8. Tripp
Chapter 8
Tripp
“ T hat gonna be a problem?” I ask when Ram rejoins our table. The reporter sits a few tables away, her eyes on her phone. She doesn’t look up at us, not until she realizes I’m looking at her. Once she does, she levels her gaze with mine, unintimidated. I look away first.
“Why would it be?” Ram asks, shrugging. “She’s just here to eat dinner.”
“And I’m the easter bunny,” I grumble with a shake of head. “She keeps sniffing around and?—”
“It’s fine,” Ram interrupts me. “I’ve got it handled.”
I take a sip of my lager and stare at him. “Seems like you’d like to handle it a little more, honestly.”
Ram rolls his eyes. “You would say that.”
“I’m just saying,” I grumble. “You like her.”
“Like is a strong word,” he argues.
“It’s a weak word for me,” Beau interjects. “I’d like to get all up in her?—”
“Stop,” Ram growls. “We don’t need to discuss it any more. Comprende? ”
“Ain’t you got some of those buckle bunnies on speed dial?” I ask him. Beau is always the ladies’ man of the three of us, only because he’s the one that takes them up on their offers. For me, the women who fawn all over the cowboys just don’t do it for me. Too easy. Not that I don’t partake every now and then, but I’d rather not. I prefer the company of me, myself, and I to a chatty buckle bunny. Beau, on the opposite side, sleeps with at least one buckle bunny each circuit. Or he usually does. He hasn’t partaken of the fruit this stop yet. I’m starting to suspect it has something to do with that reporter following us around. It’s gonna be a problem, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I can’t bring myself to care about most things these days.
“The buckle bunnies just ain’t cutting it,” Beau shrugs. “I’m tired of the same old thing.” His eyes trail over to the reporter and, yep, that’ll definitely be a problem.
The beer in my hand feels heavy, but I take another drink anyways. It won’t be my last of the night. I’ll keep going until I’m numb, until this heaviness isn’t so burdensome. It’s the only way I can sleep most nights.
“You heard from home?” Ram asks after the waitress comes back with our food.
“No,” I grunt. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Mom mentioned there was?—”
“I don’t care,” I interrupt. “Don’t tell me.”
Ram frowns. “Fine, but it ain’t healthy.”
“Yeah,” I comment, and throw back the rest of my beer. I gesture for the waitress and when she comes, I order a whiskey instead of a beer. The beer isn’t strong enough, and I need something faster. Ram frowns but doesn’t say anything.
It doesn’t matter.
None of this does.