Chapter 12
WAYLON
This whole having a girl roommate business isn’t too bad.
I’m not saying it was a good idea. But I ain’t sayin’ it’s bad either.
Lyric cooks almost all our meals. I’d like to point out that I didn’t ask her to do that, nor do I expect it.
She just does it. She also takes excellent care of Tater—loves on him and cuddles him all the time, whereas the previous two roommates mostly ignored him.
She’s also neat and orderly, cleans up after herself. Oh, and she gives fantastic head.
Lyric never took me up on getting hers. But she has serviced me three times this week.
I honestly can’t think of a more perfect roommate.
As a matter of fact, she’s out this morning at the store grabbing some last-minute party items for today’s festivities.
And she told me before she left that the dragon in her uterus is back to hibernating.
Her words, not mine. And that Philip will not be joining us.
And while I’m glad that means maybe we get to hook up, I’m more relieved that Lyric is no longer in pain.
I’m also a little happy about the Philip thing, but I bite my tongue.
She’s suffered this week. I carried her to the bath again, retrieved ibuprofen for her a couple of times, and made sure her heating pad was with her wherever she went.
I felt bad. All that and she still blew me two more times after the first one.
I must’ve asked her if she was sure fifty times.
But not only was she sure, she seemed downright excited about it. So, who am I to deny her?
I shake my head at the memory as I baste the chicken in my smoker on the patio. The key to this is low and slow. By the time people show up—checks the time on my watch—in four hours, these birds will be about ready to eat.
“Hey, cowboy,” Lyric says from the door.
“How come I can’t call you darlin’ but you can call me cowboy?” I point my tongs at her, grinning as I narrow my eyes.
“Listen, I don’t break the rules, I just make them,” she says, shrugging.
“This game is rigged.”
“Are you done pouting? Because I’ve put all the things I got from the store away, except for the buns.
I left those on the counter. And I was going to go take myself a nap and then shower before everyone starts arriving.
But if you’re not done pouting, I can give you a couple more minutes,” she says, then presses her lips together in an exaggerated manner to mock me.
“That will be all, devil woman.” I dismiss her with my tongs, shooing her back into the house.
She shrugs and retreats into the house. After she goes, I stare at the place in the door where she was standing for a moment, biting back a smile.
Don’t… read into it. I’m smiling because she’s my friend and she’s funny.
She’s also a little mean, but who cares?
I like ’em a little mean. Keeps me on my toes.
Speaking of showering, I should also definitely do that before everyone arrives. On top of smelling a little like smoke, I swept the patio, watered the outside plants, and played fetch with Tater. That last one isn’t a reason I need to shower, but Tater sure appreciates its inclusion.
Almost four hours on the dot later, the first people arrive. Killian is, in fact, alone. And Banks shows up with a woman who’s definitely a model.
“Waylon, this is my friend Megan,” Banks says. “We were just on a book cover together.”
Called it. “It’s nice to meet you, Megan,” I say, shaking her hand. “Please, make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, please. What’s on the menu?”
“Beats me. I did meat. Lyric did drinks. That woman over there with the scowl can hook you up.” I point out Lyric, who’s standing in the kitchen wearing a deep V between her eyes. “Don’t worry, she’s not really scowling. That’s just her face.”
Megan laughs, excusing herself and walking toward the kitchen.
“Well, she laughed at my joke, so I approve of her,” I say, clapping Banks on the shoulder.
“I already said she’s just a friend,” Banks says. “I am capable of having one of those, you know.”
“Killian, have you ever seen Banks have a girl who’s a friend?” I turn to rope Killian into the conversation, who’s been staring at his phone since he walked in.
“No,” he says, not turning his attention from his screen.
“Get off your phone,” Banks says. “It’s rude and she’s pregnant.”
“I’m just worried about her,” Killian says. “And I don’t know for sure she’s pregnant.”
“Anyway, try not to be too big of an ass to me tonight, please,” Banks says. “Megan knows Sienna, the photographer, and I’m trying to get in with her.”
“Why is this Sienna person so important?” Killian asks, having finally put his phone into his pocket.
“Because first, her photos have landed up-and-coming models on the map. Second, her photos sell for a shit ton. And third, despite trying to find one all over the internet, there isn’t a single photo of her posted.
Not anywhere. And that’s weird.” Banks adjusts the collar of his shirt like a nervous tic.
“Are we late?” Darcy asks, stepping through the front door with Ridge behind her and Lou holding her hand.
“No, these guys just arrived,” I say, hitching my thumb over my shoulder as I step to greet them. “Hey, Lou Lou, Tater is probably in the kitchen near Lyric’s feet.”
Lou runs off toward the kitchen. If I know her—and I do—wherever Tater is, she will be tonight.
“Wait for me,” Darcy calls after her and steps around me.
Ridge’s shoulders drop as he exhales. Certain she’s out of earshot, he leans into the group of us.
“You okay, man?” Killian asks him.
Up to this point, he hasn’t told them what he’s doing tonight.
Killian is never enthused about anything, and Banks would give him his standard speech about the institute of marriage and how it’s a trick and ask him if he’s sure like fifty-three times.
I would chalk it up to him being young, but I’m pretty sure he’s just a dipshit.
“Yeah,” Ridge says, clearing his throat. “Just a little tired.”
And I see we’re still keeping this operation covert. Before either of them can give him any shit, I shift the conversation away.
“Let’s get some beers and check on the meat,” I say, clapping Ridge’s shoulder, who looks relieved.
Next to the smoker, we sip from the longnecks while I flip the birds and baste them. I remove the tinfoil so they can spend a few minutes charring on top and close the lid.
“So, how do you want to do this?” I ask, keeping an eye on the door in case anyone walks out.
“I’m thinking after dinner, we can throw some wood into the fire pit, and when we’re all gathered around, I’ll do it.”
“Sounds great, man. You got this.” But truth be told, he doesn’t seem to have it. Ridge may be our boss, and he may run operations smoothly, but he can be a very nervous creature where Darcy is concerned. It’s cute, though. In like, a dopey way.
“Is the chicken done?”
I hear Lyric before I see her. She appears through the doorway as I look up.
She sets a platter down on the table just outside.
It’s full of buns, coleslaw, and potato salad.
Today, she’s wearing this little black romper.
Her legs and feet are bare, which I’ve come to realize is how she prefers to be.
But to really make matters worse, she’s not wearing a bra, and I’ve gotten a peek at her side boob a couple of times without anyone noticing. And what an exquisite sight.
“Yeah, I’m pulling it off now.” I slide off the hot pan full of chicken and take it to the table, where everyone is starting to gather as they file out of the house.
We make our plates, assembling chicken sandwiches and scooping sides. Everyone sits either on the patio furniture or in the larger chairs at the edge of the grass that I use for the fire pit. I’m honestly just grateful to have enough chairs at all.
There are several minutes of silence as we all begin eating.
The scraping of forks, shuffling of napkins, and clinking of beer bottles are all that’s heard as Tater makes his rounds.
He goes from person to person, sniffing all around their feet for dropped scraps.
When he finds none, he whines and lies at my feet.
Megan is the first to praise the food. Others follow.
I’m not one to disagree. Lyric seems quite happy with how everything tastes.
Which is kind of nice. She’s been cooking so much, and it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve returned the favor.
Warming up what she previously made doesn’t count.
I suppose I did make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the other day.
Though, I’m not sure that counts either.
We all get into a rhythm and an ever-evolving conversation.
You know, the kind that just flows from one topic to the next in the most natural way.
I always sort of thought that spoke to a group’s connection.
I know it started with talk of the new book cover Banks is on.
Then we got on the topic of Tater and how he came to be mine, and now, as everyone begins moving their chairs closer to the fire pit in the middle of the yard, we’re talking about Killian.
“So how often do you play?” Lyric asks him.
“We really don’t have to talk about this,” he says.
Killian has never been one for attention.
“Come on, tell us,” Ridge says.
Killian sighs. By comparison, it was subtle. But for him, that was pretty damn expressive.
“Against other people, a couple of times a week, usually. But I have a board at home I practice on,” he says.
“Will you teach me?” Darcy asks. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”