“Damn, I’m fuckin’ full.” I lean back in my chair, propping my weight on its back legs. “That was great, baby girl.”
Raven looks to her husband, one eyebrow raised. “See? I told you I could learn how to cook.” She tosses her napkin at him, and he catches it mid-flight.
“Baby, it’s spaghetti. I was cookin’ this shit when I was thirteen,” Jonah says, but his smile gives away his true feelings. He’s proud of his girl.
She stands and grabs my plate. “I’m glad you liked it, Blake.”
“I never said I didn’t like it.” He pulls her into his lap and nuzzles her neck, making her squeal. “Best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”
I avert my gaze with a roll of my eyes.
After a few giggles and playful kicks, she gets him to let her go. She grabs his plate, and he runs his hand along her belly. Something passes between them, not through words but a look, and whatever it is has them both smiling like dumbasses.
What is it with couples?
Jonah pulls his girl close for one more kiss before she heads off to the kitchen.
“You two done, or should I head out? I’m getting a bellyache from all this sugary sweet bullshit.” I’m still not used to seeing Jonah all wrapped up with a chick. He was my wingman for years, and now he’s Mr. Raven.
Married, just like Mrs. Moorehead. That’s how Taylor introduced the little mouse today in the weight room. Not miss, but missus. She’s fucking married. I can’t believe I didn’t see that shit earlier. She wasn’t wearing a ring—probably forgot it on the table next to the bed that she shares with Mr. Moorehead. Lucky fucking bastard.
Hearing that she’s married pissed me off. What I can’t figure out is why? I mean, she’s hot, and cute, and fiery in a way that makes me want to tame her, but I decided early on I wasn’t going to put on my best moves. Too much work.
Then again, I don’t like being told I can’t have something. And knowing that she’s off limits just turned Mrs. Moorehead into something forbidden. Fuck, if I—
“Did you hear me, bitch?” Jonah chucks a piece of garlic bread across the table, nailing me in the head. “Wake up.” I throw it back harder, but he deflects it with a swipe of his arm. “You ready to get serious about training? Your fight against Wade isn’t far away.”
I glare at my friend and then lean in. A pinch twists in my lower back. I put my forearms on the table to hold my weight, hoping he won’t notice. “Real funny, ass. You know I’m serious about training.”
Stretching his arms over his head, he locks his hands behind his neck. “You’re going to have to hit it harder than usual. Rumor has it Wade’s been watching your tapes. Plays that shit in his bedroom when he hits the sack, wakes up to it every morning. He’s eating, sleeping, and living your game.”
I shrug and lean back in my chair. The stabbing pain in my back flares again. “Waste of time.” I fight to take a deep breath. Fuck.
“You all right, dude?”
“Fucked up my back today deadlifting.” I dig fingers into my aching spine.
“You gonna get that shit checked out?”
The sharp spasm mellows, and I take in a full breath. “Yeah. I’ll take some anti-inflammatory pills. If it’s not better in a few days, I’ll go see the Doc.”
“Why not go in tomorrow? Get a jumpstart on that shit. Hate to see you go down over something stupid, like pride.”
“Pride? You know as well as I do that I will pound Wade’s ass, jacked-up back and all. His game’s fuckin’ pre-school compared to—” My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Jonah laughs to himself. “Yeah, no pride there.”
I scowl at my dickhead friend then check the caller ID. “Shit, it’s Brae. I better take this.”
I stand and walk across the room to the back door, thankful that being on my feet eases the pressure on my back. “Brae. What up, man? Happy New Year.”
“Same to you, bro. How’s the desert?” My little brother’s voice is a welcome sound. I don’t get to talk to him often, and when I do, I’m reminded of how much I dig the guy.
“Nice and dry.” I walk out back and sit on a lounger, poolside. “What’s up with you? How’s things on base?”
He laughs low. “Same. Southern Cali never changes. Camp Pendleton’s quiet. Dad’s keeping me close.”
Yeah, I bet he is. Asshole wants us to man up, be members of the few and proud. But when combat time rolls around, he can’t let his boy go overseas. At first, I assumed it was because he didn’t want to see us get hurt, but he’d have to give a shit for that to be the case. No, everything with my dad is about control. And I’m sure his keeping my brother stateside is no different.
“You gonna make it to my fight?”
“I’ll try. I really want to. But Dad knows about it. Heard him pissin’ and moanin’ about shit. He’ll probably come up with some bullshit booter-duty for me that weekend.”
I’ll never understand why my brother tolerates our piece of shit dad. I got out of there as soon as I could. The second I got discharged from the Corps, I ran like hell to Vegas.