Chapter 9 #2
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice wobbly.
“She was great,” Boone says. “Always smiled and waved, even when our families were mid-feud. She’d bring cookies to the church bake sale and label them ‘for everyone except those McCoy boys’ but then wink at us and sneak us a handful.”
“She made the best apple pie,” Jesse remembers. “Brought one to the fair every year. Won first place six years running until Mrs. Patterson started bribing judges.”
“She’d probably have a lot to say about this situation,” I say, gesturing at the four of us and our current arrangement.
“She’d probably think it was hilarious,” Wyatt says, surprising me. “Your mom had a wicked sense of humor. Dry as dust. She once told my dad that his new truck was compensating for something, right to his face.”
“She did not!”
“She absolutely did. He turned purple. It was incredible.”
I laugh, remembering how she could cut someone down while smiling like she was paying them a compliment.
“She once told Dad that resentment was like setting yourself on fire and hoping the smoke bothered your enemies. He gave her the silent treatment for three days, which kind of made her point for her.”
“Sounds like someone else we know,” Jesse says with a wink.
“Genetics are a hell of a thing. Though I got Dad’s stubbornness too, which is probably why I’m here making terrible decisions with you three instead of lying low until the scandal dies down.”
“Speaking of terrible decisions,” Boone says, standing up to clear plates, “we should probably talk about what happens next. The whole town thinks we’re having some kind of torrid affair.”
“Aren’t we?” I ask.
“Torrid implies sleazy,” Wyatt points out. “We’re not sleazy. We’re something else.”
“Vigorous?” Jesse suggests.
“Athletic?” Boone adds.
“Definitely athletic,” I agree. “My thighs are still sore from last night’s gymnastics.”
“Just your thighs?” Jesse grins.
“Among other things.”
We’re all looking at each other with that particular heat that means breakfast is about to be abandoned when we hear it, the unmistakable sound of hooves on wood, followed by the door banging open.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
Rita prances into the kitchen like she owns the place, a piece of rope trailing from her collar, my dad’s John Deere cap in her mouth, and what appears to be my favorite bra hanging from one horn.
“Is that—” Boone starts.
“Yes.”
“How did she—”
“I have no idea.”
“When did you—”
“I don’t know, okay? She’s like a magician but with underwear.”
Rita drops the cap at Wyatt’s feet like a cat presenting a dead mouse, then helps herself to the pancake Jesse carelessly left too close to the edge of his plate. She chews thoughtfully, syrup dripping from her beard, then notices the bacon situation.
“Your goat has a lingerie fetish,” Jesse observes.
“Your goat’s a kleptomaniac,” Wyatt corrects.
“Your goat’s a genius,” Boone declares, giving Rita a scratch behind the ears. “Look at her, living her best life.”
“My goat’s going to be goat curry if she doesn’t start respecting boundaries,” I threaten, but Rita’s already investigating the burnt bacon, finding it perfectly acceptable for her palate.
“So,” Boone says, clearly trying to salvage something from this morning, “we were talking about what happens next.”
“Before the goat invasion,” Jesse adds.
“Right. The town thinks we’re all...” I wave my hand vaguely.
“Fucking?” Boone supplies helpfully.
“I was going to say ‘involved,’ but yeah, that works too.”
“They’re not wrong,” Jesse points out.
“They don’t know that for sure. Right now, it’s just speculation and blurry photos.”
“And Mrs. Delaney’s reporting,” Wyatt adds.
“God, did you see her latest post? She wrote a whole fanfiction story about us. There were metaphors about stallions and everything.”
“I’m trying to block it from my memory,” Jesse says.
“She gave us a ship name,” Boone announces. “CallBoys.”
“That’s terrible,” I say.
“That’s genius,” Jesse counters.
“That’s definitely going to stick,” Wyatt sighs.
Rita bleats her approval, then knocks the syrup bottle over with her nose, watching with satisfaction as it pools on the table.
We’re standing there, the four of us and one goat, in a destroyed kitchen that smells like burnt bacon and syrup, and I suddenly feel the weight of how ridiculous this all is.
Here I am, supposedly the town scandal, hanging out with three brothers while my goat holds their table hostage.
It’s so far from what my life was supposed to be I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” Boone asks.
“This. All of this. It’s insane.”
“Good insane or bad insane?”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Well, let us know when you figure it out,” Wyatt says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look at him. He’s watching me with intense eyes, and for a moment, I forget we’re supposed to be keeping this casual.
“I should probably—” I start to say.
“Stay,” Jesse interrupts. “You should definitely stay.”
“I have work later. Don’t you guys have to work, too?”
“Later isn’t now,” Boone points out.
“My dad will notice I’m gone.”
“Your dad’s probably still ranting to his newspaper clippings,” Wyatt says.
They’re all looking at me with expressions that make my skin heat up, and suddenly the destroyed kitchen doesn’t matter. Rita could set the place on fire and I wouldn’t care because Jesse’s stepping closer, Boone’s hand is on my lower back, and Wyatt’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.
“Okay,” I breathe. “But if Rita eats anything important, I’m not taking responsibility.”
Jesse’s mouth crashes into mine before the words fully leave my lips, his kiss all hunger and demand. His tongue does this thing that makes my brain shut down entirely, and I grab his shoulders partly just to touch him and partly because I need something to hold onto for balance.
“Bedroom,” Wyatt says, his voice commanding in that way that makes my stomach flip. “Now.”
“Bossy,” I gasp when Jesse lets me breathe.
“You love it,” Boone says, already pulling me toward the hallway.
“I tolerate it.”
“Liar,” Jesse grins, his hands already working on my shorts.
We barely make it to the bedroom door before clothes start disappearing. My tank top goes first, Jesse pulling, tossing it out of sight. Boone’s working on my shorts while walking backward, which should be awkward but somehow isn’t.
“Eager, aren’t we?” I tease, but my voice comes out breathier than intended. Wyatt’s pressed against my back, his mouth on my neck doing things that feel incredible.
“Someone showed up at dawn looking like sex on legs,” Jesse counters, finally getting my shorts unbuttoned. “What did you expect, a book club?”
“I like book clubs.”
“We can discuss literature later,” Wyatt growls against my ear, and the vibration goes straight between my legs. “Right now, you’re wearing too many clothes.”
My shorts hit the floor, and then I’m standing in my underwear, plain cotton because I didn’t plan this, no matter what they think, while three sets of hands explore every inch of exposed skin.
“Bedroom,” I insist. “Unless you want me to collapse in your hallway, which would be hard to explain to the paramedics.”
“We could manage,” Boone says, but he’s already pulling me into his room.
The bed’s unmade because of course it is, sheets tangled from someone’s restless night. Jesse doesn’t bother with ceremony, just picking me up and tossing me onto the mattress. I bounce once, laughing at the complete lack of finesse.
“Smooth, McCoy. Real smooth,” I say.
“We passed smooth about three exits back,” he replies, yanking his sweatpants off.
And holy hell, the view. All three of them stripping with the efficiency of people who’ve decided foreplay is for people with patience.
Jesse’s all lean muscle with a cut V that makes my mouth water.
Boone’s broader, built like someone who actually uses his muscles for work instead of just gym selfies.
And Wyatt... Wyatt’s watching me watch them with dark eyes while he unhooks his belt with deliberate slowness.
Like he’s trying to torment me. Which he is.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks.
“I’ve seen better,” I lie.
“Where?”
“Cable. Late night. Educational programming.”
“We’ll have to work on your standards, then,” Boone says, crawling onto the bed.
Boone kisses like he’s got all the time in the world, thorough and devastating. His hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing patterns that make me arch into the touch.
“Sensitive this morning,” he observes when I gasp.
“Shut up and keep going.”
“So demanding,” Jesse says, suddenly on my other side. His mouth finds my breast through my bra, and the combination of sensations makes my brain short-circuit.
“Off,” I demand, fumbling with the clasp. “Everything off.”
“Let me,” Wyatt says, and his fingers make quick work of the hooks.
Then I’m naked, surrounded by three also naked, aroused cowboys, and my brain suggests helpfully that this is probably how I’m going to die. There are worse ways to go, so I have no objection.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Jesse breathes, his hands skimming up my thighs.
“You’re just saying that because I’m naked.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Wyatt corrects, and something about the matter-of-fact way he says it makes my chest tight.
Before I can process that, Boone’s mouth is between my legs, his tongue finding my clit with devastating accuracy. I cry out, my hands tangling in his hair as he works me with single-minded determination.
“Jesus, Boone—”
“Not Jesus,” Jesse says against my neck. “But I appreciate the confusion.”
I would make a sarcastic comment, but Wyatt’s kissing me now, and when Wyatt kisses, the world narrows to just his mouth and hands and the way he manages to be completely in control while making me feel like I’m the one with all the power.