flip the eggs in the frying pan. Zeke strolls in, hair sticking out every which way, jeans still on but unbuttoned. “Mornin’, fucker,” I say as I turn back to my food.
“Mornin’, buttercup.” He leans over my shoulder. “Wanna make me a couple of those?”
“No.” I scoop up the eggs, slide them on the plate, and toss some bacon next to them. I hand my breakfast to him. “Here.” I can’t deny my little brothers anything; a problem I’ve had since our parents died.
“Thanks, dude.” He picks up a piece of bacon and pops it in his mouth.
“Thought you were gonna stay away from Missy Mills.” I shake my hands, mocking his earlier gesture. “Too clingy.”
“She agreed to the rules.” He shrugs and plops down in a chair at the table.
My little bro and his damn rules—every girl in Galveston County knows about them, has agreed to them or is considering them. I tilt my head and look out the window at Missy Mills’ black Monte Carlo. “Looks like it didn’t last long. She already broke rule number three,” I glance over at him, “no sleepovers.”
“Fuck. She was trashed. I couldn’t let her drive home like that.” He picks up another piece of bacon. Zeke might be a player, but he has a big heart. For some reason, there just ain’t any room in it for love. “Gave her my bed and I slept in the den.” He shoves more of my breakfast into his mouth.
“I don’t know. I’m thinkin’ you were right to let her alone, ‘cause I got a feelin’ you’re gonna have trouble with that one.”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Hey,” his brows lift, “ya know who I think I mighta saw yesterday? Rayna.”
“Yeah. Emmie Rue and Rayna are staying at her sister’s place for the summer.”
“Oh-ho. Emmie Rue,” Zeke says with a shit-eaten-grin.
“What?”
“Oh, come on, dude. I know you always had a hard-on for that girl. Why do you think I never hit that pretty little ass?”
“Fuck you.” I turn back to the stove, not about to have this conversation with my little bro.
“Fuck Emmie Rue ,” Zeke taunts.
“Hey, watch it, fucker,” I glance over my shoulder and point the spatula at him. “You’re not too old for me to give ya a good ass whoopin’.”
“I’d like to see you try it, old man.”
I jump forward and lunge my fist. Zeke’s head snaps back. He’s quick, always has been.
“You missed.” He laughs.
“Yeah,” I smirk, “meant to.” Though, I should’ve knocked him on his ass. He’s given me nothing but shit since I turned thirty last month. I’m getting real tired of the jabs. I slump back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “Does Slate know Rayna’s in town?”
“Nay, he’s been in bed since he stumbled in yesterday morning. He doesn’t know what’s happenin’ out in the real world.”
“You check on him at all?”
“Yeah, he’s still alive. I had gone in his room before I came in here, gave him a poke, and he growled at me. But I don’t think he’s gonna make it tonight. You might have to cover for him.”
“Fuck that, what about Rocko? He’s been itchin’ to get in.”
Zeke shakes his head. “He’s in Austin for work or some shit. Won’t be back till Sunday.”
“Fuck!” There’s no way I’m taking over for Slate tonight. I scrub a hand over my unshaven chin. Damn, I need to shave. “Hey. What about Tommy?”
Zeke smirks. “He won’t last longer than ten seconds and you know it.” He stands up, carries his plate over to the sink, and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, geezer. You’re gonna have to pull up those saggin’ balls of yours for the night, and get back in the saddle. That, or go get Slate’s ass up, but I’m thinkin’ that’ll cause more damage than good.”
“Shit.” I shrug his hand off my shoulder, knowing he’s right.
“I’ll let Rusty know to put you on the roster tonight instead of Slate. I think you’re with McLaren, the kid from Pasadena.” He walks out of the
“Mornin’, buttercup.” He leans over my shoulder. “Wanna make me a couple of those?”
“No.” I scoop up the eggs, slide them on the plate, and toss some bacon next to them. I hand my breakfast to him. “Here.” I can’t deny my little brothers anything; a problem I’ve had since our parents died.
“Thanks, dude.” He picks up a piece of bacon and pops it in his mouth.
“Thought you were gonna stay away from Missy Mills.” I shake my hands, mocking his earlier gesture. “Too clingy.”
“She agreed to the rules.” He shrugs and plops down in a chair at the table.
My little bro and his damn rules—every girl in Galveston County knows about them, has agreed to them or is considering them. I tilt my head and look out the window at Missy Mills’ black Monte Carlo. “Looks like it didn’t last long. She already broke rule number three,” I glance over at him, “no sleepovers.”
“Fuck. She was trashed. I couldn’t let her drive home like that.” He picks up another piece of bacon. Zeke might be a player, but he has a big heart. For some reason, there just ain’t any room in it for love. “Gave her my bed and I slept in the den.” He shoves more of my breakfast into his mouth.
“I don’t know. I’m thinkin’ you were right to let her alone, ‘cause I got a feelin’ you’re gonna have trouble with that one.”
“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Hey,” his brows lift, “ya know who I think I mighta saw yesterday? Rayna.”
“Yeah. Emmie Rue and Rayna are staying at her sister’s place for the summer.”
“Oh-ho. Emmie Rue,” Zeke says with a shit-eaten-grin.
“What?”
“Oh, come on, dude. I know you always had a hard-on for that girl. Why do you think I never hit that pretty little ass?”
“Fuck you.” I turn back to the stove, not about to have this conversation with my little bro.
“Fuck Emmie Rue ,” Zeke taunts.
“Hey, watch it, fucker,” I glance over my shoulder and point the spatula at him. “You’re not too old for me to give ya a good ass whoopin’.”
“I’d like to see you try it, old man.”
I jump forward and lunge my fist. Zeke’s head snaps back. He’s quick, always has been.
“You missed.” He laughs.
“Yeah,” I smirk, “meant to.” Though, I should’ve knocked him on his ass. He’s given me nothing but shit since I turned thirty last month. I’m getting real tired of the jabs. I slump back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “Does Slate know Rayna’s in town?”
“Nay, he’s been in bed since he stumbled in yesterday morning. He doesn’t know what’s happenin’ out in the real world.”
“You check on him at all?”
“Yeah, he’s still alive. I had gone in his room before I came in here, gave him a poke, and he growled at me. But I don’t think he’s gonna make it tonight. You might have to cover for him.”
“Fuck that, what about Rocko? He’s been itchin’ to get in.”
Zeke shakes his head. “He’s in Austin for work or some shit. Won’t be back till Sunday.”
“Fuck!” There’s no way I’m taking over for Slate tonight. I scrub a hand over my unshaven chin. Damn, I need to shave. “Hey. What about Tommy?”
Zeke smirks. “He won’t last longer than ten seconds and you know it.” He stands up, carries his plate over to the sink, and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, geezer. You’re gonna have to pull up those saggin’ balls of yours for the night, and get back in the saddle. That, or go get Slate’s ass up, but I’m thinkin’ that’ll cause more damage than good.”
“Shit.” I shrug his hand off my shoulder, knowing he’s right.
“I’ll let Rusty know to put you on the roster tonight instead of Slate. I think you’re with McLaren, the kid from Pasadena.” He walks out of the
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