6. Move ‘em Out #2
I was anything but pissy, though, when I’d raced down the steps, twenty minutes late for my meet-up with Tucker, only to come to a thudding stop at the sight of Jules’ heart-shaped ass thrust into the air.
When she put her hand on my shoulder, my restless dick nearly jumped out of my unbuckled jeans. If Tucker hadn’t called out when he had, I’m pretty sure I would’ve said the heck with everything and bent her over the porch railing in the glow of the sunrise.
Tucker. Fuck. I rub my hand down my face thinking of the asshole move I just pulled.
I turned into a total jealous ass all because Jules had smiled at Tucker.
I actually warned her away from him. Like she’s some loose skirt I have to keep an eye on.
Like I’m some 1950s throwback. Like I even had a right to tell her whom she could or could not flirt with.
She’d actually flinched at my asinine comment.
She recovered so quickly, for a second I thought maybe I misinterpreted it, that she’d just blinked.
But I hurt her, and dang it if that didn’t make me feel like ten times an asshat.
I finally had Jules looking at me with something other than condescension and humor, and I had to go mess it up.
I should apologize. That’s what a gentleman would do. What my grandfather taught me to do.
Straightening, I yank open the screen door and jog up the steps.
Past my room and down the hall, I raise my hand to knock on the guest room Jules had claimed for her own.
But the sound of music and running water stops me.
Holy heck, I know that song. It’s the song she peeled her leather pants off to, drunkenly swaying to its beat, her hands kneading her breasts through her strategically tattered shirt.
Jules is in my house. Naked. Showering to her masturbation playlist.
I’m so hard right now my dick could knock on the door for me. Which it really, really wants to. But even though I’m turned on enough to jump-start a tractor, I know that barging into a woman’s shower to apologize for being a jerk is a creeptastic move.
Quickly, I retrace my steps, ignoring the pain of my hard-on as I jog down the stairs and out the door. It’s for the best.
I have a lot of work to do before the contractor and designer get here in a few hours to start on the renovations for the wedding, anyway.
The screen door slams behind me as I limp my way to the barn.
“What’s up with your leg?” Tucker starts in on me as soon as I enter.
“Nothing.” I try to even out my gait when I walk past him and over to my horse, Angelo.
“Then why are you limping? And who is Jules?”
I can feel Tucker’s eyes on me as I open the stall door and throw the lead over Angelo’s head. The large stallion whinnies and stomps, picking up on my discontent.
“Well?” Tucker asks.
I sidestep to Angelo’s flank, using his size to hide while I adjust my hard-on. No way in hell I’m telling Tucker I’m limping because my dick is a jerk with poor timing. Tucker and I are close. But not that close.
I met Tucker twelve years ago when we were both angry, pissed-off kids looking for a distraction.
I’d been twenty-two and trying to overhaul the ranch I inherited into something profitable.
Flynn was lost in the world of the rich and useless, and Rose had been away at one of the elite all-girl s boarding schools that she was repeatedly kicked out of.
Tucker had been ten and angry at the world for giving him a dad who ran off and a mother so busy working to put food on the table she looked ten years older than her age and never had time to spend with her boy.
We found each other at the Big Brother Big Sister foundation.
I let him work out his anger on the ranch and he made me feel that I wasn’t quite as useless at giving brotherly guidance as I thought.
I glance up at Tucker to see he hasn’t moved from his position by the door, his hands tangled in some rope. He’s grown up a lot over the past ten years, probably more than I have. Knowing the stubborn bastard won’t get to work until his curiosity is satisfied, I relent.
“That was Julie Starr. She’s going to be staying here for…” Huh, I actually don’t know how long she’s staying. Hadn’t even thought to ask. Shoot. What if she leaves before I can apologize?
“Wait.” Tucker drops the rope he’d been coiling on his shoulder. “Julie Starr. As in, the astronaut ? The one who was all over the news a month or so ago?”
I nod while brushing my hands over Angelo, willing us both to relax.
“The one who basically saved the Space Station,” Tucker continues.
I nod again before reaching for the saddle draped over one rail of the stall. With a grunt, I swing it up and over Angelo’s back. “That’s the one.”
He must have nothing to say to that, because Tucker finally stops talking and begins coiling rope again.
The quiet is nice. Just what I need to get my body parts calmed and thoughts in order.
So I don’t know what possesses me to open my mouth and say, “She’s here to help with the wedding.”
The rope drops again. “Wedding?” His eyes bug out. “Who the hell is getting married?”
Tucker’s exclamation has the stallion shifting his weight, specifically his right front hoof straight down onto my foot.
“Jesus,” I gasp, hobbling out of the stall, my foot throbbing.
“Dude.” Tucker’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “Sorry.”
When I try putting weight on my foot, it hollers back at me in pain. Unable to form words, I grunt at Tucker and wave him off as I slump down on a bale of hay.
“Uh, I’ll go finish saddling Angelo,” Tucker mumbles, shuffling over to the annoyed horse.
I lower my head and let out a long sigh.
The good news? My hard-on is one hundred percent gone. The bad? I’m still limping.