No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,14

I didn’t think that was why Brody told me, but it was the truth.

“But I guess I owe ya since I kissed you and all—well, that and Dwain.”

“Your brother could use some social skills, but you sure as shit don’t owe me for the kiss.” I hadn’t planned to say it, but the words had sneaked out, and the pink now dotting his cheeks made it worth it. So I was flirting with my family’s enemy.

“That was, um… I—”

“I’m not here, I swear!” Isaac cut Brody off. He jogged toward me, pulled the milk out of my hands, and took off for inside again.

“He’s an interesting fella,” Brody said, and it shouldn’t have been so cute the way he said it. At all.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied, then nodded toward the back of the house. “Wanna head out to the distillery with me?” He’d brought milk over and all. It was the least I could do.

“A Mitchell inviting an O’Ralley into his inner sanctum. Be still my heart.” He winked, and oh yeah, I definitely wanted to bone him.

“Don’t really consider myself a Mitchell—not in that sense, I mean. Obviously, it’s my last name, but I don’t feel a tie to all this.”

Brody frowned. “Yeah, I didn’t really know for sure if there were any Mitchells left. There was a rumor Harris had a kid, but you never know what’s true.”

Which I sure as shit didn’t want to talk about. “How’d you get here?” I asked instead.

“Parked down the driveway, of course. If your daddy were still around, stepping foot on Mitchell property was likely to get me a bullet in the ass. I was planning on leaving the milk on your porch.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said as we continued to walk. “Are you shitting me? This whole feud thing is real?”

“Crazy, right? Try growin’ up with it.”

Nope. I had zero interest in that.

“Our properties butt up against each other, but there’s a fence in between. Wasn’t cheap, and it’s not even like we can see each other’s houses with all the land, but they had to have something to separate us. There’s one on each side with about a foot in between just ’cuz the O’Ralleys and Mitchells couldn’t share a fence.”

I stumbled, and Brody’s hand shot out and wrapped around my bicep. There was a zing of, fuck, I didn’t know, something between us before he pulled his arm back. “This is some crazy shit. Hell, I didn’t even know I had any part of Mitchell Creek, and now it’s left to me, along with a family feud I know nothing about, and it’s a little fucking nuts, if you ask me.”

“Oh shit. You didn’t know?” Brody asked.

I shook my head.

“So you planning on stayin’?”

“No comment.”

We were in front of the distillery now, and he stopped and grinned. “I see how you’re playing this. Trying to give me as little information as possible.” Brody crossed his arms, and I didn’t look at the way his T-shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms…or maybe I did. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell anyone over at the Buckridge Bugle.”

“Please tell me you just made that up.”

“No, but I really wish I had.”

I couldn’t help laughing, which based on his satisfied expression, made me think that was exactly what he’d hoped for.

“Okay, so what’s the feud about?”

“No comment.”

“Fucking O’Ralleys,” I replied, half serious, half playful. I didn’t know what it was about Brody, but I already liked him.

“Fucking Mitchells,” he countered.

Then we stood there, watching each other, neither of us willing to back down, and damned if it wasn’t kind of fun.

CHAPTER SIX

Brody

I’d met plenty of green-eyed folks in my life, but there was something different about Cohen’s. They were strangely lighter in the center and darkened toward the edges. Although, just as soon as I thought I was obsessed with his eyes, there was that face…that sexy-as-sin stubble.

And his attitude.

Even the way he said fucking O’Ralleys was like his goal was to drive my already-twitching dick crazy.

Something about Cohen simultaneously grated on my nerves and made me want to revisit those lips—which I was thinking about way too much for a straight guy.

Keep your goddamn cool, Brodes, I told myself before saying, “So this is your inner sanctum?”

Jesus fucking Christ, why couldn’t I stop saying inner sanctum? The whole inexperienced, bumbling shit was Walker’s thing, not mine.

Cohen turned back to me, those green eyes catching my attention once again as he winced like