Games of the Heart
Page 102

“So, boiling all that down, you’re saying I can’t take you to bed and f**k you as my way of saying thank you for making me feel easy.”
She melted into him but answered quietly, “Unfortunately, yes.”
She was right. It was unfortunate.
“Then we should get going.”
She didn’t move or let him go.
Instead she called, “Mike?”
He slid his hand back to her jaw and answered, “Yeah?”
“Sure you’re easy?”
He held her eyes and whispered, “Yeah.”
“You see me giving up a lot. But I don’t think you get what I’m gaining.”
“I get it.”
“Then I’m not sure you understand how much it means to me.”
He pulled in breath and that burn in his chest came back.
“Well if I didn’t,” his eyes tipped out the window at the darkening horizon then they came back to her, “now I do.”
She held his gaze.
Then she smiled.
Then she whispered on an arm squeeze, “Good.”
Then she rolled up on her toes, kissed him quickly, let him go and they got in their rental SUV and drove to Schub’s.
*
“You want, I can find you a leather strap and you can bite down on it. Won’t ease the pain but it’ll mean you won’t scream.”
That was Rivera giving Texas advice for sitting at a Saloon and Hoedown watching your woman getting whipped around by a mechanical bull for the third time.
Yes, the third time.
Clearly, she’d done it often but had not got any better at it. Mike knew this because two seconds after Rivera’s offer, off Dusty flew to land in a pit of sawdust covered foam rubber.
She jumped to her feet, hair flying, sawdust drifting, body unsteady as she tried to balance on the foam rubber. Once steady, she threw her hands in the air and screeched, “Giddyup!”
The crowd went wild.
Yes, for the third time.
“Jesus,” Mike muttered.
“Payback,” Rivera muttered back and Mike tore his gaze from his woman brushing off flakes of sawdust to the handsome, half-Mexican-American, half-WASP man sitting with him at the table and smiling a big white smile.
“Pardon?”
“You laid her out,” Rivera reminded him. “Now, I coulda called and warned you that Schub’s was not the place to be…” he hesitated, “ever with Jerra and Dusty. We coulda gone to Del Rio Cantina. Best Mexican food outside of Mexico. Quiet until the mariachi band starts roaming. And although the tequila and lime juice flows and those two women get loud, there’s no mechanical bull to climb on and there’s no DJ to beg to play ‘Achy-Breaky Heart’.”
“Fuck,” Mike muttered, not looking forward to that part of the evening.
“Yeah. They love that song though they start it dancing and end it hanging on each other giggling. Then they sit at the table and talk for an hour about how the mullet is a male hairstyle that’s underappreciated.”
“Christ.” Mike was still muttering.
“Don’t worry, I think they’re jokin’,” Rivera assured him.
Fuck, he hoped so.
“So, to sum up,” Hunter went on. “You’re here as payback. I think this is painful enough you’ll never do the dirt on Dusty again.”
Mike’s eyes drifted to the mechanical bull to see Jerra climbing on it with Dusty on the sidelines jumping up and down, clapping, shouting and more bits of sawdust that she hadn’t swiped off drifting from her clothes and hair.
Mike’s eyes went back to Rivera. “I’m not certain the punishment fits the crime.”
Rivera threw his head back and laughed.
Mike did not. He watched Jerra and the bull start up then, ten seconds later, he watched the bull throw wide a giggling herself sick Jerra.
Still chuckling and clearly immune to this nightmare due to constant exposure, Rivera belatedly replied, “Bro, I think I gotta agree.”
Mike’s eyes slid to his woman and he saw two cowboys encouraging her to have another go. He also knew why they were. Tee tight across her tits and her ass looked way too f**king good in those jeans.
Therefore, he lost his patience.
So he put his fingers to his mouth, whistled loud and sharp then took them out and immediately shouted, “Yo, Dusty!”
Her eyes shot to his.
He shook his head then he lifted his hand and crooked a finger at her.
If she didn’t haul her ass immediately back to the table, Mike was prepared to stalk her way, remove her from the clutch of cowboys she’d been entertaining the last fifteen minutes, throw her over his shoulder and take her back. Luckily, she did some head shaking, some “I’m sorry” smiling, grabbed Jerra’s hand and headed their way.
As for the night, the good news was, Schub’s barbeque was the best he’d ever tasted, hands down. The beer was chilled so cold it was nearly icy and went down smooth. Rivera was just as likeable in person as he was over the phone. Jerra was petite, brunette and had some meat on her in all the right places. She was also a f**king nut.
She and Dusty graduated quickly from beer sipping to tequila shooters then the night went bad.
“Seriously, Mike, no joke. You Indiana boys got it goin’ on,” Rivera stated, a smile in his voice and Mike just barely was able to tear his eyes from Dusty making her way through cowboys and cowgirls at the very crowded restaurant/saloon/“hoedown” to their table to look at him. “I whistled and crooked my finger at Jerra, her head would split open and fire would shoot out. How do you do it?”
“We keep that secret in Indiana. I’d be lynched if I shared,” Mike replied.
Rivera grinned. Then his eyes shifted over Mike’s shoulder and the grin died a very quick death.
Mike looked over his shoulder, saw nothing but cowboys, cowgirls, rough wood paneling, tables and ropes, saddles, bridles and various cattle equipment on the walls but he heard Rivera muttering, “Fuck. Beau.”
Mike’s scan took on focus and there he was. Mike recognized him from the one time he’d seen his picture on the display of Dusty’s phone. Again wearing what was clearly his uniform, pearl snap button jeans shirt and faded jeans. Dark hair. Tall. Lean. Good-looking. Eyes narrowed on Dusty.
Mike moved instantly. This was because LeBrec was closer to Dusty than Dusty was to the table. This was also because LeBrec’s intent was clear in his narrowed eyes.
He knifed from his chair, felt and heard Rivera move with him and he prowled toward LeBrec the instant LeBrec started stalking toward Dusty.