Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(30)

No matter. I was an adult. I’d deal. I’d just ignore him.

But somehow I started humming pretty loudly as I aligned the dishes buffet style. In addition to the potato salad and cornbread muffins I’d brought, someone had cracked open a can of baked beans.

Anton pulled back the tin foil to reveal the biggest pile of ribs I’d seen outside the Crook County Fair cook-off. Next to the ribs were ears of corn.

“That looks like heaven,” Mase said on a reverent whisper.

“It is. Dig in while it’s hot. The game starts in thirty.”

Bottles rattled and I glanced over to see Boone setting a case of O’Doul’s on the counter. He stepped back and I noticed he was wearing scrubs. Scrubs were not sexy.

But scrubs were sexy as sin on Boone West, RN.

The jerk.

He offered me a tentative smile and said, “Hey, McKay.”

Immediately three other people said, “What?”

“Now I see the need for nicknames,” Boone said. He handed a bottle to Hayden.

Mase snagged an O’Doul’s. “You’ve gotta have beer with ribs. Got to. And this stuff ain’t half bad.”

I grabbed a bottle. I twisted the top off and took a big drink. I said, “You weren’t lying about this near-beer being good,” to Mase while I looked directly at Boone.

His jaw tightened. Then he leaned in and said, “Did I hear you humming ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ right after I walked in?”

“Yes. I love the Eagles.”

“Bull. You always hated it when I played Eagles tunes.”

“But the song fits, doesn’t it?” I said sweetly. “Are you a Miranda Lambert fan?”

His eyes narrowed. “Gonna bust out into a chorus of ‘White Liar’ next?”

“Probably. And I’ll follow it up with ‘Would I Lie to You’ by Eurythmics. I considered tossing in ‘Little Lies’ by Fleetwood Mac, but Motorhead’s ‘Don’t Lie to Me’ is in line with my angry mood about the whole situation.”

“Christ. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Heartfelt apology there, scooter.” I poked him in the chest. “Not okay. Not even f*cking close to okay.”

He struggled to respond.

I let him.

Finally he said, “Please give me an opportunity to offer you a sincere apology and a chance to explain everything after we eat.”

Say no and walk away.

“Why should I care?”

“Because you’ve wanted to see me grovel for a long damn time.”

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“Since you like tossing song titles at me. Here’s one that fits—”

“‘She Hates Me’ by Puddle of Mudd,” I snapped. “Good call on that one.”

“Wrong.” Then Boone invaded my space, the expression in his dark eyes was somewhere between haunted and frustrated. “Let me finish. Every time I’ve heard ‘I Won’t Give Up’ by Jason Mraz I’ve thought of you. Of us. Every time, Sierra. Tell me you didn’t think of us when you heard it.”

I didn’t retort or back away. My stomach pitched. My chest felt tight, as if I couldn’t get any air. Music has always played a big part in my life. It played a big part in my friendship with Boone because our musical tastes were so diverse. But the fact he’d mentioned that song? The one tune guaranteed to make me think of him and what could’ve been? That spoke to me on a level no amount of groveling or “I’m sorry” ever could have. Maybe it was against my better judgment, but I found my anger toward him softening somewhat. I could be civil long enough to hear his apology.

“You have one shot at offering me a f*cking stellar and believable request for my forgiveness, West.”

He didn’t offer a cocky smile. He just quietly said, “Thank you.”

I turned back toward the food and saw our cousins pretending that they hadn’t been watching us whisper fight.

Mase piled his food on a platter; evidently a regular-sized plate wasn’t big enough. “Seriously dude, these ribs are f*cking awesome. I’m so glad you guys moved in.” He paused and looked at Anton. “Not to seem ungrateful for this spread, but what are we having next month?”

Anton wiped his hands on a towel. “Brisket and sausage.”

Mase actually whimpered.

Boone cocked an eyebrow at Kyler.

“Anton is the meat master and Mase is a self-professed ‘meat-atarian’ after his mom turned vegan his last year of high school. Once a month we have Meat-topia. The rule initially was no chicks, because we’d never get laid again if they saw us eat like this.”

“But then Nevada showed up with brownies, so she’s totally in.”

I raised my bottle to Mase.

“Ky, can I borrow some clothes? I don’t need barbecue sauce on my scrubs.”

“There’s a basket of my stuff on top of the dryer. Pick anything but the Broncos jerseys.”

“No self-respecting Cowboys fan would be caught dead wearing one anyway,” Boone shot back.

“At least you’re consistent,” I said to Boone.

“Meaning what?” he said warily.

I smirked. “Your taste in football teams is as crappy as your taste in music.”