Page 19 of Ridin' Free
“You likefuckingme. You don’t like me. You don’tknowme.”
“That’s what I’m gettin’ at, sparky. Can’t know you unless I try—and a date would be me tryin’.”
I spun my car keys around my finger, caught them in my palm, and pressed my fists against my hips before I muttered, “Keep callin’ mesparkyand mynowill become afuckno.”
He chuckled then pushed himself away from the side of my Bronco. He stood in front of me, forcing me to look up as he said, “Hope you know I’m not givin’ up that easy.”
I hesitated, genuinely confused where this was coming from.
The sex was good. Better than good. I’d give him that, but not much else. I didn’t have a magic pussy, and everyone knew Twister was not the kind of man who bought a woman dinner before he took her to bed. Or after, for that matter.
“I’ve been behind that bar for six years,” I began, nodding back at the building I recently vacated. “Not once have you shown any interest in me.”
“Everyone knows better than to mess with the redhead behind the bar. Until the other night, that’s all you were.”
I hesitated again, folding my arms across my chest. It was clear one of us was confused—but maybe it wasn’t me, after all.
“A date isn’t gonna change what this is.Was. If you’re only tryin’ to get laid?—”
“I’m not a hound, I’m a Stallion. I don’t need advice on how to get my dick wet. You’re one hell of a rider. Your kisses don’t suck either—but there’s a woman underneath all that bravado,and I plan to take her out. Now, I’ll let you chew on that. You have yourself a good night.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already walking away. Coughing out an exasperated breath, I watched him, left speechless by my immeasurable irritation.
He was almost out of earshot when I found my words and hollered, “Already thought about it. Answer’s still the same.”
Twister didn’t bother to turn around.
He waved and, speaking through a smile I didn’t have to see to know was there, he shot back, “Think again, sparky.”
At six o’clock onSaturday evening, I pulled up to the address Winnie texted earlier. There was a truck parked on the curb and a sedan on one side of the driveway. Considering my load, and the fact that I wouldn’t be staying long, I opted to pull in next to the sedan.
I’d made an aluminum pan full of beef enchiladas, and they were still warm to the touch when I retrieved them from the passenger seat. I looped the grocery sack I packed with additional food stuff around my wrists and then moved to step out of my vehicle. After I carefully closed the driver’s side door with my foot, I journeyed toward the front porch and then hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I should ring the bell or knock. I didn’t have much experience with newborns.
As soon as I made up my mind and decided knocking would probably be best, my phone began to ring from the front pocket of my long-sleeved, plaid button-up. I readjusted my grip on the tin of enchiladas and pulled out the device only to find I went through the effort for nothing. It was Georgia calling, and I had no intention of answering. I silenced it, then turned on the do-not-disturb setting and dropped it back into my pocket.
It wasn’t until after I rang the bell, the alert resounding from the other side of the door, that I remembered I was planning on knocking.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
It was Jenna who opened the door. Her honey-brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was more dressed down than I’d ever seen her—in a pair of leggings and a tee-shirt that was most definitely one of Maverick’s. She looked exhausted at first glance; but when she smiled at the sight of me, I believed it.
“I didn’t mean to ring the bell. I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she laughed, smoothing a hand over the back of the baby in her arms. I knew right away this one wasn’t hers. She was far too big. Lydia-Jane, with her wispy blonde hair, twisted her little neck in order to peek back at me as Jenna continued, “There are currently no sleeping babies in this house.”
“Glad I didn’t disturb anyone.” Nodding down to the food in my hands, I said, “Brought dinner.”
“Bless you,” she breathed, stepping aside to make room for me. “Please, come in. The kitchen is off to the left.”
I glanced around what I could see of the Daughtry residence as I followed her directions. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the house was remarkablyhomey—not with Jenna living there. Nevertheless, after years of working behind the bar with Maverick propped up against it, it was strange to think he livedin a place like this. So suburban, so clean, and already littered with baby paraphernalia.
Strange as it was, I found it just as reassuring.
Not all men were monsters—and he was proof.
“You can set it down anywhere. Thank you for doing this,” said Jenna as she trailed after me into the kitchen.
I put the pan on the stove, unloading the tortilla chips and salsa onto the island as I told her, “It’s enchiladas. I didn’t make any dessert. I’m not huge on sweets, so I’m not much of a baker.”
