Page 115 of The Wounded Warrior

Rory glanced at him as they pulled through the circular drive. “I love that, you know? How excited you are.”

“Talk to me after we’ve been open a year.” The words warmed him, though, and Luke smiled.

“I intend to.”

Well, okay. “Like at night when we get home?” There. He’d tossed his cards in as well.

“Every single one. And on weekends when I come to help out, except for the one Sunday a month that’s just ours.”

Luke blinked. “You are the man with the plan, babe. Whatever will we do on these Sundays?” This was the best game ever.

“Love on the cats. Cook weird and decadent food. A metric fuckton of sex. Possibly a movie or two.”

“I like movies,” he teased. “The cats are okay. Ow! No titty twisters when you’re driving.”

“The impressive part is that I found it on the first try.”

“Well, you do know my nipples pretty well.” Rory seemed to be a fan of them, in fact.

“I may be the world’s foremost expert in them,” Rory agreed.

“Probably.” He couldn’t think of anyone else who had ever noticed them, come to that. “I like your dick, personally.”

“Yeah? I think it deserves a fan.”

“I could start a website, but that might be awkward.” Luke was laughing now, unable to help himself. Rory never took too long to bounce back. Resilient bastard.

“I think we’ll just spend some quality time with it, you and me and our penises.” Rory grinned, eye lines just barely showing. “That could be a song.”

“Don’t sing.”

“No, seriously.” Rory began to yodel. “You and me! And quality time. With. Our. Peniseseses!”

Oh, Jesus.

“Well, it’s never gonna be a breakout pop hit.”

“Maybe a gay anthem.”

“Oh, God. You’ll be the Lee Greenwood of queers.”

“I’m totally cuter than Lee Greenwood. Let me be the queer Robert Redford or Jon Bon Jovi or Keith Urban or something.”

“Does Robert Redford sing?” Luke liked that the choices were all mostly blond, though.

They hit the highway and Rory cranked up the music, letting them both bellow like bull moose.

They were heading home to face whatever shitstorm was coming and take that motherfucker down. It was time for them to have their lives back.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Looking Momma in the eye was tough, but it was nothing—nothing—to going to the office and seeing Lori, who walked right up to him and decked him, hard.

“Hey, honey.” Okay, that hurt. He rubbed his jaw, wiggled it.

“Fuck you! You bastard! You scared the piss out of me!”

“I’m sorry.” He was. He’d just shorted out, hopped in the car and run. “I lost my mind for a few days.”

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