Page 24
I really need to have a sit down and think about what comes out of my mouth sometimes. Friends? I get an overwhelming urge to bang my head against the wall. In my mind, being friends seemed like a good idea. It was nice and safe and I didn’t have to worry about a big burly man bossing me around. In reality the man has been polite and thoughtful and my ovaries seem to be popping out eggs every time he’s in the vicinity like a damned confetti cannon. Apparently every single one of the eggy bastards wants to be fertilized by Mad Dog and Mad Dog alone.
“Sure thing, babe,” he says so casually.
He steps up to the prep table I’m working on, standing a respectful distance away, because of course he is. His scent drifts over me and I have an overwhelming urge to bury my nose between his pecs.
“Stop,” I whisper under my breath to myself. I gotta rein these perimenopausal hormones in.
Why can’t I be the type where I’m turned off by sex? Why did I get the teenage boy equivalent of perimenopause?
“What was that?” Mad Dog asks, looking concerned but staying on his side of the table.
“Nothing!” I say, too damn brightly. “Just counting under my breath.”
I speed through the rest of the mixing, not giving a damn if I mess it up. I just need Mad Dog and Spermicide out in the main diner so I can catch my breath. I stir it haphazardly one last time, tapping the wooden spoon on the rim before having a taste. My face caves in at the amount of lime I dumped in but you know what? I’m sure it’s fine. I slide the concoction over to Mad Dog who gives me a wink that almost incinerates my panties before he turns and leaves the kitchen.
“Jesus H Christ,” I mutter, watching Mad Dog’s broad back leave the kitchen.
“He is pretty hot, for his age and all.”
I jump and my fight kicks in so I pull my arm back and fling the wooden spoon across the kitchen in the direction the voice came from.
“Ow, shit!”
“Sorry!” I yell at Rider, my hand splayed across my chest.
He rubs his forehead where the wooden spoon bounced off him. “Jesus, Willa!”
“Maybe don’t sneak up on me then!”
“I wasn’t sneaking, I was checking the back door,” he argues.
“Why?”
Rider freezes in his tracks, flicking a glance over his shoulder at me, “Ah, cos it’s a door?”
I cross my arms over my chest, something fishy is going on. “You don’t sound so sure about that?”
“What? No! I’m sure. I was just checking the door. For…reasons.”
I narrow my gaze at him, but hell, who am I to question what Rider gets up to? Shrugging, I collect up the empty bottles of apple juice and lime juice and follow behind him.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he grumps.
“To the dumpster? I’m not leaving these lying around for someone else to deal with.”
He stares at me, then the door, then me again. “Give them here, I’ll take them. You go hang out with the girls. I think they’re going to do some…games?”
“Rider?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you always this weird?”
He starts to scoff before rethinking it. “Ah, yeah, always weird. Love back doors.” His eyes grow wide. “But not that like! Unless the lady asks for it. But not my ass. That’s Rhodie type shit.”
We stare at each other for a moment. “Screw it, you can take the trash out.”
“Thank God,” he exhales.
