At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(26)

“Where’s the pizza guy?” I ask, looking from the front door to the kitchen table, where two boxes of pizza are stacked between Colt and Jonas.

“Halfway back to the pizza place, I’d guess.” Colt pulls an empty chair out for me.

Instinctively, I move toward him, rummaging through my wallet to scrounge up cash. “You didn’t need to pay for the pizza. Let me pay you back.”

He shakes his head. “I’m starving, so I’m probably going to eat more of this than both of you combined. It’s only fair I pay.”

“Well…thank you.”

The wine in my otherwise-empty stomach sloshes as I take my seat at the table. I’m a little too close to him. It’s fine. It’s just that I can smell his body wash—or maybe it’s his laundry detergent—and I have a great view of his sharp jawline, peppered with brown stubble that would scratch against the delicate skin of my palm in the most perfect way.

Making a loose fist, I rake my nails across my palm as a substitute and reassure myself that it’s only the dim lighting and alcohol making him so appealing. Nobody looks and smells good after a day of fishing.

If it’s the alcohol fucking me up like this, pizza will fix me. Even if it’s not the alcohol, pizza will fix me.

I tear an extra cheesy slice of meat lovers from the box, salivating at the long cheese pull. I loop the strand of melted cheese around my tongue three times, then sink my teeth into the slice. It’s so good, I need to shut my eyes to fully appreciate this.

We’ve already established I’m a mess. Colt wasn’t checking me out, and I wouldn’t care even if he was. And thank God, because if I were on a date with a guy, or eating dinner with Alex, I’d force myself to stick to one slice to avoid the bloating. But I have nobody to impress tonight and these shorts have plenty of give in the waist.

I go back for three slices.

“So, do you guys plan to actually catch a fish next time?” My fingernails drum the side of my glass.

Jonas replies, “I caught one today. Colt didn’t catch nothin’ but weeds.”

“Yeah, you caught the biggest minnow I’ve ever seen.” Colt’s tongue presses firmly to the inside of his cheek, and he catches my attention before adding, “We would’ve taken a picture, but the problem is you wouldn’t be able to zoom in close enough to see the fish without the photo getting all grainy.”

He swipes a piece of loose pepperoni from the pizza box and bites most of it, chewing thoughtfully as he leaves one remaining morsel pinched between his thumb and index finger. Then he holds it triumphantly, with a goofy childlike smile and squinty eyes. “This is an exact depiction of Jonas with his fish.”

If I made a comment like that, Jonas would retreat into himself. He’d be embarrassed and angry. But right now, he’s laughing like a hyena. Bouncing in his seat.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jonas puts his hands up in the air and works hard to regain composure. “This is what Colt looked like when I was casting near him.”

He stands up, clears his throat, and does his best impression of a fearful Colt, leaping to safety. His small body tumbles to the ground, rolling across the floor while fake crying. A gross exaggeration, for sure, but we’re all laughing and Colt’s fighting hard to defend himself.

It’s the best dinner I’ve had…maybe ever.

I lean against the chair back with a relaxed breath. While Jonas moves on to demonstrating a flopping fish—maybe it’s the minnow, though he’s laughing too hard to fully explain himself—Colt’s attention shifts to me.

“Too bad I missed out on all the fun,” I say, eyes falling to the slow slide of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Guess you better come with us next time.” That baritone invokes tremors in my chest.

Before I can respond, Jonas chimes in. And that’s all it takes to subdue the rush of sparks between us. “Mom would have beginner’s luck. That’s cheating.”

I scowl at him. “I’ve been fishing more in my life than you have, kiddo. Who do you think Grandpa took with him before you were born?”

Jonas and I knit our brows in unison. Neither prepared to back down.

“Nope.” Colt waves a hand between us to break up the moment. “You two scare the shit out of me when you get all glarey like that. Makes me feel like I’m gonna have to break up a fight between two Rottweilers in a second.”

“More like a Rottweiler and a…Chihuahua.” Jonas sticks his tongue out at me. He looks pleased with his insult, and I let him have it.

“Scariest Chihuahua I’ve ever fuck—” My scowl turning on him for the F-bomb sends Colt tripping over his words. “I mean fridging. Scariest Chihuahua I’ve fridging seen.”

I have no idea where “fridging” came from, but it leads to more unhinged giggles between the two of them. And that’s fridging incredible to see.





Whit


The next morning, I’m reveling in the silence of eight a.m. coffee and a romance novel with so much sexual tension I catch myself inadvertently kicking my feet. A tattooed surfer who also rides motorcycles? One can only fucking dream.

Naturally, my phone rings in the lead-up to what’s promising to be a very spicy scene. Because of course it does. As a testament to how good of a sister I am, I set the Kindle down with a huff and greet Blair in a tone that’s the closest to normal I can currently achieve.