Narrowing his eyes, he takes her glasses and holds them out of reach while she grabs for them. I swear, the two of them never stopped treating each other the way they did in middle school. It’s all teasing and pranks and insults. When she kicks him in the shin, he finally hands back the glasses.
Winnie is Chevy’s total opposite in almost every way. Where Winnie is all cool snark, Chevy is warm humor. Winnie is petite with lean muscle she works hard to keep, while Chevy is like a teddy bear with a big, broad body that’s strong but also soft.
He gives the best hugs, and I didn’t know how much I needed the one he gives me now until he wraps his arms around me. He is made of comfort, and I relax into his embrace.
“Hey! Get your paws off her!” a familiar voice calls.
The possessiveness in Pat’s voice thrills and irritates me in equal measure. Pat does NOT get to comment on whom I hug or don’t hug. That ship sailed when he left me without saying goodbye.
But his jealous display is like catnip for a very, very bad feral cat who apparently lives inside me along with the zombie butterflies. I need to have her spayed posthaste, because she is purring and asking to rub up against Pat’s ankles.
Chevy chuckles as I squeeze him tighter. “Oh, is it like that?” he asks.
“It’s like that.”
Laughing a little louder now, Chevy picks me up and swings me around until I squeal.
“Police brutality!” Pat shouts, and several male voices tell him in various, colorful ways to shut up.
“Keep it down and don’t make me show you police brutality,” Chevy calls. His arms are starting to squeeze me like a sausage casing.
“I think … that’s … enough,” I gasp.
“You sure?”
“Positive. I … can’t … breathe!”
Chevy gently sets me back down but leaves a wet smack of a kiss on my cheek before he steps away. I give him a dirty look, and he just shrugs.
“HEY!” Pat shouts, and I have a very hard time not looking toward what sounds like a scuffle in the cell. “Lips off!”
“Really, Chevy?” I mutter.
He shrugs unapologetically. “Might as well go all in.”
Val tries to hide the lovestruck, hopeful look she always wears around Chevy. While I got the red carpet of greetings, he only gives Val a quick side hug. “Hey, kiddo,” he says.
I’ve never been sure whether he knows about her unrequited crush or is actually oblivious, but it’s getting painful to watch. Meanwhile, Val dates up a storm, trying to either make Chevy jealous or find someone to help her get over him. So far, she has accomplished neither.
When he steps away quickly, Val visibly shoves down her hurt and turns her attention to the cell at the back of the room. “Hel-lo, serious man candy.”
I should have known this might happen. But there will be absolutely no shipping of anyone in that cell with my friends. This is a no-ship zone. Thankfully, Winnie’s got my back.
“Ew, Val. No.” She pokes Val in the arm. “Those are not guys you want to date.”
Winnie is right, but neither of us want to date a Dale, either. And apparently there is no shortage of Dales, as Winnie has tried setting both of us up with multiple of his plain-cracker friends.
“Ow!” Val rubs the spot and gives Winnie a dirty look. “You and your bony fingers!”
“I’m with Winnie on this. They are definitely off limits,” I tell her in a low voice. “They’re not man candy. Think of them like an onion dipped in caramel. Looks like a caramel apple on the outside but—”
“Tastes like an armpit,” Winnie finishes.
Chevy booms out a laugh. He was the one who played that prank on us years ago at Halloween. We should have known, considering the way he always liked to prank us. But a caramel-covered onion looks surprisingly just like a caramel apple.
“Right,” Val says, wrinkling her nose. “But just in case, should we call dibs?”
“No!” Winnie and I say at the same time.
Val begins counting on her fingers. She looks at me first. “Pat is obviously yours—”
“He’s not mine,” I snap, still managing to keep my eyes off the cell. I am a paramount of self-control.
“One can be for Winnie. Maybe the big, grumpy-looking one. I think he could probably handle her.”
“I have a boyfriend,” Winnie says. “Hel-lo.”
“I keep forgetting,” Val mutters. “He’s just so—” I elbow her, and she changes course. “Right. Okay, and one is wearing a wedding ring, which leaves the super muscly one for me.” Val gives Chevy a sideways glance to see if he’s paying attention. He’s scrolling through his phone.
“How do you even see a wedding band from here? Especially with all the mud?” Winnie asks.
Mud?
“It’s a skill,” Val says. “And why are they so filthy?”
Chevy chuckles. “They might have gotten hosed down at the Backwoods Bar.”
I finally allow myself to glance to the cell, where my eyes have been begging to go since I walked in. I have to commend my self-control for lasting this long. My gaze lands immediately on Pat.
Are there even other guys in there with him? As far as I’m concerned, it’s always only Pat. Regrettably so.
Pat is, in fact, covered in what looks like dried mud. From his hair to his boots, he is a light brown color, his hair and clothes stiff with it. Only his face and hands look like they’ve been cleaned at all. He should look worse for being filthy and for spending the night in a cell. But, this being my life—which is far from fair—even from here, Pat is still the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.
He flashes me his ridiculous smile, the one which would be cocky on someone else. Except Pat isn’t puffed up or proud. On the surface, it might come across that way. He possesses a sense of confidence, a fearlessness, and an exuberance for life. But he’s always been the kind of man willing to make a fool of himself, to let all his feelings hang out no matter the consequences. He’s the kind to jump despite the risks.
Except when it came to me. To us. There, he was better at jumping ship. And I’m not going to give him a chance to do so again. Because it wouldn’t be so hard to let me fall in love with Pat again. I’m not so sure I ever fully fell OUT of love with the man.