Love, Exes, and Ohs (Cactus Creek #4)(12)

So, he did the only thing he could do. He gave her a crash course in self-defense, and then spent the rest of the time worrying his brains out.

On the nights they didn’t chat on the phone or text before she went to bed, he found himself barely curbing the urge to drive over to check on her.

It was random and unquestionably irrational, but it was a constant in the saga that was his odd-couple friendship with Xoey.

Stemming largely from the fact that he still loved the hell out of her.

In fact, the only times he really slept with the sort of ease that he felt down to his marrow were on the nights he hung out at her place for DVD or DVR nights. Usually, she’d fall asleep against his shoulder before the movie or show was over. But sometimes, he’d be the first to go down.

And every single time he did, he’d wake up with his head in her lap, and her fingers gently combing through his hair, unconsciously petting him until it was all he could do not to purr.

…Only to have her stop the second she’d realize he was awake.

And yet, insanity-inspiring as it all was, he couldn’t imagine giving up any of these rights and responsibilities to some man-quation derived chump.

This was killing him.

“Xoey?” he called out quietly as he knocked on the door, not wanting to crash cymbals against her hung-over brain.

A quiet groan answered him before the deadbolt clicked open.

He pushed the heavy door open and saw her retreating tank-top and boxers-clad figure heading back to the ‘bedroom’ area behind the studio’s room partition, seconds before a soft whoomp sounded atop her queen-sized bed.

“Never drinking again,” she moaned, her raw, scratchy voice muffled by the pillow.

Sighing, he went over to drag her out of bed. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

She whimpered and flashed a big puppy dog look up at him as she tried to crawl back under the covers, but he stayed the course and carried her over to the couch.

But it was touch and go for a while there.

Those eyes of hers always slayed him.

They were so damn expressive. Rich, dark honey pools of pure femininity that would light up with pleasure when she saw him.

Even hung-over and blurry, that light had been there for him this morning. And it’d taken everything in him not to yank her into a kiss on the spot, to claim her as his and his alone.

Dammit, he was on edge this morning.

The idea of Xoey dating always knocked him in the solar plexus, but her searching for Mr. Right? It all made him feel dangerously unhinged.

After two ibuprofen, a few gulps of the famous Ocotillos miracle hangover cure he’d had her bartenders concoct for her, and eventually, several bites of food to soak up the alcohol, she finally lost that green tinge to her skin, which had been creating a lovely Christmas effect with her bloodshot eyes.

“Thanks for coming over, Isaac,” she said groggily as she settled back against the couch.

He lightly bumped his forehead against hers and dropped a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “No big deal, sweetie. You’d do it for me. Did do it, in fact, as we both remember.”

Once.

The last and final time he’d gone drinking to the point of oblivion to dull the pain of his past.

He and Xoey had only been dating a few months at the time, and he’d withdrawn completely from her and everyone like he always did at that time of year.

So he could drink himself to the fantasy place he’d used to visit where memories and pain didn’t exist.

On the anniversary of his brother Cody’s death.

It used to be an annual thing that normally ended with his old friend Tessa—who’d similarly gone through the loss of a sibling—babysitting him until he was sober enough to ride Cody’s Harley-Davidson V-Rod back home.

Last year, however, the bartender at the One Eyed Snake, the biker bar at the edge of Cactus Creek that had been Isaac’s go-to bar for the past few anniversaries, had called up Xoey instead.

He should’ve expected it; the woman was friends with ever bartender within a fifty-mile radius.

Xoey had swooped in that night, folded him into the backseat of her hatchback, somehow sweet-talked a badass biker dude to follow her on Cody’s bike back to Isaac’s apartment, and then nursed him through the hangover from hell the next morning.

She’d waited until his head was good and pounding to read him the riot act the next day.

Up until that point, he’d only ever encountered sympathy, and of course, concern for his drinking sprees.

But never red-hot anger.

She’d dragged him to Cody’s gravesite and told him to man-up and set a good example for his brother.

To show Cody that he loved and missed him enough to not drink to the point of forgetting what day it was.

To spend some time there telling him all the great things he was doing at the gym with kids that were around Cody’s age when he’d died.

To promise never to be so reckless with his own life again, so he’d be alive to keep coming back every year to spend that brotherly time together.

And when the anniversary of Cody’s death came around earlier this year, he’d done just that, with Xoey at his side, even though they were no longer dating.

Cody would have loved Xoey.

“Oh hey, before I forget,” she murmured, rolling off the couch to a graceful flop on the carpet before pulling out a box from under the coffee table. “I have Cody’s birthday gift.”