you can keep your own woman. Tied to the bed you can.”
The brat’s grin was totally impervious to Cole’s twelve-years-in-the-Marine-Corps-perfected growl.
“Just saying, man.” Max lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You need to mix it up a bit.”
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I do mix it up.”
“Don’t tell me Christy’s got her own whip now.”
No whips for Christy, thank you very much. She already had enough power as it was over him. He might be muddling his way through a world of firsts and be somewhat more easygoing than before, but in bed he was in charge, always.
“Do your face a favor and harass the married man here,” Cole warned Max. “We wouldn’t want to fuck those Hollywood looks.” Especially now that he had that commercial shooting coming up in Florida. Some crazy stunt he was performing on the beach. Kite surfing or something like that. On the plus side, it wasn’t heli-skiing or skydiving or any of the royally fucked-up stuff Max used to indulge in before Annie.
Max chuckled and turned to James. “What are you getting for Tate? This is your first Valentine’s Day as a married man, so whatever you do will set a precedent.”
“You know those mold-a-dick thingies? I’m getting one for her.”
Cole all but choked on his beer. “What?”
“Kidding,” James said on a laugh. “I’m reserving that one for our wedding anniversary.”
He hoped James had other presents ready for their wedding anniversary. If anything else to try camouflaging the mold-a-dick shit. Cole was no expert, granted, but even he knew that was borderline acceptable.
Max barked a laugh. “Man, if you mold your dick and give it to your wife as a present on Valentine’s Day, or any other important date for that matter, she will take the cast and beat the shit out of you with it.”
James’s smug expression left no doubt he was ready to take his chances.
“And you guys think I’m the one in need of help? Please.” Although Cole was positive James would do just fine. He and Tate were meant to be. Never in his life had he seen his brother as happy and at peace as when he was with his bride. The only drawback was all the tattoos marking pivotal moments that kept appearing on his brother and the dread that the mofo wasn’t done yet. In between the ink and the shaggy hair, he looked like a gangbanger.
“What is it, James?” Max asked. “Are you jealous of your woman’s toys now, so you need to clone yourself?”
“Nope. Just mixing it up,” James said with a grin.
Max shook his head. “Man, you are both kinky fuckers.”
Cole and James snorted. Sure, because that metal poking from Max’s chest wasn’t a nipple piercing.
Max was looking intently at James, who gave up. “Okay, I’m pulling out all the stops—you happy? Romantic dinner, a show downtown. Then I’m bringing her back here, laying her on the grass in the backyard, and trying to point out the star I got named after her.”
“That’s a married man for you,” Max said to Cole. “Live and learn. Totally pussy whipped.”
“You got a star named after her? What did you call it, Tate 347?”
“Not exactly, no,” James said.
“So what’s the name?” Cole prompted.
“Pirate Princess.”
“Why?” Cole had always heard James calling Tate princess, but never pirate princess. He wondered what that was all about.
“Not telling.”
Max lifted his brows. “Come on. You told us you plan to give your wife a mold-a-dick, but you won’t tell us where the name Pirate Princess came from?”
James nodded. “Exactly.”
“Well, you got the romantic route down pat, that’s for sure. What else are you doing? Spreading rose petals on the sheets?”
“I don’t think we’ll make it to the bed.”
Max grinned. “You’re going the romantic route and banging her brains out too. Clever, my man. I hope Mrs. Ramsden’s hearing device is low on batteries that night.”
Cole too. He didn’t enjoy bailing James and Tate out of jail.
“What about you?” James asked, turning to Cole. “You said you don’t need help. What have you got planned for Christy?”
“I’ve got to tell you, the mold-a-dick idea sounds good.”
Max shook his head in dismay. “Man, she’s agreed to marry you, but you haven’t closed the deal yet. James may get away with it; you won’t. He’s, after all, officially a husband. Women take a lot of shit from their husbands. Not so much from their fiancés. I suggest you get Christy jewelry. The more expensive the better.”
“Nah. My woman is a geek.