SIX MONTHS (A Seven Series Novel)

“Do you normally pull out your gun and aim it at innocent people?”

 

 

His lips thinned. “Innocent is debatable.” His finger tapped on the table. “There’re things you don’t understand, and I can’t sit here at Sonic and tell you whatever you need to hear to feel better about what happened back there. Every man draws a line in the sand that determines what he’s willing to stand for. I know exactly where that line is in my life, and nobody crosses it. So if you think a man calling you a filthy name like that means he’s innocent, then we’re not on the same page.”

 

I’m not sure if what he said made me feel better, but I couldn’t deny I’d liked that renegade moment when a man had actually stuck up for me. Trevor did it all the time, but his intentions were misplaced; all a guy had to do was flirt with me. Reno had minded his own business until they called me a vulgar name. He could have blown it off and ignored them.

 

But he hadn’t. Reno had protected my honor.

 

Maybe after a warning like that, those men would think twice about doing that to another woman. Probably not, but I admired Reno for not having turned a blind eye like I’d seen people do so many times.

 

I pressed the button on the menu and the lady asked if we were ready. After repeating Reno’s order, I examined the menu again. “Could I just get some tater tots?”

 

“And?” she said in a tone that irritated me.

 

“Um, a small lemonade.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Yes. That will complete my order.” I spun around in annoyance. What did she expect me to do—order a foot-long chili dog and try to eat that with class in front of a guy like Reno?

 

“Is that going to be enough?” He pushed up his brow with his index finger and I smiled warmly.

 

“At least it’s not a salad. I’m saving my appetite for later. Plus, I’m not big on eating out anyhow. Especially fast food.”

 

“We’re going to have drinks and you shouldn’t be running on an empty stomach with alcohol.”

 

“I don’t drink much.”

 

“How about your friend? Does he drink much?”

 

“Trevor loves to drink and have a good time. I hope there won’t be any trouble because he’s coming with me, but I’m not going to the party without him. He’s my best friend and that’s the deal.”

 

Reno scratched his jaw and glanced at a truck pulling out. “Well, he won’t be my friend if he thinks he’s going to drive you home after drinking.”

 

“No, I’ll be the designated driver.”

 

“Then you’re not drinking.”

 

I frowned. “One beer won’t—”

 

“Kill you? Make you a little relaxed and not pay attention when a car makes a sudden turn and you can’t get out of the way? No, you’re not drinking. But you’ll still have a good time because Denver makes phenomenal steaks.”

 

“Lexi said the steaks were for certain people.”

 

He tapped his knuckle on the table. “If you want a steak, then you’re getting a steak. Fuck certain people.” Then his lips briefly pressed together. “You probably don’t like swearing, but I ain’t gonna church it up for you.”

 

Now that was a funny thought. I wasn’t big on cussing, but I wasn’t Mother Teresa either. Reno lived in a house full of men; it was to be expected.

 

“Be yourself, Reno. There’s no need to censor yourself around me.”

 

His shoulders relaxed a little, and a gust of wind blew a strand of hair in my eye. With a swift brush of his hand, Reno moved it away and we had a little moment. Maybe it was just me, but he smiled with his eyes.

 

“How long have you known him?” he asked.

 

“Trevor? Seems like forever.”

 

“Does he have family here?”

 

“They cut off relations years ago.” It wasn’t my place to tell Trevor’s business. “He’s a really good guy and a loyal friend.”

 

“That I don’t doubt,” Reno muttered.

 

“Were you born here?” I asked out of curiosity.

 

“No. Nevada.”

 

“Ah. That explains why you don’t have a heavy accent. Hey, wait a minute. Austin, Denver, Reno… Your parents must have moved around a lot.”

 

He suppressed a grin and leaned forward on his elbows. “Yeah, our parents had a sense of humor. What about your name?”

 

“Nothing special about my name.”

 

“I happen to think it’s a pretty name. How ’bout that?”

 

I felt my cheeks flush. “I think they were trying to pick baby names that sounded good with Frost. My sister’s name is Rosebud, but I call her Rose.”

 

“Do your parents live here?”

 

I hated talking about my parents. Instead, I listened to the classic rock ’n’ roll music playing on the speakers. It was Elvis singing about a little less conversation. “My mom… she um, she’s…”

 

“Sorry,” he quickly said, clearly assuming she was dead.

 

“Don’t be sorry for her,” I snapped. “She’s a prostitute living on the streets and addicted to heroin. She abandoned us after my dad died.”

 

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