Groaning at the feeling of the wet warmth squeezing me tightly, I froze to make sure she was okay.
With her nails embedded in my back, she moaned, “Holy shit.”
I held myself in place as we both tried to catch our breaths after the song stopped before it started up again. “What’s that?”
Then it sank in. “Damn it, that’s DB.”
Her limbs tightened around me as she lifted her head to look over my shoulder, which didn’t help with how much it was taking me to hold back from moving again. “Where?”
I was so focused on what I was doing that her question didn’t make sense. “What?”
“Where’s DB?”
“Oh, on the phone.”
The music stopped again, and I relaxed, but it was quickly replaced by the chorus to Thank God I’m A Country Boy.
I could see and feel her fighting laughter. “Who’s that?”
Seeing the humor in it, my lips twitched. “Carter.”
You’d think having the cognitive abilities to identify ringtones with people would make it hit home that work was calling, but unfortunately, it didn’t. It still didn’t when Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac took over the playlist.
Before she could ask, I identified it for her. “That’s Garrett.”
All of the tension left her body as she dropped her head onto the pillow and burst out laughing, squeezing down around me and making me groan.
“I think work’s trying to get in touch with you,” she wheezed, tightening again.
Take It Easy started playing again, and I lunged toward the phone, managing to reach it without detaching from her.
I didn’t even get to say anything as I hit the green answer icon.
“Richards, get your ass in here,” he snapped and hung up just as a call waiting beep sounded with Carter’s name on the screen.
Glancing at Bex, I hit answer. “It’s cool, I just spoke to DB. I’m on my way.”
“Yeah,” he growled, the sound of his indicator following it. “Did he tell you we have a problem and how big a problem it is?”
Looking away from her, I stared at the headboard, thinking how good it would be for her to hold onto while I took her from behind.
“Logan, for fuck’s sake, focus,” Carter clipped down the phone, making me wince.
“I’m focused,” I said defensively, ignoring Bex’s snicker. “What’s happened?”
As he laid out why we were being summoned in the middle of the night, my eyes narrowed.
“That little bastard. Give me twenty, and I’ll be there.” Hitting the end call icon, I kissed Bex as apologetically as I could. “Trust me when I say there’s very little that would be able to take me away right now, and that I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t urgent.”
Her expression went from curious to concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” I told her honestly. “But I’m hoping it will be.”
“Will you be safe?”
Her words were as beautiful as they were painful. She still didn’t hold a grudge against me, and even now she was putting me first.
Pushing her hair away from the side of her face with my thumb, I leaned down and touched my lips gently against hers. “I will be. If I don’t get to see you before you leave for work, do you have space in your day to come and see me?”
I meant it. It was important to me that I got that extra time with her before I came home, no matter when it happened.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Wild horses couldn’t have pulled me away from her, but the one person who was considerably smaller than one but a massive pain in the ass could.
Fucking Diego Mantoya, the little hemorrhoid pimple.
Chapter Twelve
Bexley
“Explain it to me like I’m five,” Ava said through my car speakers, and I turned the volume down on them in case she repeated anything I told her.
We’d all been there, pulled up at the lights with someone on their in-car system next to us, every word of their conversation broadcasted to the people around them. There was no way in hell I was risking it.
“You guys were in the process of bumping uglies—”
“Bumping what?”
“Doing the nasty,” she explained, and it clicked.
“I mean, I didn’t get to see his penis during it, but I did before then, and it isn’t ugly. I guess no penis is good looking—”
“Or vagina,” she interrupted, and I had to agree with her.
“I haven’t held a mirror up to my own rose garden, but I’m gonna agree with that,” I shuddered.
“Really? I’ve looked at mine. How do you check to see if you trimmed the bushes equally?”
I blinked at the car in front of me, hoping that we pulled away soon. How many people could hear this?
“I don’t have bushes, per se, more like shrubs—”
“Amen on the non-bush gardens. Imagine if it was super bushy putting a tampon in?”
I grimaced, just as movement to the left of me caught my attention.
The first thing I saw was Tom Townsend staring down at me from the truck beside me, his sunglasses lowered so that he was looking over the top of them. His mom was also grinning over his shoulder, her body shaking as she laughed.
Like that wasn’t bad enough, she gestured with her thumb behind her at the sidewalk, making me glad I couldn’t see who was there.
Smiling weakly, I looked to my right to break the awkward eye contact and then groaned. My freaking dad was staring at me with his mouth open and cheeks bright red, holding up the toilet plunger I’d asked him to pick up for me, like he was going to throw it at Pops’ car.
And, oh, it got so much worse the more I looked.
Standing next to him was Logan’s dad, who was staring down at his feet like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t there. It was Logan’s grandad, though, who was the reason that my foot
