Chapter 24
Mac
"That right there is lady trouble," Ronnie says, and I look up to see him pointing his plastic fork in my direction.
"Leave me the fuck alone," I say, but there's no heat in my words.
Ethan chuckles as he pulls his plate from the microwave.
We're camped out on the Drocers’ back patio, having lunch, and I've been doing my best to ignore the repeated flutter of the curtains. We're not doing anything wrong. I discuss this with every client that we have. I let them know that we have lunch on the job site because it saves us time and enables us to get the jobs done faster. I even mention Ethan’s fucking microwave because the man isn't going to suffer through a cold meal.
It was evident by the way Callie acted earlier that not only had she not spoken with her parents about us being here, but I'm almost certain she hadn't spoken with them about being here herself. What that girl has going on in her life isn't my business, but I've caught Ronnie darting his eyes toward the house more than he probably should.
"I've been thinking about her," Ethan says as he takes a seat on the top step of the patio, plate resting in his lap.
"Callie?" Ronnie asks.
"Who’s Callie?" his twin brother says.
Ronnie tilts his head as he glares at his brother. "Are you kidding me? Callie? The woman inside? Our future wife?"
Donnie shakes his head, lifting a hand to wave off his brother.
"Riley, not Callie," Ethan says.
"Excuse me?" I snap.
"I've been thinking about Riley," Ethan repeats.
It takes all I have not to toss my plate to the wooden deck and knock the shit out of the guy.
Ethan notices, and he grins before holding his hands up near his ears. "Not in that way, caveman. Calm down."
"I'm calm," I mutter, but look down at my hand and my grip on the plastic knife when he points at it .
Another round of chuckles swims through the small group. As much as the twins talk about their escapades, mostly Ronnie, really, I've never been one to engage in stories like that, and not just because I don't have many. I just feel like those aspects of my life shouldn't be bragged about. It feels trashy, and just thinking about mentioning Riley makes my skin crawl. I'd never disrespect her by telling stories about what happened between us.
"We have that festival coming up in a few weeks, and I was wondering if she was going to have a booth," Ethan says.
"Oh!" Ronnie says. "I hope she makes that same casserole."
Donnie makes a noise like the idea of eating that again excites him more than the prospect of his brother finding a new woman for them to date.
"You do realize that you can make arrangements for her to make that for you," I say.
"She'd do that for us?"
"She'd do that for money," I clarify, not liking the idea of them thinking she's going to do anything for them out of the goodness of her heart. "It's literally her job."
"I thought she did catering," Ethan says.
"She does, but I don't see an issue with her taking orders and cooking just a single meal," I explain.
Ethan tilts his head, a frown tugging his eyebrows closer together.
"What?"
He shakes his head before speaking. "Have you talked to her about doing that?"
"Why would I do that? It's her business."
"Exactly," he says as if everything makes complete sense to him. "You can't volunteer her for stuff if it's not something she offers."
"Woman trouble," Ronnie says, repeating what Ethan had said mere moments ago.
"There's a difference between just cooking a meal and catering an event," Ethan continues. "But maybe she will take special request orders the next time we have an event in town."
I frown at him and continue to eat my lunch. It was Ethan's day to bring food, so we're once again sitting down to the worst microwave Mexican meal. I can't even tell if the rice is actual rice or not, but before Riley cooked for me, it never really bothered me. I guess having a great meal really makes the junk I've been eating even worse.
I toss my fork onto the plastic dish and pull out my phone.
Yesterday was incredibly awkward after we had sex, but that doesn't mean that our agreement changed. I shoot her a hundred dollars with a note of what I think would make a great dinner for the evening.
Not a minute goes by before she sends it back with her own memo.
I have plans and won't be home to make dinner. Also, remember that I didn't take you in to raise. You're a grown man. Figure out dinner on your own.
I reread the note, realizing it stings more than it probably should. Who could she possibly have plans with?
"That look," Ethan says. "I told you. Woman trouble."
"She said she has plans tonight," I mutter before thinking about putting my business out there like some of the others do.
"Like a date?" Ronnie asks, his tone much lighter. The man is a magnet for drama and the first one to attempt to stir the pot and get shit started.
"Are you guys monogamous?" Ethan asks.
"We aren't dating."
"The look on your face and the grip you have on that phone makes me think otherwise," Ethan says.
I open my text messages and pause before typing anything out. I have no right to even ask her what she's doing. I'm well aware of the fact that we aren't a couple, but that doesn't stop that sting of irritation from swelling in my chest at thinking there's a chance I was inside of her yesterday and she could be going out on a date with someone else tonight.
Me: You have plans?
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
I can't even describe how I feel as I see those three little dots pop and disappear for more than a minute without a return text coming through. I don't know if it's jealousy, anger, or shock that I care at all, but there's a very real chance that it's a combination of all of those plus a few extras thrown in for good measure.
Not once in my life has a woman ever been able to tie me up in knots, but here I am, staring down at my phone, wondering just how easily I'll lose my shit if she says she has a date.
I know that's a red flag on my part. I know it's toxic to think I have any say in what she does in her life. I don't own her. I haven't agreed to any form of relationship with her.
That was the absolute last thing I wanted that night I brought her home with me from the bar. I wanted a little fun, some time between the sheets, to take the edge off of a very bad day .
I never anticipated that I'd want to see her again, and it never crossed my mind that there was a chance I'd crave her even when she wasn't around. I have no freaking clue how to navigate any of this, and the men sitting near me right now don't have enough successful relationship experience to give me advice, even if I was the type to talk about my personal life.
Riley: I have plans.
I growl at her simple response.
I'm not owed an explanation, but I can't help but read more into the three words she has sent. I don't know if she's being coy, doesn't want to tell me, or she doesn't think I have a right to know. There's always the chance that she thinks I wouldn't care what her plans are, but that couldn't be further from the truth.
My skin itches as I pull in a deep breath, part of me knowing I should just leave well enough alone, but the part of me that yearns daily for this woman is the one who wins out.
Me: What kind of plans?
"Oh, man," Ethan says, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "You aren't begging her, are you?"
I scoff, but I don't lift my eyes to any of them, although my crew has become instantly uncharacteristically quiet.
Riley: A drink with the girls.
It seems innocent enough, and it wouldn't bother me if I didn't know that the only bar in town also happens to be the very bar she left with me from before rocking my world and leaving me like some fiend who can't seem to get enough. I'd be a fool to think that she wasn't able to rock the next asshole's world as well.
Me: Have fun.
The text is simple, but in my mind, I'm already formulating a plan. There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that the woman will be taking anyone else home tonight.