No need to scare them off with my unruly soldier on the first guys’ night. “What should I know about Lexi?”
Weston laughs, whole and free, almost as loud as Ronnie, and even Wyatt snorts.
“You’ve got your hands full there,” Wyatt snickers.
Ronnie’s eyes sparkle with silent laughter. “My wife’s been her best friend since middle school. What do you wanna know?”
The bartender—black hair that’s shorter on the sides and slicked back longer on top, eyes just as dark—makes his way over and gestures with his chin instead of using his words like a big boy. His message is clear, anyway.What can I get ya?
“It’s on me, boys,” I say. “For the whole mom thing.” Not sure if that needed to be clarified, but just in case.
“Can you just never mention it again and we’ll call it even?” Weston asks.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Definitely what we want,” Wyatt mutters.
“Bourbon or beer?” the bartender interrupts, clearly not waiting for our little bonding moment to pass.
Wyatt takes one look at the three of us flanking him before he and Weston speak in unison. “Bourbon.”
“Thanks, Dallas!” Ronnie calls out after the retreating form of the guy I’d think was from Williamsburg if we were back in the Big Apple. Here, I think he’d just be called quiet and dark.
No connections in the life, from the looks of him, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he did time too. There’s something darkly kindred in him, but I think he hides it well. He manages to pull off understated in a way a lot of guys try real hard to rock. Throw on a curling mustache and some suspenders and he could’ve passed for a hipster not too long ago.
Four rocks glasses drop down on the bar top in front of us, and a top-shelf bottle of Foxx Bourbon spills into each cup, a good finger in each.
I’d be up for more, but apparently the guys are all being designated drivers for their women tonight so the ladies can go as hard as they want at the wine bar and this is our one-drink limit for the night.
A joke about them being whipped wanted to crack from my lips when they mentioned it on the way in, but it doesn’t sound like either of the Gradys had an easy go of it getting their women in the first place. I’m nothing if not a modern man and commend their efforts to keep earning their women day in and day out.
Once we’ve been served, Wyatt leads us to one of the last open tables, a high top over by the dart boards and pool tables. Ronnie grabs a fourth chair from a nearby group who isn’t using it and we all settle onto the bar stools with our glasses.
“So really, what kind of advice can you give me when it comes to Lexi?” I lean in toward the group, ready to be a good student.
“Alexis?” Wyatt tilts his head, brows up, puffing a huge breath out, scruffy cheeks full of air. “Use protection. And I don’t mean condoms. She’s not afraid to whip out her claws. She’s a swipe first, think about the damage later kinda gal.”
Weston nods thoughtfully, sipping his bourbon.
“Don’t get on her shit list,” Ronnie adds, swirling the caramel liquid in his glass.
“Mmm,” I say around a mouthful of my drink, savoring the taste before I swallow. “Couldn’t have told me that the day I rolled into town? What about once you’ve put your foot in your mouth?”
