Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(124)

“I don’t want you to have any regrets,” Mike said softly right back.

She shook her head and again pressed close. “I’ve been involved in lots of games of the heart, gorgeous. Rolled the dice time and again, took a lot of risks, took a lot of falls. Finally seems I’m winning. I’m not about to play it safe now.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“How badly you want me to meet Jerra and Hunter?” Mike asked.

He watched her blink then she asked, “Sorry?”

“How badly you want me to meet your friends?”

“Uh…badly. As badly as they wanna meet you.”

“So how pissed would they be that we’re an hour or two late?”

Light dawned, her eyes flashed, he had to fight his dick getting hard but even as her face got soft, her lips grinned.

“They got a babysitter. Since I called her Wednesday and told her we’re coming down, Jerra’s been so beside herself, you’d think I told her I was bringing Charlie Hunnam home with me. She’s called seven times. If we’re even ten minutes late, she’ll lose her mind.”

“Charlie who?”

“Charlie Hunnam, Jax from Sons of Anarchy. She watches that show religiously. She has a Sons of Anarchy coffee mug. A Sons of Anarchy ashtray even though she doesn’t smoke. A Sons of Anarchy t-shirt. And she has a Sons of Anarchy billfold that she actually uses that says, ‘What would Gemma do?’ She’s told Hunter that if Charlie Hunnam shows up at the door and tells her she’s the woman of his dreams, she’s leaving him and their kids. Hunter is usually laidback about most stuff but seeing as he’s half Mexican-American, half-WASP, dark-skinned, black-haired and looks absolutely nothing like Charlie Hunnam, not to mention he’s ten years older than Charlie, he, for some reason, does not find this amusing. So, head’s up, babe. Do not mention Sons of Anarchy and absolutely do not mention Charlie Hunnam or sparks will fly and I promise you’ll get burned.”

“So, boiling all that down, you’re saying I can’t take you to bed and f**k you as my way of saying thank you for making me feel easy.”

She melted into him but answered quietly, “Unfortunately, yes.”

She was right. It was unfortunate.

“Then we should get going.”

She didn’t move or let him go.

Instead she called, “Mike?”

He slid his hand back to her jaw and answered, “Yeah?”

“Sure you’re easy?”

He held her eyes and whispered, “Yeah.”

“You see me giving up a lot. But I don’t think you get what I’m gaining.”

“I get it.”

“Then I’m not sure you understand how much it means to me.”

He pulled in breath and that burn in his chest came back.

“Well if I didn’t,” his eyes tipped out the window at the darkening horizon then they came back to her, “now I do.”

She held his gaze.

Then she smiled.

Then she whispered on an arm squeeze, “Good.”

Then she rolled up on her toes, kissed him quickly, let him go and they got in their rental SUV and drove to Schub’s.

*

“You want, I can find you a leather strap and you can bite down on it. Won’t ease the pain but it’ll mean you won’t scream.”

That was Rivera giving Texas advice for sitting at a Saloon and Hoedown watching your woman getting whipped around by a mechanical bull for the third time.

Yes, the third time.

Clearly, she’d done it often but had not got any better at it. Mike knew this because two seconds after Rivera’s offer, off Dusty flew to land in a pit of sawdust covered foam rubber.

She jumped to her feet, hair flying, sawdust drifting, body unsteady as she tried to balance on the foam rubber. Once steady, she threw her hands in the air and screeched, “Giddyup!”

The crowd went wild.

Yes, for the third time.

“Jesus,” Mike muttered.

“Payback,” Rivera muttered back and Mike tore his gaze from his woman brushing off flakes of sawdust to the handsome, half-Mexican-American, half-WASP man sitting with him at the table and smiling a big white smile.

“Pardon?”

“You laid her out,” Rivera reminded him. “Now, I coulda called and warned you that Schub’s was not the place to be…” he hesitated, “ever with Jerra and Dusty. We coulda gone to Del Rio Cantina. Best Mexican food outside of Mexico. Quiet until the mariachi band starts roaming. And although the tequila and lime juice flows and those two women get loud, there’s no mechanical bull to climb on and there’s no DJ to beg to play ‘Achy-Breaky Heart’.”

“Fuck,” Mike muttered, not looking forward to that part of the evening.

“Yeah. They love that song though they start it dancing and end it hanging on each other giggling. Then they sit at the table and talk for an hour about how the mullet is a male hairstyle that’s underappreciated.”

“Christ.” Mike was still muttering.

“Don’t worry, I think they’re jokin’,” Rivera assured him.

Fuck, he hoped so.

“So, to sum up,” Hunter went on. “You’re here as payback. I think this is painful enough you’ll never do the dirt on Dusty again.”