Chapter 2

Holy hell.

If I knew they grew men like this seventy-five miles outside of Rizona, I’d have done all of my grocery shopping here years ago. That’s where decent, respectable, single men meet women, right? Squeezing grapefruits, thumping eggplants, and sniffing cantaloupe while making eye contact with the woman of their dreams over the produce bins?

I honestly wouldn’t know. The only action I get is on the rare occasions I drive to San Antonio for a wild night out on the town. I’ve never met a decent guy inside or outside of a bar, which explains my horrific track record with the opposite sex.

Add because Rizona’s population has dwindled down to nothing and the only guys moving in and out of there are truckers or “land developers”—aka drug dealers—I don’t have a chance in hell of finding my happily ever after.

I’m already an old maid at twenty-three.

That’s why I stopped looking for Mister Right and learned to settle for Mister Right Now. Would I like to have a man who thinks I hang the sun and the moon? Of course. But at this point I’ve lost all hope of it happening and have resigned myself to a life of friends-with-benefits. Not even good friends, just guys so emotionally stunted that they don’t do relationships, only recurring hookups.

Damn my life.

Ma, who is really my grandmother, says I’m too young to be so jaded. My response involves waving my hands over the empty seats in the diner and reminding her where we live. We’re barely hanging on as it is. The truckers keep us open for breakfast and lunch, but even their love of good home cooking won’t save us. As it is, we’re closed Friday through Sunday and I think we’re closing our doors on Mondays next. Three days a week is not a thriving business, but Ma refuses to give up.

Sylvia and I follow Drak outside to the grills under the bright afternoon sun. The BBQ smells amazing. My belly rumbles and mouth waters in anticipation. I glance over at Drak who bumps fists with the guy manning the grill. I’m not sure he eats anything other than boiled chicken and broccoli. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him—just like Karden and Saint. Is that an ex-military thing, or a them thing?

Doyle—a guy I went to high school with who left for the Army and then came back to be one of a few deputies in town—was neither thin nor fat, but he wasn’t built like these guys either. Maybe it’s discipline or genetics or god’s good graces?

Doyle. I wonder where he is nowadays?

Deputy Doyle, a name he absolutely hated, was a nice guy, but he carried a torch for Sylvie and wasn’t my type. He was too nice, too accommodating, and I know if he’d tried with me, I would have walked all over him. Sylvie knew it too, which is why she ignored his puppy dog eyes. He left Rizona around the same time Saint and Sinners—Sylvie’s family bar—burned down and no one has heard from him since.

We grab a couple of plates each and Drak guides us to the table where Saint and Karden have taken a seat. I plop Saint’s styrofoam plate down in front of him and take the seat next to Sylvie, leaving an empty seat to my right hoping Drak will feel the need to fill it.

To my delight he does, but the conversation swirls between the men and their time in the military, to include where they were stationed and their last deployments. I know Sylvie gets itchy around this kind of talk. She harbored a serious grudge against Saint for years after he left for the Army. Their mom had just died—Sylvie was only fourteen at the time—and their dad was an alcoholic. Nice guy, but not the most dependable man to leave with a teenage girl. Then, a year or two ago, one of Saint’s soldiers died, and another one was wounded less than ten feet from where he was pinned down by enemy fire. The realization that he might not come home caused a piece of Sylvie to shut down, and it’s only now that she’s with Karden in Colorado and Saint is out of the military starting his own civilian life that they have been able to mend some of their relationship.

I miss having a girlfriend in Rizona to gossip with, but I wouldn’t take an ounce of her happiness away from her, even if I am jealous. That’ll never happen to me in Rizona.

Sylvie’s gaze slides past me to Drak and a wicked gleam glints in her eye as she gives me an almost imperceptible nod in his direction. I take the hint, put down my fork, turn my head and torso to face him, and rest my chin on my hand as I stare with big puppy dog eyes of my own.

His eyes slide to mine, his lips twitching as he suppresses a grin. “Yes, Red?”

“Red?”

“A woman like you needs a nickname.”

“What happened to babydoll?” I bat my lashes.

“If I call you babydoll in front of these guys, they’ll think I’m claiming you, and I don’t want to fuck up your dating options for the evening.”

I frown. “You don’t want to claim me?”

“It’s not my place, nor my privilege.” His dark eyes peer deep into mine and my breath grows shallow under his scrutiny.

“Yo, Drak!” a male voice calls from somewhere behind me. He tears his eyes away from mine and nods, returning his attention to the table.

“I’ve got to check on some things, but relax and enjoy the band. I’ll be back shortly.” He stands and raps his knuckles on the table, his eyes sliding over to me. “Behave yourself, Red.”

I smile. “I make no promises.”

His eyes narrow, and he leans down, putting his mouth near my ear. “I’m serious. You catch the wrong guy’s attention and there’s no telling what kind of trouble it’ll cause.”

His tone tells me not to tease him. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” he all but growls, causing warm tingles to travel up my spine and tighten my nipples.

I glance at Sylvie, who stares back at me with a knowing smirk on her face. “Hot.”

“Yeah. I wonder where the bathroom is?”

“Let’s go find it.” She pushes up from the table, only to be pulled down onto Karden’s lap.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He wraps his arm around her waist, pinning her to him.

“Girl talk.” She smiles sweetly and bats her eyelashes. They don’t call her Demon for nothing.

Karden shakes his head. “No, sweetheart. The two of you need escorts, especially as the night progresses.”

“Don’t you think you’re being dramatic?” I stand up and put my hands on my hips.

“He’s not,” Drak says over my head. Where the hell did he come from? “I’ll show you where the facilities are.”

Karden lets go of Sylvie, only to stand up behind her. He slides his fingers down the back of her jeans, fisting her belt. I guess that’s one way to claim your woman—steering and holding on to her as if tethered by a leash. I’m not sure if I should be offended on her behalf or jealous.

I guess I’m jealous considering that for the last twenty-four hours I’ve watched how he fawns over her and I know no man has ever come close to looking at me with such love or devotion.

Yeah, I’m damn near as green as my shirt with envy.

“This way.” Drak opens a door to a set of offices in the back of the warehouse and slides his hand onto the back of my neck as he guides me down a hallway, which makes me all toasty inside. “Door to your left. We’ll wait for you out here.”

I glance up at him and smile, trying to convey all the sinful thoughts rolling through my head. The man is sex personified. I wonder if he knows it? With my luck he does and he’ll use it to sweep me off my feet and then spend the next eight weeks making me question my self-worth, while he gaslights any jealousy I have, only to find out he’s fucking a half-dozen other women at the same time.

Not that I have experience with this or anything.

“He’s super hot,” Sylvie says casually when I come out of the stall.

“Yes, he is.” I sigh, rubbing my hands together under the running water.

“Do you think you’ll go home with him tonight?” She waggles her brows while staring at her reflection and applying a fresh layer of lip gloss.

“I doubt it. He said something about keeping my dating options open.”

She frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

“Maybe he’s in a situationship and doesn’t want to admit it?”

“Just my luck. Another unavailable man who pretends like he’s single when it’s convenient for him.” I pout and fluff my unnaturally red locks around my face before freshening up my cherry red lips.

Sylvie tucks her lip gloss into her pocket and smooths her hair back into its tight, low ponytail. “Screw him. Did you see the guys rolling in from the Poker Run? In another thirty minutes, this place will be crawling with hot guys and you’ll do what you do best: drink, flirt, and dance your sexy ass off.”

“You’re right. When have I ever let one man’s opinion affect my good time?” I paste on a bright, devious smile—the one I’ve worn my whole life. For some women, this is the lot in life we’ve been dealt. Always the bridesmaid everyone wants to fuck, never the bride. I’m not sure why this always happens to me. Maybe I manifest it by my flirting? No matter, I’d rather be the woman with all eyes on her versus the rejected girl in the corner licking her imaginary wounds. If one man isn’t interested, there are another three champing at the bit for a ride.

We walk out of the bathroom to find only Karden waiting for us, arms crossed over his massive chest, brow raised in our direction. He offers Sylvie his hand and pulls her into his chest, but his eyes stay on me. “Listen up, troublemakers. Drak says most of the guys here are vetted and cool. They may or may not have their old ladies with them.”

“Old ladies?” Sylvie scoffs, clearly offended.

He grins. “His words, not mine. There might be a few invited guests he doesn’t know and therefore he requests you drink, dance, and have fun, but stay in the building and within our line of sight at all times.”

Sylvie smiles at me but doesn’t protest, instead wrapping her arms around the one he has slung around her waist and snuggling back against his chest.

“I can be good.” I roll my eyes.

He narrows his gaze. “Sylvie told me about some of your wild weekends in San Antonio. I know the two of you used to be each other’s wingman, but one of you needs to remember that you have a possessive, grouchy man watching over you, so don’t tempt someone’s fate with your shenanigans.”

Sylvie melts into him even more with his words, and my green-eyed monster roars to life.

I want that.

I want someone who feels that way about me.

I want to be claimed and fiercely protective as somebody’s own.

“I understand, Karden. I appreciate you watching out for me too.”

“No problem.” He motions for me to precede them out of the back rooms to the party beyond. Pushing through the door, the band is playing and I swear the crowd has doubled in the few minutes we were gone. Multiple pairs of eyes swing our way as we push through the crowd at the bar and rejoin Saint at the table. Three big, burly guys with beer bellies sit with him, eating BBQ and shooting the shit. They bring their eyes up from their plates when we approach. One dismisses me quickly, the other nods and then returns his attention to the conversation at hand, but the third smiles and tilts his head to the empty seat next to him.

I smile back and grab my beer, but remain standing. The band is playing, but no one is dancing yet, and I’m hoping in a half hour I’ll be able to work out some of this nervous energy coursing through my veins. The same energy I hide under unwavering bravado and false confidence in a crowd.

“Blarney stone, huh?” The guy’s smile grows.

“Yeah. I thought it was crude enough to be funny.” I grin down at him. I deal with truckers daily, so I know how to roll with the punches and I’m a master of teenage boy humor. But the truckers know me, and more importantly, they fear Ma and her flour-dusted rolling pin.

These guys don’t know me, and Ma is nowhere to be seen. Maybe this wasn’t the best T-shirt to wear to a party full of strange men.

“It’s hilarious. I like a woman with a good sense of humor.” He chuckles.

Drak walks up behind me, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck again. “Having fun, Red?”

“Great time.”

“Good.” He leans into my ear. “If you need me, all you have to do is raise your hand or catch my eye.”

And just like that, he’s gone again. This guy is sending me mixed signals, and it’s frustrating as hell. Does he want me for himself, or does he feel like he has to protect me as his foster-brother’s guest?

Either way, I’m going to make him regret making me second-guess myself. I glance down at the guy next to me, the one who turned his gaze to his friends and the conversation at hand when Drak walked up. “You want to dance?”