“He’s not looking at me in anyway.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Outside, a truck engine rumbles loudly, the noise so jarring that I immediately know who it is.
Luke.
“Sounds like trouble,” Cristina murmurs.
“Agreed.”
We head into the hallway, where Pane’s looking up from the tape measure he’s holding to the foyer floor.
“It’s Luke,” I tell him.
His face darkens as he rises. “I’ll deal with this.”
I frown. “Do you ... Have you two met?”
“We may have had a run-in.”
My gaze drops to his bruise, and my jaw drops. “That’s not from ... You didn’t ...What happened?”
Pane’s jaw clenches and unclenches. “I beat him at poker.”
“Oh, you beat him at— Wait. What?” I can feel a line forming between my brows. “He hit you because you won?”
“Not exactly.”
“Wow,” Cristina chimes in. “Everyone knows he cheats. How’d you win?”
Pane’s face darkens. “I found out his secret.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense. How does he do it?” she asks. When I shoot her a hard look, she mutters, “It’s an honest question. We all want to know.”
“He’ll explain later,” I grind out.
Luke exits the truck, jerking his long limbs like he’s trying to shake something off him. Either he’s ticked, or a fire’s been lit under his ass. Thanks to Pane, my bet is that he’s ticked off.
Luke spies all his ex–poker buddies working on the fence, shakes his head in disgust, and approaches the house. He’s wearing his bank clothes—button-down shirt, gray suit pants, hair slicked to the side and his beard oiled.
He’s carrying papers.
His gaze drinks in the new lumber and the mended fence before he takes the porch steps two at a time.
“Morning,” he greets us through the screen door, his attention landing on Pane for all of half a second before he focuses on me.
“Morning,” I say icily.
“May I come in?”
Pane folds his arms over his chest. “No.”
Luke tugs at his collar. “Last I checked, this wasn’t your house, Maddox.”
“Last I checked, it wasn’t yours, either.”
Cristina whispers in my ear, “Is it sexy that they hate each other, or is it just me?”
