Page 128 of Come Back to Me

Goddammit.

“I’m sorry, Callan.”

“Don’t be. I understand. I hate this place too sometimes.” His lips purse. “Did you tell her, or did she find out?”

“I told her.”

“Okay, so that’s better than her finding out for herself.”

“How come you didn’t…”

“Snitches get stitches. Cole rammed that lesson home when I was eight and he sat on me for three hours after I told Mrs. Abelman he was flirting with the housekeeping staff and sleeping with three of them at the same time.” He purses his lips. “Guess it makes sense why Tee’s been so flighty. I just thought it was PMS.”

“Callan!”

“What? I’m not being sexist. I’m being a realist. The amount of pain a woman can be in when she’s on her period is insane. No wonder they get crazy. I get crazy when I stub my toe. They’re being punched in the uterus for five days straight.

“Plus, when you’re as smart as we are?—”

“Thought she had an IQ point on you.”

“Really?” he sputters. “You had to go therenow?” Despite the topic, I hide a smirk. “Anyway. When you’re as smart AS WEARE, we’re closer to madness than most people. So, what are you doing to make it right?”

“You know. Stuff.”

“Like…?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“The woman might drive me to despair, but I like her, Cody. If I didn’t, I’d have told her who you were just to stop hearing about Butch freakin’ Cassidy and how clitoral orgasms shape the world. So?”

I hunch my shoulders. “It seems dumb if I say it out loud. Colt and I talked about this, but?—”

“You talked to Colt about this?” he grumbles. “The man who only married the love of his life because his father arranged the marriage behind his back? You’re going to him for emotionally intelligent advice? I might not have game, but I know how to woo a woman.”

“Oh, and how’s that?”

“It all started with letters. Why not fix it with them?”

I blink at him. “Huh.”

Then, he rattles off a few more suggestions and his gaze turns knowing. “I expect you to fix this. Fast. She’s maudlin. I can’t cope with her being maudlin. I never thought I’d prefer her insane, but she’s even better at games when she’s depressed and it’s bad for my ego.”

“Yes, sir,” I mock, saluting him.

Though he smirks, he tosses a saddle at my chest for me to catch.

“What else did he used to say?”

With an arm full of tack, I mutter, “Who? Colt?”

“No. Clay.”

“Oh.” I pause. “We’re back on that topic?”

“Sure. You and Colt don’t really talk about him that much.”

“Losing him hurt.”

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