“The party was . . . canceled.”
Perfect. He probably wanted to watch it on the loft’s big screen. With us.
“Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m here.” He winked, and I silently chided my knees for going soft.
2
First and goal.
Broncos down by four.
My left fist hit its target. Hard.
Second and goal.
Fifteen seconds left in the game.
I swung my leg in a roundhouse kick. The impact of the bag sent shockwaves through my body.
Third and inches.
I paused. Held my breath.
Hudson threw, the ball spiraled, Navaro was there, arms outstretched—
“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news.” A red screen replaced the make or break moment in the game.
“What?” I shrieked at the screen.
“Oh come on!” Antonio yelled. After they’d done some patrolling, Antonio and Shayla returned to the loft to watch the last part of the game.
“Shhhh,” Shayla waved her hand at our protests, “Listen.”
“Prairie City High graduate and notorious drug trafficker Alex, Boy Boy, Johnson has escaped from an Arizona prison today and is believed to be in the area.”
The newscaster showed a picture of a large man with a huge head of curly red hair and a single tear tattoo beneath his left eye.
“I went to school with Alex,” Antonio said. “He was scary even as a teenager.”
“Prairie City police would like its residents to be vigilant and keep their doors locked.”
“Super”—I threw my hands in the air—“If that’s it, can we see what happened at the end of the game?” I was practically shouting at the television.
“Boy Boy is thought to be armed and dangerous. If you spot him or have any information, please contact Prairie City PD.”
They listed off a phone number before saying, “Now we’ll head back to the Broncos-Raiders game where the Broncos have just caught the winning touchdown.”
The screen flashed to a sea of orange and blue flooding the field where a pretty blonde sportscaster interviewed the players.
“Of course they won, and I missed it.” I snapped the TV off.
“I’m sure we can catch a replay at the bar tonight,” Shayla said apologetically.
“Ooh, the bar. Would you like some company?” Antonio asked.
“No,” I said more harshly than I had intended. “I mean, I think it’s a girls’ night. Sorry.”
Antonio looked genuinely hurt.
“Maybe next time?” Shayla offered, and he smiled a bit. “I’ll be there right after my shift,” she said to me.
I nodded. “I’ll see you there after a bit.”
I wore a pair of casual jeans, a white ribbed tank, and a Denver Broncos hoodie. I swiped several coats of mascara over my lashes, pulled my towel-dried hair into a messy bun, and re-wrapped my hand though the bite marks were already starting to heal.
It wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t looking to impress anyone . . . especially at the local wing joint.
It wasn’t as if the perfect man would appear out of nowhere and whisk me off my feet. That was the stuff of my childhood dreams. Okay, and maybe my teenage dreams too. But I was an adult now. I didn’t believe in that stuff. Much.
“Rylie?” Mom called down the stairs. “Are you about ready for dinner?” I could already hear the commotion of my sister’s four young boys running laps through the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room overhead.
“Yep,” I called back and yanked on my Adidas.
Fizzy, my pit bull Lab mix, bounded up the stairs ahead of me and crashed into a tall and breathtakingly gorgeous man.
Luke.
That explained the smell of cookies and lasagna. I should have known.
“Fizzy, get down,” I said, my voice barely audible over Luke’s deep laugh and the boys’ squeals of delight.
“Rylie, can you please get control of your dog?” Megan yelled, as if my dog was any more of a problem than her four little tornadoes.
“Fizzy, off.” He obeyed and came to sit at my side.
Mom patted Fizzy on the head and then smoothed the collar of Luke’s blue button down shirt while she batted her eyelashes shamelessly. “I’m glad you were able to join us, Luke. Rylie was so excited when I told her you were coming.”
That little liar. She never told me he was coming. If she had, I wouldn’t be here. I shot daggers from my eyes hoping she’d feel my wrath.
“She was, was she?” Luke asked not looking at me. I hadn’t seen him in more than a month, and yet he managed to look a hundred times better than he did in my dreams. Not that I dreamed about him . . .
“It’s six o’clock, let’s eat.” My father stood from his leather recliner in the living room and made his way to the formal dining room—the only room with a table large enough to cater to our entire family plus Luke.
“What happened to your hand?” Luke asked me as Mom dished us each up large helpings of deliciously thick noodles, gooey cheese, and homemade marinara sauce.
I looked down. “Snake bite.”
Mom dropped my father’s plate in front of him with a loud thud. “A snake bite?” she shrieked as Dad wiped off the sauce that had flown from the plate onto his green golf shirt. “Do you go out of your way to try and get yourself killed?”
“It was only a bullsnake. Not venomous.” I assured her.
“Good thing it wasn’t a rattler,” Dad said with a smile. “When I was a boy we had a dog, Angus, who would kill rattlers out on the family farm. He could tell the difference between the rattlers and the bullsnakes. He wouldn’t get suckered by the bullsnakes’ antics or into thinking the rattlers were harmless.”
Perfect, a dog was smarter than me. I looked down where Fizzy lay quietly at my feet. He may not have been a snake hunter, but he was good at weeding out the human snakes. He had never liked Troy, my ex-boyfriend.
“The bullsnakes were the good ones. They kept the rodents away, and if they bit the livestock it wouldn’t kill them, so we kept them around. But good old Angus, he’d grab those rattlers
