I smacked him on the back of his head. “Could you try not to swear for one sentence?”
The moving crew to help Shy consisted of Tail, Brodie, Cole, and me. I’d thought about enlisting Bo—because the dude was a former Marine and built like a tank—but he had a session with his sexy Doc Ronnie. I hadn’t even considered enlisting Kinkaid—because the dude was an ex-stripper.
And I was already gonna blind both Tail and Cole with my bowie knife if they didn’t keep their eyes in their heads instead of planted on Shy’s ass when they saw her again.
I rang the doorbell and hoped like hell Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart weren’t home. Did not wanna see them again. Frig it. I hoped even more my parents weren’t home next door.
Shiloh swung the door open, and I had to smile.
There was just something so fresh about her. Another long flowy dress she’d somehow hiked—a little bit too high in my opinion—on the right side so a long length of healthy tanned leg showed.
And up above some healthy tanned cleavage showed.
I quickly snapped my eyes away—and considered taking the bowie knife to my own peepers.
“Cavalry’s here,” I said.
Considered giving her a fist bump just to keep things totally straightforward and platonic, but that wasn’t how we did things.
By we I meant the privileged of downtown Charleston.
Brushing against her as little as possible, I hugged her with one arm.
Her lips nudged against my cheek, just above the neat stubble, right where I was most sensitive, leaving a warm, damp echo.
“Thanks so much for this, Max.”
“More like mini. Mini dick.” Brodie snickered.
“Shove it, Broderick,” I cracked back.
“Broderick, is it?” Shy asked, and I enjoyed watching Brodie get flustered.
“Hey”—he rolled his shoulders back—“not as bad as Boomer’s real name.”
“Which is?” Shy prodded.
“Harold.” He snorted.
“Oh my. He doesn’t look like a Harold at all.”
“Nah. He looks like a one-man wrecking crew.” Cole joined the nonsense conversation.
Hoping to get this show on the road, I rubbed my hands together. “Right. Where do we start?”
“The carriage house.” After shutting the front door, Shy started down the wide front steps, gripping the banister.
“Carriage house, oh-la-la,” Tail mouthed at Cole.
When we reached the brick-paved driveway that ran parallel to a secret garden, Shy turned to the other guys.
“And thank you too, Tail, right?” She glanced at the broad-shouldered, long-haired man.
He actually stumbled over a few words—Mr. Goddamn Bonafide Pussy Hound—before settling on, “Yeah. No problema,” with his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
I narrowed my eyes at Shy. She better not be flirting.
She then thanked Coletrane as well as Brodie, turning on that sweet, southern charm that could’ve made her debutante-worthy.
“I’m indebted to all of you.”
“Can think of a few ways you could thank me, darlin’.” Tail lost the sheepish look to hungrily stare.
I shoved him back a few steps, blocking him from Shiloh. Nothing subtle whatsoever about my guard dog move.
“Yeah. Why don’t you lead the way, Shy?”
She carried on down the path, her pace unhurried, and I remained just slightly behind her to obscure any view of her ass she might’ve otherwise unwittingly provided to Cole and Tail.
Brodie was just along to do a good deed.
Cole and Tail? Way too hot for Little Miss Well-Bred.
At the carriage house, Shy rolled open the doors, revealing neatly stacked boxes, clear plastic bins, and dustcloth-covered furniture.
“Couldn’t you just hire a moving company?” I inspected the dim interior.
“Where’s the fun in that?” She angled her playful eyes at me beneath some seriously thick feathery-looking eyelashes.
Something in my chest flip-flopped, but I blamed it on the heat—set to reach a record-breaking 101 degrees by midday.
The guys and I hauled on our work gloves, and Shy took point—parceling out orders while she tugged grins from our lips with her bossy, chick-in-charge attitude. It was funny, watching her drill-sergeant her way around four massive biker dudes, all of us answering with polite nods of our heads and a constant supply of “Yes, ma’am” when we usually took swearing and riffing to a whole new level.
All fun and games until Shy puffed out her tits, placed her hands on her hips, and dressed down Tail. “Could you stop juggling that crate like it’s full of Styrofoam peanuts? That’s my china!”
Then Tail just had to be Tail . . .
“Not for nothin’, Miss Shiloh”—he dipped into a bow, balancing the heavy box on one shoulder—“but I’d take orders from you any day of the week.”
She blushed when he gave her a wicked wink.
I almost threw the enormous vase I was carrying at his head.
Damn.
I needed to get my temper under control.
But I did not like these guys chasing her like she was just another skirt.