Page 68 of Ridin’ Dirty

“Perception is a funny thing,” Pistol replied. “In your mind, you think you’re havin’ a conversation with your sister. In mine, I’m sure you’re havin’ a conversation with my wife—a conversation she doesn’t look to be enjoyin’.”

While part of me was still trying to locate my motor skills, another part of me was content to let the men have it out. Especially when Carmine’s demeanor shifted into something that scared me a little.

He raised his hands, curling his fingers into fists before he brought his fists back down to his sides in a show of barely contained anger. His jaw locked, he looked right at me and muttered, “You don’t have any idea what you’ve done. Not a fuckin’ clue.” He then pointed a finger at me and yelled, “Damnit, Lyla!”

I jumped, and Pistol’s arm tightened around me as Carmine turned and walked away.

Pistol didn’t let me go, not until the rumble of Carmy’s hog began to dissipate.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I looked up at him, still trying to shake off the effects of my complete mind lapse.

“Uhm, yeah. I’m—I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said before he strode inside.

This time, I couldn’t keep my mouth from falling open.

What was that?

On some level, I knew the answer.

It was a show.

That’s what our marriage was—a show.

Except…he called me angel.

It was one thing for him to call me birthday girl. The first time he did it, it was actually my birthday. A couple of days later, it wasn’t so much endearing as it was my clue he hadn’t remembered my name. Now, he definitely knew my name and yet he chose angel instead. I wanted to know why. I clung to the question, afraid if I didn’t, I’d dwell on the feeling I got when he said it. A feeling I wasn’t ready to have. No—figuring out why was way safer.

Aware I wasn’t going to find any answers standing stunned in front of the diner, I managed to put one foot in front of the other as I walked back inside.

The first thing I noticed was Pistol didn’t come to dine alone. He’d taken one of the end seats in a horseshoe booth where he now sat with four other Stallions. Laura was standing table side, scribbling down their orders on her notepad. I couldn’t say whether I was relieved or disappointed at having missed the chance to wait on the group, but as I started to cross the room to check on a table in my section, I caught Pistol’s eye.

Rather than give me a passing glance, he watched me as I walked by, and I felt myself begin to blush.

Fucking blush.

I looked away, but it didn’t do me much good—the last couple of minutes playing on a loop in my head. This was the second interaction we had with my brother. Only this time, it was Pistol coming to my rescue. In a way, he evened the score.

Except…he called me angel.

I tried shaking my head clear as I approached one of my tables. Words were spoken, but it felt like I was straining to hear them through a tunnel, my real focus on the other side. I managed to pick up on the request for a couple drink refills, and I was quick to head for the bar.

I needed to get a grip.

Fast.

But along the way, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the table of Stallions. When I did, I saw it as Pistol leaned back in his seat and scanned the room searching for me.

I knew this was his intention, because when our eyes met, he stopped his hunt.

And it kept happening.

For the next forty minutes, every time I glanced his way, if he wasn’t already looking at me, it was like he could feel my gaze and he’d look away from his brothers in order to find me.

It didn’t make sense. Not entirely. But it felt like that first day, when we spent hours silently flirting across the room until he had enough.