Chapter 32
Colter
“This is not worth the free dinner you promised me,” Jake grunts, knocking the lamp off of the side table in the guest room. It shatters the moment it touches the floor, the sound echoing through the house.
Good thing I asked Kayla to go to the store for groceries.
“You wrestle with cows,” I snap, lifting the mattress over the footboard. “Now, man up, and lift.”
“Fucking whipped asshole,” he mumbles under his breath, finally putting his back into it.
“Happy wife, happy life,” I reply. Now, Kayla won’t have an excuse not to sleep in our bed. She can banish me to the guest room whenever she gets angry with me, but she’ll always choose our bed over any other option in this house.
We carry the mattress down the hallway, swapping it out with the firm mattress on my bed. If Kayla prefers the mattress from the guest room, then so be it. It’s a newer mattress anyway. “When you gonna get one?” I rib, taking the cheap shot at my brother.
“A mattress? I got one. Hell, I got two if you count the one in the guest room.”
“I meant a wife,” I deadpan.
“Lemme know when you get one, and we’ll talk.”
Won’t be long now. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not willing to let Kayla walk away from us now that I’m so addicted to her.
But I’ll keep that to myself for now.
“I think it’s your turn for the town matchmakers to meddle,” I say, tossing the fitted sheet in his direction.
“I am the town matchmaker,” he scoffs, throwing the sheets back at me. “And I’m not making your goddamn bed, make your own.” My brother stomps off, similar to how my son stomps off after I tell him he can’t have ice cream before dinner, leaving me to clean up the lamp he broke.
I sweep up the shards of glass, grumbling under my breath the whole time. Jake’s probably already halfway home, muttering about me being whipped like it’s some kind of insult. Man hasn’t had a real relationship since high school, but sure knows how to run his mouth.
Once the floor’s clean, I head back to the bedroom and finish making the bed.
It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. I swap out the pillows with the ones from the guest bedroom, too, because the down-filled pillows make her eyes water.
I’m just tucking the corner of the blanket when I hear the front door creak open.
“Colter?” Kayla’s voice carries through the house, soft and curious.
“In here.”
I can hear her footsteps all the way through the house. She comes into the room carrying a large thing of toilet paper in her arms. “They were out of the good stuff, so I got the cheaper stuff.”
“Tragic.”
She snorts. “Tell me how you feel after your after-dinner shit.”
“I think we know each other too well.” I shouldn’t be so proud that we’ve gotten to the point where we can talk about each other’s shits so freely, should I? But something about the intimacy of having that information locked and loaded makes the caveman in me thump his chest.
“Hm, maybe,” she shrugs. “You made the bed?”
“I do chores,” I defend, looking at the wonky bedspread.
“I didn’t say you didn’t.” She smiles up at me cheekily, and I cross my arms over my chest, unimpressed.
“Where’s Ben? Ben’s nice to me, unlike some people,” I narrow my eyes at the perky brunette. She’s way too happy with herself right now, and it’s pretty fucking adorable.
“I sent him to spend time with his Moms. We’ve been hogging him for the past week.”
“I like hogging him. Makes me feel like we’re the superior parents.” And I’m only partially kidding. For a long time, I felt like the third choice. The background parent. I feel like having Kayla by my side now helps even things out.
Dad’s fun and cool, sure, but he’s not who you go to after you’ve had a bad day. Even if I wish he would.
“Colt,” Kayla chastises, shaking her head. “You can’t say that.”
“Mandy says she’s the favorite all the time,” I argue, following my girlfriend downstairs to her car.
“Well, Mandy is wrong. I’m clearly the favorite.” She looks over her shoulder at me, ass sticking into the air as she bends to pull bags from her backseat. Her shorts dig into her ass, accentuating the curve, and my dick stirs to life.
“You know what? Who cares about that stuff? What matters is you’re here, the house is empty, and those shorts look fucking sinful on you.”
“Groceries first. Then sex.”
I grab the remaining bags from the trunk. “Deal. I’ll even let you pick the playlist while we put everything away.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Even the Noah Kahan one?”
“I said I’d let you pick. I didn’t say I’d enjoy it. Be prepared for all my critiques and comments.”
“You know I hate when you do that,” she groans, slamming her door shut. I take all but one bag from her, lightening the load.
“I know. That’s partially why it’s so fun.”
Kayla sticks her tongue out at me and leads the way inside, hips swaying with a little extra sass that she knows is going to drive me crazy.
And she’s right. It does.
I follow her into the kitchen, trying real hard not to ogle her legs and failing miserably.
We fall into a rhythm unpacking the groceries, tossing comments back and forth like we’re in some kind of sitcom. She hums while she works, and I can’t help but watch her from the corner of my eye.
“You okay?” she asks, catching me staring while she lines up the yogurt cups in the fridge like a little grocery store display.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous,” she teases, nudging me with her hip.
I set down the loaf of bread and grab her by the waist, pulling her against me. “You know, you live in my house, you risk your life for my son, and I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet.”
“Huh, you’re right.” She spins out of my arms, darting around to the other side of the island. “I think I’ve made this too easy on you.”
“Well, hold on now. That’s not quite what I said.”
“No, no. I think we need to cool things off until I get a proper date.”
“I’ve taken you on a date!” I flounder. This is not going how I thought it would.
“Oh yeah? When?”
“When I bought you those boots. And dinner.”
“Colt,” she snickers, shaking her head. “It can’t be called a date if neither of us had any notion of romantic feelings going into it.”
“I had romantic feelings! I was just being a stubborn mule,” I argue, voice dropping a couple of octaves. According to Kayla, one octave drop is my Dad voice, two octave drops is my sex voice. “Come on, Sweets. We’re kid-free.”
“For a few hours. Then we’re going to Sylvie and Mandy’s to plan Ben’s birthday party and have dinner.”
“We are?” I don’t remember seeing that on the color-coded calendar Kayla insists on making each month. According to her, she’s a type A teacher, which means she needs organization. I don’t know what that means, but if it makes her happy, then I’m happy.
“We made the plans when I dropped Ben off,” she shrugs.
“Well then, that means we have a few hours to have some fun. And then tomorrow, I promise I will take you on a date.”
“Ugh,” she groans, like I’ve annoyed the fuck out of her. “Fine. You’re lucky I like your dick so much, though.”
“You can say it’s the dick all you want, baby. We both know it’s the moustache that gets you going.”
She heaves out a full-blown laugh as she walks away from me, and I follow like a forlorn dog.
If it makes her laugh, I’ll gladly take the hit to my ego.
By the time we walk over to Mandy and Sylvie’s house, the sun has dipped behind the hills, casting golden streaks across the front lawn. The porch light flickers on as we approach, and the scent of something good wafts through the air. The door swings open before we even knock.
“Took you long enough,” Sylvie teases, stepping aside to let us in. Her hair’s tied up in a loose bun, and she’s wearing an apron that says Mommin’ Ain’t Easy in glittery letters.
“We were busy,” Kayla replies, flashing her an all-too-innocent smile.
Mandy appears behind her, arms crossed, one brow cocked. “Busy doing what? Reorganizing the pantry alphabetically?”
“Something like that,” I snicker. “It definitely started in the kitchen.”
Sylvie snorts. “Dinner’s almost ready. Kayla, wine?”
“God, yes.” Kayla walks in like she owns the place and follows Sylvie into the kitchen. I hang back a second, slipping off my boots.
Mandy watches me with narrowed eyes. “You look,” she hesitates, “good.”
“Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?” I mutter, following my best friend into the home she shares with her wife.
“It’s just not normal.”
“Well, ain’t that a sad thing to say?” I frown. “I’ve been happy before.”
“See, but you saying that proves my point.”
Mandy and I met when we were really young.
She’s been around long enough to have met my mother.
That’s how young we were when we met. Her parents worked on the ranch, meaning she was always here, and at first, I tried to ignore her.
The thing about Mandy, though, is that if she doesn’t want to be ignored, she won’t be.
We became best friends because of her tenacity. We’re not the most likely of pairs, but it somehow works. She busts my balls and reminds me not to be such a grump, and I remind her to stand up for herself when she forgets she has a backbone.
Our friendship is why I value her opinion so much.
“You like her?” I ask quietly, looking into the kitchen, where Sylvie and Kayla are talking over a glass of wine.
“I love her,” Mandy nods solemnly. “Especially for you.”
“Good, cause I want to marry her.”
“Good, cause I’d smack your ass silly if you didn’t.”
“Nope, too kinky.” I push her away with a playful shove. This conversation has gotten too serious too fast. Anyway, the focus should be on Ben tonight. Ben and his epic ninth birthday party.
The table’s already set, Ben’s crayon drawing proudly displayed under the salt and pepper shakers. Grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, and some kind of fancy salad with lumpy cheese sit on the tablecloth Ben’s already sitting, with his knife and fork in hand, waiting impatiently.
“Are we gonna eat, or what?” He asks, looking around at all the adults.
“Nice to see you too, Bud,” I chuckle, pulling his hat off his head and hanging it on the back of the chair.
“I saw you like an hour ago,” he rolls his eyes at me. My heart pangs a little in my chest. There once was a time when he didn’t want to leave my side.
“Alright, alright.” I pull out Kayla’s chair before I pull out my own. I don’t comment on the look Sylvie and Mandy share when I do it. No need to draw excessive attention to it.
I scoop up Ben’s plate first, then wait for the women to get their fill. It’s something my father taught us growing up, always let the women dish up first. I take most of whatever’s leftover, leaving behind the salad.
“Okay, let’s talk plans,” Mandy announces once we’re all settled with our food. She’s not wasting any time. “Lemme hear our ideas.”
“Laser tag,” Kayla says instantly.
“No,” I say at the same time. “Pony rides.”
Sylvie blinks. “Pony rides?”
“He’s nine, not three,” Mandy deadpans.
“He’s a cowboy,” I argue. “It’s tradition.”
“Laser tag could be the new tradition,” Kayla says sweetly.
“He can like horses and lasers,” I say, mostly to be contrary, and cause I feel like they’re ganging up on me. It was bad enough when it was 2-1, now it’s 3-1.
“Laser ponies,” Sylvie suggests, flipping the page in her notebook.
Mandy laughs, full and bright. “I don’t think any laser tag place would willingly let horses into their building.”
“No,” Kayla drags out, a smile making its way onto her pretty face. I know that face. She’s a woman with a plan. “But we could bring the laser tag here. I saw this place that brings vests and guns to you. We could have the party here, use our horses.”
“That might actually be kinda cool,” I agree, looking over to Ben, who’s just watching us with wide eyes. “What do you think, Bud?”
“That would be so cool!” He screeches, pumping his little fist.
Sylvie’s already writing out the new plan. “We’ll make a theme. Like Cowboy Space Rangers.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Mandy says. “We’ll get them hats and little badges and—oh! Nerf guns.”
“We can invite parents to hang out, too. Set up a gazebo,” Kayla suggests.
“And we can have punch and cupcakes.”
“Can Nick stay the night?” Ben asks, jumping in.
“What do you say to you and Nick sleeping in a tent?” Sylvie asks her son, looking more excited about the party than anyone else.
“Can we?” His eyes light up, and he wiggles in his chair. I lean back, throwing my arm over the back of Kayla’s chair, and watch the three of them plan like a mini war council. The chaos. The joy. The ridiculous commitment to details like cupcakes vs. cake-pops.
Ben is lucky. So damn lucky.
And so am I.
Kayla meets my gaze, eyes warm, mouth curved just slightly.
“Cowboy Space Ranger birthday,” I say quietly.
She nods. “Better than the goat cheese salad.”
I shudder. “Is that what that is?”
“Hey dipshits,” Sylvie waves her fork at us. “We can still hear you.”
“Mommy, that’s a colorful word.”