Love, Exes, and Ohs (Cactus Creek #4)(2)

And yes, Isaac had taken no small amount of pleasure in inviting her over for steaks on the grill the weekend following two of those break-ups.

Served rare, of course, just the way they both liked it.

Looks like he was going to be adding steaks to his grocery list this week.

And maybe some Caesar salad dressing.

Pulling into the parking stall right next to Xoey’s blue hatchback, he tossed his now useless dead-air phone on the passenger seat and grabbed the take-out tray carrying the piping hot black coffee he’d picked up for himself enroute to the dog park, along with the fancy barely-classifies-as-coffee iced mocha drink he knew Xoey preferred with her doughnuts—what he was fairly certain was her pick for their Saturday breakfast spread this morning, judging by the familiar bakery sounds he’d heard over the phone line a few minutes ago.

Bacon doughnuts—he’d bet good money on it. Not just because it was a post-Mr. Wrong kind of morning, but because when it came to breakfast selections, he was the unequivocal Xoey-Whisperer.

He knew that the novelty pastry was one she and she alone had convinced their sweet old town baker to learn how to make. It was now a town hit, but no one knew that the sassy bartender with the dancer’s body was the one who’d made the diet-obliterating treat happen.

Her atrocious eating habits was one of the many little secrets Xoey kept hidden from most folks.

Him included, back when they were dating.

But now, with nearly a year spent in their hermetically sealed friend zone, he rivaled, and even often surpassed, her best friend Dani in knowledge of all things Xoey.

Of course, with great power, came great responsibility.

As the Xoey-whisperer, he’d spent a good portion of this past year laughing, and the rest of it with a perpetual hard-on. Because the woman was as hilarious as she was sexy. In a smart-ass-always-packing-with-a-wickedly-racy-joke sort of way.

Some called it her gift—the impressive ability Xoey had of turning anything hilariously dirty.

Isaac called it one of the main contributing factors for his high stress level most weekends.

Last night, for instance, was a prime example of the sort of stress she inspired in his life.

The night had kicked off with him receiving a text from Xoey at the start of her date that the pharmacist who always introduced himself as Dr. Stevens even outside of the office—seriously, who does that?—was wearing fitted slacks that were barely holstering his ‘Double O Seven.’

It was any wonder why Isaac had spent most of last night personally trying out the new punching bags he’d just ordered for his mixed martial arts gym.

And it wasn’t until well after one a.m. when Isaac finally got the text message he’d been waiting for so he could retire his MMA gloves for the night.

>> TOTAL S&M. DETAILS OVER BREAKFAST. XOXO

Months ago, when Xoey had first texted that very message to him after a date, he’d damn near had a stroke, and had been halfway across town ready to beat her date senseless when she’d followed up with a call drolly lamenting over just how painful her ‘Swing-&-Miss’ dud of a date had been.

Painful swing and miss…not painful whips and chains.

Crazy woman and her penchant for double-meaning quips.

If only his own break-up with Xoey had been so rationally, and clearly classified as an S&M.

To this day, he still didn’t know why Xoey broke things off with him a year ago.

They’d dated for a little less than five months. But they’d been friends, literally ever since.

It started the morning after they broke up—when they’d both found themselves at the dog park at the same time…though neither of them owned a dog. Right then and there, Isaac had decided that he wouldn’t let her run off or put a friendly distance between them. It took a few weeks, but eventually, almost grudgingly, she landed on the conclusion that he was perhaps more stubborn than even she was.

And the rest was history.

Now that he thought about it, that had probably been how their weekend breakfast at the park routine had begun. Without any coordination. It just…happened.

So here they were a year later—somewhat unofficial, and entirely inexplicable, best friends.

…Who, along with talking on the phone almost every day, spent one morning a week together eating horrendously unhealthy breakfasts, which, on his part, was negated by the rigorous workouts he would get on Xoey’s date nights.

Not that his heart could tell the difference.

Being in better shape than most of the MMA fighters that came to his gym didn’t make him any less at risk for a heart attack. At least where Xoey was concerned.

The woman basically had remote control access to most of his body parts—brain, heart, and…yeah. All his body parts.

Hell, just the sight of her name on his caller id screen was enough to send a spike of double-pronged adrenaline through his bloodstream faster than a whiskey espresso. Firing his blood one minute, and tossing a fishing net of the inexplicably warm and fuzzy variety around his heart the next.

He had a sneaking suspicion that his heart would just up and quit on him if he had to give up his weekly fixes of Xoey. Lord knows his other body parts were already forming some sort of union that was preventing him from having a successful date himself.

Or it could be that Xoey’s…errr, unique views on life and love were rubbing off on him. The candidly crazy woman colorfully maintained that all people should have the unalienable right to be: 1) unafraid to jump into love ass first, and 2) unashamed to ‘exchange if not satisfied’ every ninety days.