Frog by Mary Calmes (ebook reader android TXT) 📕

staying this time? From the look on his face I’m thinking you’re staying.”

“I am,” I assured him.

He offered me his hand. “I’m so glad, Web. For both of you.”

But I didn’t even have a job. I was homeless and—

“Weber?”

I realized I had not taken his hand and grabbed it fast, shaking.

“You scared me.” He sighed, and I understood at that moment that he liked what he saw. He liked me. “I want us to be friends.”

“I appreciate that, but you—”

“I meant every word,” he promised, and the look in his clear green eyes, solid, let me know he was telling the truth. “I’m thrilled that you’re going to stay. I look forward to hanging out with both of you. Come say a quick hello to the guys, all right?”

“Next time,” Cy told him, shoving William gently back. “Gotta go home and get laid right now, Will.”

“Oh, okay,” he said quickly, his black eyebrows shooting up as he mouthed the word trashed to me and ended with a wicked grin. “We’ll see you soon.”

“God, you’re drunk,” I assured Cy as I grabbed his hand, yanking him after me toward the front door.

“Yeah, so what?” he growled in reply.

We were stopped outside, before we hit the stairs, but this time by someone I had never met before.

“I saw that over-the-top display inside, Cy,” the tall, handsome man who was barring our path said. “I don’t get an introduction to the man you pined for?”

The ex. I got it.

“Just let it go, Seth. We’re just leaving.”

“So let me understand.” He squinted at me. “I wasn’t good enough, but a homeless drifter is. Explain to me how that makes any sense.”

I moved to walk around him, but he cut me off. And I understood. I really did. Cyrus Benning was a catch. He was beautiful and rich and smart and funny and just Prince Charming in the flesh. I would have tried to get him back if I lost him too. Fortunately for me, I was the one. I was the guy, his guy, the man he wanted to grow old with.

“Move, please,” I asked nicely.

“So,” he said, looking me up and down, “you’re what the fuss was all about. I can’t say I’m impressed.” He sneered at me. “Still riding bulls, cowboy?”

“Nope.” I smirked at him. “I only ride his cock now.”

Not the answer he was expecting.

His mouth fell open.

Cy gasped.

“Are we clear?” I wanted to make sure.

“Get the fuck out of our way before I kick your ass!” Cy yelled, slurring his words, on the verge, it seemed, of taking a swing at the guy.

I turned, grabbed Cy, threw him over my shoulder, and took the stairs easily even with his added weight.

Outside on the sidewalk, I started back toward where I had left the car.

“Put me down!”

“So that was the guy you slept with when I left last time, huh?”

“Weber Yates, put me down!”

“How the hell did he know I was a bull rider?” I asked as though he wasn’t screaming at me.

“Because I told him all about you just like I told every guy I ever dated all about you because you’re the love of my fucking life!”

“Why’re you mad?” I tried not to snicker.

“Because you just told that piece of crap that I fucked you and that was just between us!”

Well, now it wasn’t anyway because he had just yelled it to the whole block. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you care if I told him?”

“Because it’s private!” He was probably foaming at the mouth, he was so mad. “What we do in our bedroom is no one’s business but ours, and it was beautiful and amazing and nothing I would have ever shared with—”

“Calm down,” I said softly, patting his ass, my voice deep and low.

“I don’t want him to think about you like that, like he could fuck you, because only I fuck you!”

I stopped and put him down because he was still fuming and not losing any of his anger.

“I’m so pissed at you right now!” He was still snarling and yipping like a rabid dog.

“Don’t be.” I grinned before I grabbed him and pulled him close. “I like that you’re possessive of me, of us. It means a lot.”

When I bent to kiss him, he parted his lips for me eagerly, but I took my time, and when I lifted up just barely, not enough to be parted from the feel of his warm breath on my face, I noticed that his eyes were open.

“You’re supposed to close your eyes when I kiss you.”

“But I’m a little bit afraid I’m dreaming right now so I kind of don’t want to stop looking at you.”

“God, you’re so drunk and cute.”

“What?”

“Get in the car,” I ordered him, holding open the passenger side door.

“I am not cute, and I’m not that drunk.”

I shoved him down, held onto his head so he wouldn’t clunk it, and closed the door. Once I was behind the wheel, he reiterated that yes, he was a little tipsy, but not sloshed.

“Okay, darlin’,” I agreed, strapping him in. “Try not to puke in the car.”

“I’m not gonna be sick.” He was indignant. “I drink all the time, Weber.”

Uh-huh.

I didn’t even say I told you so when I had to stop three blocks away so he could hurl up a lung. It would have been mean.

At home, I put a cool washcloth on the back of his neck as he threw up some more and then rubbed his back when it subsided to retching.

“This is supposed to be the most beautiful night of my life,” he groaned, head on the rim of the porcelain bowl, his skin moist, pale, and chilled.

“But this way it’s memorable.” I smiled at him.

“I’m disgusting.”

“You’re drunk.” I sighed. “Did you even eat anything today?”

He ignored my question. “How can you even be in here?”

“Because all this don’t bother me none. Now get up, wash your face, brush your teeth, and I’ll get you some Tylenol and water.”

“This is gross, but I’m kind