Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker Off the Books #4) - Nicole Edwards Page 0,31
in public shouldn’t require forethought—but Reese still did it. Or had the urge to do it.
Somehow he managed to keep his eyes on Brantley, but it wasn’t easy.
“I’ll suffer through for you,” Brantley whispered, leaning in, his breath fanning Reese’s lips.
“Will you?”
“Yep. I’ll keep my hands and my lips to myself, even. But you’ll make it up to me when we get home.”
In a daring move, Reese licked Brantley’s lower lip but pulled back quickly. “Deal.”
Smiling at Brantley’s guttural groan, Reese climbed out of the truck, walked around to meet him. After a trek, they were finally walking into Moonshiners, a place frequented by the residents of the small town, revered by pretty much everyone.
As far as Reese was concerned, this was a home away from home, a place he felt welcome, one he didn’t mind kicking back and relaxing in. He figured that had more to do with the people than the décor, because God knows the inside could use a fresh coat of … everything.
He wasn’t sure whether Michael “Mack” Schwartz, the proprietor, had updated the interior since the walls were originally erected, whenever that was. The wood paneling was worn smooth and grayed, the floor the same. Tables and chairs—all mismatched at this point—had seen plenty over the years, but they still remained intact, kept in decent condition.
Now the bar, on the other hand … that was kept pristine, waxed and shined, with old stools discarded and new ones added whenever they were needed. Since it was the heart of the place, Reese figured Mack probably had an attachment to it.
Behind the bar tonight, Rafe Sharpe was manning things, a rare smile on his boyishly handsome face.
“Where’s Mack?” Brantley asked, squeezing into a vacant spot to order a couple of beers to start them off.
Rafe never stopped moving. “Took the night off.”
“The sheriff takin’ the night off, too?” Brantley asked, referring to Mack’s husband, Jeff Endsley.
“Think so.”
“Seriously? Busiest night of the year?” Reese chuckled. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“Tellin’ me.” Rafe’s grin widened. “So tip big tonight, will ya?”
“You know we will,” Reese replied.
It was strange to see Rafe smiling, much less stringing together more than a couple of words. Since the day Rafe returned to Coyote Ridge, shortly after his brother Rex started major renovations on their family’s home, turning the infamous old farmhouse on Main Street into a bed-and-breakfast, Rafe had been slowly weaving himself into the fabric of the town once again. Not that anyone really knew much about the man who’d disappeared back when he was just a kid. Reese only knew the stories he’d heard, and from what he understood, Rafe, only ten years old at the time, had shot and killed his own father in order to save his brother’s life. It was a fucked-up story, one that had left Reese grateful to have had loving parents growing up.
“Would you look at this.” The words were spoken in a slow drawl chock full of wonder, surprise, and a hint of amusement.
Reese turned, finding himself nearly face-to-face with none other than Cyrus Jernigan, Brantley’s ex-fuck-buddy and the bane of Reese’s existence.
Just like every other time he’d seen Cyrus, his first instinct was to punch the guy in the mouth.
He refrained.
Barely.
“I didn’t know I’d be seein’ you boys tonight,” the man with the goofy grin said, his dark brown eyes pinned on Brantley in that way that pissed Reese off.
He knew he had no right to be jealous of the fact Brantley and Cyrus used to be friends with benefits. That was all it was according to Brantley, and Reese believed him. However, he knew Cyrus liked to pretend they were still carrying on, mainly to get Reese riled up. As much as he wanted to ignore those intruding stares and the come-hither glances Cyrus projected at Brantley, he couldn’t.
“Hey, Cy,” Brantley greeted as he passed Reese a beer. “Thought you were in California.”
“Am. Was.” Cyrus grinned. “Will be. I’m just in town for a couple days.”
Reese took a swig of his beer, silently willed Cyrus to vanish into the ether, with no luck.
“You know if Trey’s comin’ tonight?” Cyrus asked, his full attention on Brantley.
“He mentioned he might,” Brantley told him. “But if I were you, I’d keep your distance.”
“Why’s that?” Cyrus smirked. “You jealous I’ve been intimate with your brother?”
Brantley snorted. “Not even a little.”
“Then why’re you warnin’ me off him?”
Brantley’s response was a wide, knowing grin as he nudged Reese with his shoulder. “See ya ’round, Cy.”