If any of us hurt her, I would let him hit us with his truck. I never want to see her hurt, let alone be the one who caused it.
Abby skids to a stop, smushing against Cole’s side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders to steady her.
She glares up at him. “Are you giving them a hard time?”
“Why aren’t you asking if they are the ones bothering me?”
“Because you’re a pain in the ass, and you bother everyone.”
His eyes roll back into his head. “And yet you willingly choose to be around me… like, all the time.”
She grabs his cheeks, pinching them. “Because you’re so cute.”
He presses his palm to her forehead, shoving her away. “Menace.”
“Brute,” she grumbles.
How these two stopped bickering for long enough to make a baby together is beyond me.
She turns, training her beaming smile on me. Seeing her happy lights my soul on fire. “You want another drink?”
“Can I just do a Diet Coke this time? I really don’t want to feel like shit tomorrow.”
Linc’s closer to the nozzle, so he grabs a glass and fills it up for her. His eyes stay locked on her the entire time.
“Damn… that was hot,” she says as he places the glass in her hand. He gives her a wink and retreats to the end of the bar where other people are waiting.
We could have asked other staff to work tonight, but we wanted to keep it strictly to people Abby knew.
Cole pulls Abby in for a hug, then presses a kiss to her cheek.
“You’re so fucked, Abs.” She looks up at him with confusion. “I’ll be here to listen, just like you did for me last year when I started to figure it all out.”
He gives her shoulders a squeeze, then walks away.
“What was all that about?” she asks.
“Nothing, beautiful,” Wyatt says.
It must be the liquor in her system because she lets it go. Sober Abby would hound us for information like a dog with a bone.
A part of me wishes she would dig a little deeper. Staying trapped in these walls we all built is slowly suffocating me. I fucking hate it.
Male voices rise on the opposite side of the room. My eyes dart up to assess the situation, but it doesn’t look like anything serious. It looks like all the men from Thanksgiving are bickering about something, but it seemsmostlyplayful.
Two of them walk over in our direction. “Have you guys ever played softball before?” Grayson asks.
“Who cares if they’ve played before?” Brooks says, smacking him on the chest.
Grayson just rolls his eyes. He starts to say something but is cut off when Finn and Miles step up beside them.
“You guys should join our team this year,” Finn says, running his hands through his long Viking-like hair.
“No,” Brooks snaps. “You should be on our team.”
They continue arguing back and forth, while I stand here confused as fuck. I turn to Abby, who is smiling like a fool.
“What the hell are they talking about?” I ask her.
