Page 177 of Wild Card

Hell, I threw in a couple hundred bucks to tip the crew for sticking around ‘til the end. Their insistence to stay likely had to do with Sayge’s presence, but who gives a shit. It was fucking nice not to have to wake up this morning to a house and yard to clean up.

“Redneck royalty doesn’t drop almost a grand on booze,” Ford counters his soon-to-be father-in-law.

“A grand? You didn’t spend a grand on liquor. How? The wine was donated. Major’s parents own the winery.”

“They invested in the winery,” Major corrects.

“Tomato, To-mah-to.”

“You’re welcome to go inside and watch television or take a nap.”

Hotch eyes Ford irritably. “Naps are for old people.”

“Tomato, To-mah-to.”

Ford’s rebuttal has everyone but Hotch chuckling. “Watch it, smartass. My daughter hasn’t walked down the aisle yet. There’s still time to back out.”

“If that happens, do we get the coffee maker back?”

Major slices his eyes to Drake. “You make six figures and you’re bitching about a coffee maker?”

“Sam and I paid a whack for that thing.”

“Not my doing. Rowan selected it, saying she wanted the best coffee for when her dad visited.” Ford’s brow rises, daring Hotch.

Hotch’s frustration dies on the spot and he scans over to the galley of women. “My girl’s always lookin’ out for me.” He glances back at Ford. “You seriously spent a grand on booze?”

“Entertaining this crowd comes with a price.”

“I’ll pitch in.”

“Not necessary, it’s covered.”

I’ve been around Hotch enough to know his scowl speaks for itself. This conversation isn’t over, but he’s done sparring in front of the group. He’ll find a way to contribute and there will be no argument.

“Another weekend of celebrations.” Gill, Jewls’ dad, joins us carrying Levi.

The other dads crowd in as well.

“I’m glad it’s a fucking celebration. Beats the alternative.”

My dad has the same mix of anger and concern he wore the weeks he was here after the abduction. “Although, I have a feeling we will be back soon enough for another wedding shower.”

I tip my chin in acknowledgement. “Let me get her through the licensing exam.”

“You’re shitting me. Again? Does this mean Drake and I need to get money ready?” Sam blows out a breath.

Drake and Sam may be pains in the ass, but they’re great fucking financial advisors. Ford, Ace, Major, and I chose to invest with them years ago, and they’ve made us a lot of money.

“If my son keeps dropping thirteen-hundred dollars on shoes, I’d say he’ll need funds.”

“You shitting me? Didn’t take you for a footwear fashionista.”

“Your mom honed in on them pretty damn quick. Hard to miss.”

“You dropped that kinda cash on a pair of shoes? I thought my brother was the only idiot in this group.” Sam steps out of reach right before Major can slap him.

If Sam knew the appreciation Willow showed Friday night, he’d know I’m not an idiot. He’d also understand why I’ll gladly spend that fucking money over and over. Instead, I answer his original question.

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