“Right,” she muttered, still grinning.
It was then he cast his mind back to try to pull up Ronnie Rodriguez. Rodriguez had fucked himself the middle of his sophomore year but saw a shitload of playing time the season and a half before he did it. Therefore Walker could pull him up but not much except the fact the brother was lean, tall and black. How he got the last name Rodriguez, Walker didn’t know. Then again, Shift had the last name Martinez and he, too, was black. Maybe it was some Texas thing.
What Walker did know was that a lot of white bitches didn’t mind playing with black but they sure as fuck didn’t take it home to Daddy and black was black even if it was full, half or a nuance.
He also knew Lexie didn’t have a Daddy but if she did, she’d take black home and, he figured, with her sass, Daddy didn’t like it, she’d tell him to go fuck himself.
On this thought, he asked, “Had breakfast?” and she shook her head.
He turned his and saw the outside restaurant at the side of the pool.
Then he looked back at her. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” she agreed, let go of his hand and moved instantly.
Rolling off the lounger, she bent low and grabbed some clothes she’d shoved under it. Then she pulled on a tight, tee fabric halter top the color of her swimsuit and then a pair of black short-shorts. Then she sat, bent forward and started strapping on a pair of black sandals with tall, wedged heels.
Something barbed pressed into the skin at the back of his neck and he tore his eyes from his new wife to look three loungers away. There he saw a man who definitely spent a lot of time working on his tan. Oiled up. Tight, black swim trunks. Gold at his neck. His shades aimed at Alexa Walker’s cleavage exposed to his view as she was bent toward the guy.
“Yo!” he barked, felt Lexie’s surprised movement rather than saw it but also saw tight trunk man’s shades jerk up to his face. Walker shook his head slowly. The guy quickly looked away.
The barbed feeling faded.
Lexie stood and came into his line of sight.
“What was that?” she asked quietly.
“I’m standin’ here,” he answered.
Her head cocked to the side. She was confused or maybe she didn’t notice the guy. He was guessing the second as he’d noted she didn’t notice men’s attention, something which she got a lot of.
But he did.
He moved around the lounge, got close to her and tipped his chin down to lock shades.
“He was starin’ at your tits.”
Her head slowly turned to the lounger holding tight trunk man.
Then it turned to him, tipped back and they again locked shades.
Then she muttered, “Euw.”
Total goof. Total cute.
Fuck him.
“Yeah, that for you, for me, my woman is puttin’ on her shoes, I’m standin’ right there, you do not fuckin’ stare at her tits.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Right. Oh.” He jerked his head at the lounge. “You gonna get your stuff?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll leave it to keep my place. I’ll keep an eye on it from our table.”
That was acceptable so he moved.
She moved with him and did what she did the day before, grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers with his. She held on tight. Bag of Bones was watching and she was earning her fifty K.
They were seated at a table where he could keep an eye on her shit; she sat in the seat next to him at the square table instead of opposite. A scan of the pool and restaurant showed that Bag of Bones was gone, probably because the morning Vegas sun was torture on his pasty white skin.
They ordered and he was doing another scan to see if Bones was back when he felt her fingers on his hand and his head tipped down to see her hand was at his which was resting on the table and she was thumbing his wide, white gold wedding band.
“He’s gone,” Walker informed her.
Her hand moved away quickly and her head shot back to look at him, both movements indicating that for some reason he’d startled her.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“Bones. He’s gone.”
Her shades immediately moved to scan the area and she whispered, “He was here?”
Something sharp pierced straight through the left side of his chest.
Then he asked, “You didn’t tag him? He was out here when I got here.”
Her shades came back to him, she shook her head and said, “I thought he was following you. Why’s he following me?”
“You didn’t tag him,” Walker repeated, this time a statement, not a question.
She shook her head again and said, “No. No. I…” She paused. “Oh my God. How creepy. Why’s he following me?”
She didn’t tag him.
She’d smiled bright at him. Called him her goofy name. Kept smiling at him. Tugged him to her lounge. Held hands with him almost the entire time he was with her and thumbed his wedding ring in a way that she’d been absorbed in it and he’d startled her when she saw she had his attention.