Fall With Me (Sugarland Creek, #3) (8)

“Guess she was hopin’ it’d force you to stay.” Wilder laughs.

“Yeah, maybe she was gettin’ y’all some coffee or something,” Tripp adds.

“I waited twenty minutes for y’all to get here and didn’t see her car pull in, so very doubtful. I think she just wanted to be a terror.”

“Maybe it’s payback for not satisfyin’ her.” Wilder smacks my shoulder. “Need your older brother to give ya some tips? I’ve got a wicked tongue trick.” He sticks his out, then flicks it up and down as he flashes his piercing. “Or did you get whiskey dick?”

Glaring back at Wilder, I’m tempted to yank his barbell right out.

“Absolutely the fuck not. We had a great time.”

“What’s her name?” Tripp asks.

“Um…Tessa.” I swallow hard. “Or maybe…Jessa?”

“I bet he called her by the wrong name and she got even by stealin’ his clothes,” Wilder muses.

“That’s why I don’t say their names. That’s an amateur move. You call ’em baby, sweetheart, darlin’. Anything but their names.”

Tripp snorts. “Classy.”

“What? It was consensual. She liked it—no, loved it. Pretty sure her neighbors were poundin’ on her walls because she was so loud.”

“Ah, see…when they’re that loud, they’re fakin’ it,” Wilder says.

“How would you know?” I ask.

“Because when a woman is in the middle of an intense orgasm, she’s too out of breath to scream. If they’re screamin’ that much, they’re tryna get it over with so they can hide in the bathroom and get themselves off instead.” He flashes his infamous know-it-all smile. “Or in your case, plottin’ revenge.”

“It was before that, thank you very much. When my head was between her thighs and she was shakin’ all around me. She was definitely not fakin’ it.”

Tripp chuckles. “According to a recent study, up to eighty percent of women admit to fakin’ it with their partner.”

“What the fuck?” I narrow my eyes. “You’re readin’ sex articles now?”

“Noah and Magnolia were talkin’ about it, and I overheard,” he admits.

I smile to myself because the poor bastard is obsessed with our sister’s best friend. He just won’t admit it.

“Whatever. Even if she faked it—which I’m not sayin’ she did—that’s no excuse to steal my goddamn clothes,” I say. “Oh, did you bring me some boots?”

“Yeah, your work ones,” Wilder says, pulling them up from the back seat floor.

“Thanks. Noah asked me to help her at the stables this mornin’ since you two jerk-offs ain’t workin’ today.” I slide on my boots and realize how ridiculous I look wearing them with basketball shorts.

“And I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it,” Wilder gloats. “Tripp and I are gonna fuck shit up at the festival tonight.”

Tripp furrows his brows, and I laugh to myself. I’ve never seen Tripp fuck anything up. He’s too careful and guarded to do that.

“I’ll be done by six, so don’t leave without me,” I tell them. “Is Waylon going?”

“I think he has a date tonight,” Wilder replies. “But who knows, he’ll probably chicken out like last time and cancel it last minute.”

Waylon tends to do that. He goes out of his way to ask out a girl and then gets too anxious to follow through with it. Not sure why. He’s good-looking and knows how to have fun.

He just gets too into his head.

“Well, either way, we’re gonna have a blast.” I smirk.

“Don’t you ever learn your lesson?” Tripp taunts, glancing at me with a frown. “Maybe don’t go home with a chick every weekend and you wouldn’t risk losin’ your clothes.”

“I don’t…” I argue. “Sometimes they come home with me.”

Tripp rolls his eyes and Wilder laughs.

I smack Tripp’s shoulder. “Oh c’mon. You can have fun and have a beer or two. Wilder said y’all are gonna fuck shit up.”

“Not if I gotta drive you drunken idiots home,” he counters.

Tripp’s our DD ninety-nine percent of the time, but he’s a good sport about it.

When we arrive at our family house on the ranch, the three of us jump out of Tripp’s truck and instead of getting in my own, I opt for my dirt bike.

It’s way more fun.

“See y’all later!” I shout over the engine before I slowly release the clutch and rev it into first.

By the time I get to the boarding stables, Noah’s outside with Trey and Ruby—two of our ranch hands who work with her.

“Landen! Turn that off!” Noah shouts as I approach.

“What? You wanted me here!” I park and turn off the bike.

“You know that spooks the horses.” She scowls, folding her arms, and then lowers her glare to my outfit. “What the hell are you wearin’?”

I glance down and laugh. “Don’t ask. What do you need me for anyhow? You got your two lackeys here.”

“Hey!” Trey and Ruby both scowl.