Lyric’s eyes grow wide with excitement as she adjust hers arms to scoop him up. And just as predicted, he flops back in her arms and lets her hold him like a damn baby. This dog, I swear. He’s the picture of calm, with a slack head and floppy paws. It’s his tail that betrays him. It’s flicking back and forth at a good pace.
Truth be told, I do use Tater as a thermometer for people. If he trusts them, so do I. For example, he does not like our next-door neighbor, Mr. Talbot. And let me put it this way: if the cops suddenly swarmed his house and dug up bodies in his backyard, I wouldn’t be not one bit surprised. He’s got those “too nice” vibes, if you know what I mean.
“This is the living room,” I say, motioning to the couch and surrounding area. Yeah, great. Like she doesn’t know what a fucking living room looks like. “Over here’s the kitchen, and really, I have just about anything you could need. You’re welcome to use any of it.”
I watch her eyes roam over what I consider to be the cherry on top of this house. When I bought it, I pretty much stripped itdown to the studs in every room. I mean, hell, I bought the thing. I wanted it to be perfect. I put a thick butcher block countertop in, painted the cabinets white on top and sage on the bottom, with stainless steel appliances and a clean white subway tile backsplash.
“The oven is gas, six burners. The kitchen wasn’t as big as I wanted it to be, but I managed to make it work.”
“Wow,” she says, her eyes still taking it all in. She catches sight of me looking at her and blinks several times, seemingly snapping out of a trance.
“But before I show you the rest of the place, maybe we should talk? And pardon my manners, can I get you something to drink?”
Lyric’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, likely surprised by both questions.
“Oh, um, what do you have?”
“Sweet tea, beer, and water.” Wow, those are not a lot of things.
“Sweet tea, please.”
I round the corner of the island and grab a glass from the cabinet next to the fridge. I push it into the door to fill it with ice, the silence behind me deafening. Ice clinking into a glass has never been so fucking loud.
“So what do you want to talk about? I brought references and my ID, if you need me to fill out an application?”
I spin around slowly with her glass, slide it onto the counter in front of a stool, and invite her to sit. She does, to my relief,after putting Tater down. “Uh, no, nothing like that. I mean, about the thing.”
“What thing?” she asks, picking up her glass. She presses her bottom lip to the edge, eyes still on me as she sips.
I do not miss the knot in my throat I have to swallow or the fact that my dick just jumped a little. I quietly shift my weight from one leg to the other.
“Well, the night we?—”
“Oh, we don’t need to talk about that,” she says, tossing it out so casually, I’m unsure if we’re talking about the same thing for a minute. But I know we are. There are literally no other things we could be talking about.
“We don’t?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.” She shrugs, taking another sip.
“Well, we almost?—”
Lyric’s hand flies up between us, halting me. She gulps from her glass, then sets it down, exhaling slowly. “Listen, Waylon. Before you get all feelings and emotions on me, I’m fine. I’ve been fine. Nothing happened between us, and we can move on. It only got weird for like a second because you literally never talked about it.” She huffs and starts again. “I mean, did I want to know why you got up and left after the next morning and then ignored me? Sure, I did. But that’s in the past. I don’t still wonder about it.” She pauses, looking around. “And to be quite honest, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. It was a single kiss. I’m going to need a lot more than one little kiss to feel something.”
At some point during her rant, I folded my arms over my chest in pure amusement. My mouth has involuntarily lifted on the left side like it does when I’m enjoying myself. And I know she knows that. If she were a mythical creature, she would be a baby dragon. But because I don’t want to get kicked in the manhood, I don’t tell her that.
The night in question was a doozy. She knows it. I know it. But it would seem we’ve reached an impasse.
CHAPTER 4
LYRIC - A YEAR AND A LITTLE BUT AGO
Normally,I’d be mad if Darcy bailed on me and left me with people I don’t know. Especially so she could take a guy back to her room. But I know for a fact he’s not just a random guy to her. And I’m so busy wishing this tattooed cowboy in front of me would fuck me, I couldn’t give a shit less.
Ridge’s friend Waylon may be the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life. He’s tall as fuck and inked all over. And the whole cowboy thing usually isn’t something I’m into, but tonight I’m learning maybe all the rest of them around Nashville just don’t do it like Waylon does.
Banks and Killian already claimed the couches in the living room, and I’m starting to think they’re wingmanning for their friend over here. Because he’s leaning back against my kitchen island and stretching his arms over his head and yawning like he’s waiting for an invite.
“You can sleep in my room, if you want,” I casually throw out. Though I’d like to do just about anything with him but actually sleep.
