Page 34 of Homebound

“That’s because I like her more than I like you,” I tease.

He knows I’m joking so that only makes him grin wider. “I can tell. Well, I guess we’ll see you later. Have fun on your… date.”

With one last unreadable look at me, Wyatt picks up his bundle of groceries and strides through the crowded market. I watch him go until he rounds a corner into the parking lot.

There’s a weight off my chest now that he’s gone. I always feel like I’m being submerged in something all-consuming when he’s around, and it makes it hard to get in a good breath.

Alanna bumps my shoulder. “Do you really have a date tonight, or did you make that up?”

I quirk my brows, confused as to why she’s asking. “Yeah, of course I do. Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you’re breaking his heart without even trying. He’s like a sad little puppy dog around you, waiting for you to throw him a Milk-Bone.”

At the reminder, I give Luna an almond butter treat, making her shake for it. “Patterson’s always been that way. He’s a big sweetie. That's why we’re just friends.”

“Babe.” She gives me a really? look. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a cute look.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I know what it looks like when a man wants me, and Patterson’s always looked at me like…” I think for a second, scratching Tuna. “Like he wants to squeeze me. Like how I’d love-squeeze my Toons.”

She scoffs. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. There’s no way that man is ‘just friends’ with you, unless ‘just friends’ means he looks at you like he’s imagining you naked then sure, you’re ‘just friends.’”

I toss my head to the cloudless sky and groan. Everyone has always made that assumption, and everyone is wrong. “Not you too. I mean, I thought maybe he had a crush on me when we were kids, but he had fifteen years to make a move, and honestly, it doesn’t even matter. Patterson’s the complete opposite of my type. We’re better off as friends.”

It’s like men and women can’t just be friends anymore, but I’ve always been a boys’ girl, so most of my friends are men. Until Alanna, I always got along better with boys.

I’ve never been considered the girly type, no matter how many dresses I wear, and I love dresses. Especially lacy ones. But for some reason, men see that I’m a bull rider, and assume I only communicate with grunts and drink beer.

Sure, I love a good beer on a hot day, but I also love sipping a crisp white wine while overlooking the bluebonnet fields and painting my nails in Flamingo Fizz. I’m slapped around so much on bulls that all I want is to be treated like a lady for once.

Alanna puts a hand over her forehead, shading her hazel eyes as she squints at me.

“Why’re you squinting at me like that?” I ask.

“I’m trying to see if you’ve got cataracts, because I think you might be going blind if you can’t see how he looks at you, and I’m concerned for your well-being.”

“Oh, please. I’m not going blind. I know I make him flustered, but all women do, and I’ve never been attracted to him, so that’s that.”

“You need to go to the eye doctor.”

“No, I don’t. Trust me, I know how Patterson looks at me.”

“And trust me,” Alanna says, looping her arm through mine. “You’re going to be knockin’ boots by the time this summer’s over.”

14

THE BET

WYATT

“Please, baby?” I moan, rocking Vienna in the rustic living room. “I know you’re tired. Daddy’s tired too. I need to put this bed together for you, and then we can sleep.”

Her wail drills into my already thumping headache. She’s been crying all evening since I got back from the farmers market, and nothing I do can get her to stop. This is one of those moments where I wish I had someone to complain about how tired I am, and then we would cackle-laugh together because we’re delirious from exhaustion.

But no. It’s just me.

I sniff her diaper.

Clean.