Page 103 of Homebound

“I think you might be right,” I say.

There’s a difference between falling for a stranger and falling for someone you’ve known forever. When you fall for your best friend, you’re falling for their secrets, their backstory, and every skeleton in their closet. It’s a heavier kind of love, but it’s the kind forevers are made of.

He gets serious as he strokes a hand down my waist, resting his forehead against mine. “Do you want to know why I named her Vienna?”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

He walks over to the vintage record player we bought at an estate sale and digs through the records. He finds the one he’s looking for and places it on the spinning wheel. “Vienna” by Billy Joel fills the living room.

“That’s my favorite song,” I murmur, my heart glimmering.

He winks at me. “I know it is.”

He starts dancing with me then, leading me around the kitchen in a slow two-step. “You love this song, and it always makes me think of you. Always rushing ahead, never taking the time to slow down, and I always knew that I could be so good for you, if you’d just let me be that man, because…” He dips me low, brushing his nose against my neck. “I slow you down.”

Suddenly, he picks me up by my waist and spins me around, the kitchen blurring. I can feel his breath warm against my ear as he leans in, whispering softly as he sets me back on the floor. “This song always reminds me of you, and I wanted my little girl to have a piece of the strongest woman I know. Dakota and Vienna. Two people that have my heart.”

41

BAD BOY COWBOY

WYATT

“Well, would you look at that? Pocket kings.” Dakota fans her cards on the outdoor patio table that Colt Cutler himself carved out of an old oak tree. “Unless any of you fools have pocket aces, these bad boys are gonna take the winnings.”

“The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers plays over the sunset hum of the cicadas as we sit around the Cutler’s wraparound porch. It’s a balmy Saturday night, so we’re all playing poker like old times, our laughter mingling with the soft clink of chips.

She’s bouncing Vi on her knee, ripping plastic chips out of my girl’s hands as she tries to stick them in her mouth so she doesn’t choke. My girl only wants to be with her now, which isn’t all that surprising. They’re attached at the hip.

Alanna tosses out her cards with a huff and takes a hefty swig of her ranch water because she went on a ten-minute rant about how she can’t do the sugar in a margarita. “Eight-two off-suit.”

“Brutal.” Dakota whistles, patting Alanna’s shoulder in a solid effort gesture. “That’s one of the worst hands you can get.”

Alanna shoots her a glare. “Thanks for the commentary, babe.”

Dakota smiles.

Vi laughs in her arms.

It’s perfect.

“Ace-high,” Mr. Cutler says, chewing on the tip of his unlit cigar.

Willie tosses his cards on the table with a gruff grumble. “Seven-two off-suit.”

“Hah!” Alanna shouts. “At least I beat Sasquatch.”

He sips his whiskey neat. “Don’t get used to it, Barbie.”

My mom begrudgingly lifts her navy Guardians cap, revealing the short gray strands that she brushes out of her face. “Damn it all. Three of a kind.”

Mama flicks her blonde braid over one shoulder and downs the last of her margarita, the glass catching the sunlight as she finishes her drink. “I’ve only got a two pair.”

Dakota swings her beautiful brown eyes to me, propping up a brow while popping a kiss on Vienna’s cheek. “Well, Patty Daddy? Let’s hear it, ’cause unless you’re hiding pocket aces, there’s no chance in hell you’re beating me.”

Fuck.

Hearing her call me Daddy makes me want to drag her to the nearest bedroom. One wink from this woman is enough to get me half-hard.