Prose Before Bros

by Smartypants Romance

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thuy stepped into Genie’s, feeling Drill’s presence behind her like a heat lamp even before he put a hand on her lower back and guided her inside. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but back at the farmhouse, she’d been climbing the walls. Maddy’s pregnancy had her sleeping more and more, and Thuy knew she was perfectly safe — and could call her at a moment’s notice if she felt unwell. For Thuy, there was no cable, no internet, nothing to distract her from the oppressive silence of the farm, punctuated only by the hoots of owls or faint scratching that she assumed was mice or something skittering across the porch. She’d tried reading her book, but she felt the need to get out, amongst people. Not that she was an extrovert — far from it. But sometimes, it was nice to get in the energy of a crowd.

  Ordinarily, she’d go to a coffee house. She thought that Daisy’s Nut House might be open, but after her exchange with Julianne MacIntyre, the head librarian, and going through some numbers and farm stuff with Maddy, Thuy thought the top of her head would blow off. She decided she needed something stronger than a decaf.

  “I see some people leaving a booth,” he said, his height an obvious advantage in this situation. “C’mon.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but she let him lead her to the small corner booth. She slid in, and he squeezed himself next to her. She scooted so his powerful thigh didn’t rub up against her wool slacks.

  The waitress came up, surveying them with surprise. “Hey, Drill,” she said, sounding tentative. “Usual?”

  “Just a beer, yeah,” Drill said, with a nod. Then he looked at Thuy.

  “Amaretto and orange juice,” she said. “Light, please.”

  The waitress stared at her for a second. “New in town? Or just passing through?”

  “Um, yeah.” Welcome to small-town living, she thought with a grimace. “I’m Maddy’s friend. Maddy Blount?”

  “Oh.” The waitress nodded, obviously having heard something since the funeral. She then looked between Thuy and Drill again. “I’ll get your drinks.”

  Which left Thuy and Drill sitting there, looking at each other. He grinned, revealing a dimple. His blue eyes twinkled.

  “How’s Maddy?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. Sleeping when I left,” Thuy said. “We’re going to need to find a doctor for her here.” Something else to add to the list.

  “And how are you?” he asked, his voice lowering a little. She had to lean closer to hear him over the loud country music that was playing.

  “I’m okay.”

  “If you were okay,” he said conversationally, “then why did you decide to come out for a drink all by your lonesome?”

  She sighed. He caught her there. “Maybe I’m here to pick up a guy, ever think of that?” she teased.

  He blinked, then his grin grew wider. “I volunteer as tribute?”

  She burst out laughing, and he chuckled with her. “I thought you didn’t read,” she said.

  “I don’t really, but I saw the movie,” he said. “Caught it on cable. Pretty good.”

  “The book was even better, but it almost always is,” she said. “Wait, you have cable? God. I envy you.”

  “I forgot. Dad wouldn’t have gotten cable, even if they ran it out that far,” he said, with a rueful shake of his head. “Dad didn’t believe in luxuries.”

  Which made Thuy wonder, again, at what sort of life Drill and Maddy lived while they stayed under “Old Man Blount’s” roof. Maddy had said it was unpleasant living with such a strict father — that he’d never hurt her, but that he’d rarely shown affection, and that he’d been very harsh when it came to getting his opinion across. She got the feeling there was a lot of verbal and emotional abuse.

  She also got the feeling that Drill had received more than just that. Why else would he leave to join the club at, what, sixteen?

  She was still mulling that over when the waitress showed up with their drinks. Thuy thanked her, taking a sip. It was perfect, not too strong. She was lucky to have a high tolerance, but she was still going to be driving, and she didn’t want to overdo. She just wanted one drink to take the edge off.

  Of course, with Drill sitting there, she had a whole new edge to her system.

  “I got a job,” she found herself saying, then frowned. It wasn’t like he’d asked.

  “You did? Already?”

  She nodded. “Part-time at the library,” she expanded, “with a chance at full time after the new year. So that’ll help with bills on the farm. Oh, and I put up flyers to get some teenager or something to help us out with the animals.” She was going to try her hand at feeding the cattle next, and after her little jaunt with the side-by-side in the ditch, it was a little daunting. Still, she didn’t want Drill to know that, especially since he was still on his crusade to sell the farm.

  “You guys move quickly,” he said. Was there a trace of admiration in his voice? His gaze was warm, but that could just be attraction.

  Jeez, did they have attraction.

  “We’re serious about making this work,” Thuy said instead, hoping that her voice was stern enough to get the point across.

  “I know,” he said, with a sigh. He took a sip of beer, then reached out, stroking the back of her hand for just a second with his fingertip. She felt it like an electric wave running up her arm, and it was all she could do not to jolt away. “I also know it’s going to only get harder.”

  She frowned. Why? Why couldn’t he be the least bit supportive?

  “Let’s not talk about the farm,” he said, surprising her. He looked mischievous. “Tell me: what kind of books do the men you sleep with read?”

  She blinked. Not what she expected him to say. She felt herself smile, slowly. “It’s not like I have a required reading list,” she said, then paused. “Although now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.”

  He chuckled. “Probably classics, or ‘literature’, or whatever smart people read,” he said, and there was a note of self-deprecation that somehow broke Thuy’s heart. She quickly shook her head.

  “I don’t read a lot of lit fic — nothing too snobby,” she said. “I mean, I don’t just read literature or classics, although I appreciate them. I read lots of genre fiction, too. Romance, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, thrillers. I think it’s important to read outside of your comfort zone: different authors, different experiences. I have comfort reads, too, but I… well, if you hadn’t guessed, I read all the time,” she finally said, as she realized she was rambling.

  He was staring at her like she was something brand new, something he’d never experienced before. She felt embarrassed, and quickly finished her drink.

  “You know,” he said, his voice tinged with amused surprise, “I don’t think I’m as passionate about anything as you are about books.”

  She let out a half-laugh. “They are my favorite thing ever. They gave me a place to go when my life was shitty, and they have continually given me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I read every single day. They’re my lifeline.”

  “Now I envy you,” he said, and she got the feeling he wasn’t just bullshitting her — he sounded like he meant it. “What do you think a guy like me should read?”

  She felt warmth, and it had nothing to do with the amaretto she’d consumed. This was the sort of challenge she loved. She scooted a little closer, so they could talk over the music without yelling. “What kind of movies do you like? What kind of stories?”

  By the end of their talk, nearly two hours had gone by. She found out he liked adventure stories, and that he liked stories with justice and questionable heroes and things that had puzzles. She could think of several books, across several genres, and started to list them all.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, holding up a hand. “I’m not going to be able to remember all of them. Which one of those is your favorite?”

  She paused, thinking about it. “For a true book junkie,” she said slowly, “that’s like asking ‘which one is your favorite
child?’ or ‘what appendage would you like to keep?’”

  He laughed, and she smiled back at him.

  “But, based on what you’ve told me,” she said, “I’d say The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll read it.”

  She must’ve looked skeptical, because he chuckled.

  “I mean it. I’ll give it a try.”

  “It’s like seven hundred pages long,” she warned him.

  His eyes widened, then he shrugged. “Okay, it may take a little while. But hell, I’m game.”

  “Why?”

  He was silent for a long moment, staring into her eyes. She squirmed as the heat from his gaze seemed to seep into her very bones.

  “Do you really not know?” he asked, so matter-of-factly that she felt like an idiot.

  He’s volunteering to read a book for you.

  She felt heat suffuse her cheeks. That might be the single sexiest thing a guy had ever offered to do for her, she realized.

  “I… I ought to get going,” she said, hitting the table in her haste to get out of the booth.

  He got up, too, and put down enough money for both drinks, waving her hand away when she reached for her purse. “I’ll see you out.”

  It was gentlemanly. Downright chivalrous. She noticed that several people were staring at the two of them as they walked out the door together. She was parked under a light, and he escorted her right up to the door of the truck.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I had a good time tonight. Talking with you, I mean. It’s what I needed.”

  “So, I’m not as bad a guy as you think,” he said.

  “I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” she protested, then winced.

  He stepped closer. “You don’t, huh?”

  She let out a breath. The thing was, she’d known truly bad people all her life. He was involved in criminal stuff, no question, and that didn’t make him a “good” guy, per se. But he loved his sister, and she got the feeling he wasn’t as “bad” as others might make him out to be.

  He tilted her chin up with his fingertips, and she couldn’t help it. She sighed, almost moaning with longing. He leaned towards her, giving her plenty of time to pull away. “Tell me no,” he said, in a low voice.

  She should have. It was the smart response. Honestly, it was the best response.

  But it wasn’t the response she wanted to give. Instead, she stood on her tiptoes, brushing her mouth against his.

  He groaned, leaning down, scooping her up, making her squeak in surprise before his lips laid claim to hers. He pressed her against the truck, his arms holding her tight as his mouth slanted against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands reaching up to cradle his head against hers. She felt his tongue reach out, skimming across the seam of her closed lips, which she quickly opened.

  The kiss ran rampant from there.

  Her tongue tangled with his, his mouth demanding, hers equally so. She pressed her body against his, her hips rolling slightly as she felt the burgeoning hardness in his jeans. She trembled, actually trembled, with an overwhelming need. She bit at his lower lip, and he growled in approval, his big hands stroking down her sides, then holding her flush against him. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head as he continued his sensual onslaught, his head tilting one way, then the other, advancing and retreating, pressing hot kisses against her throat, her chin, then her mouth again. She was almost blind with desire, drowning in it.

  She didn’t know how long they were there, but they broke apart when someone honked. There was laughter. “Woo-hoo!” someone called.

  Drill broke off to glare at whoever it was, and Thuy felt sanity return in a sudden, embarrassing rush. She’d all but had sex with this guy, in public. Against a truck.

  This man was dangerous to her sanity. To say nothing of her panties, which she knew were a damp mess. Her heart was still beating out of control, and given another moment, she might’ve just … Oh, ugh.

  She had to get out of here, and fast.

  “I… I don’t know why I did that,” she said, nudging at his shoulders. It was like nudging at granite.

  He looked like he didn’t want to let her go, but reluctantly, he did. “I’m gonna see you,” he promised. “Real soon. Okay?”

  “O-okay,” she said. He lowered her to her feet, and she opened the truck door clumsily. She could feel his eyes on her as she started the engine, turned on the lights. She nodded to him, and then drove away, her heart pounding frantically.

  That, she thought, was epically stupid.

  And yet, she knew some part of her couldn’t wait for it to happen again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Drill was still thinking about that kiss from Saturday night. He still needed to somehow convince Maddy to sell the farm, so canoodling with her best friend was probably dumb. But damn, it had felt good. It had felt right.

  And it had only been a kiss. He could only imagine what sex with her would be like. And he’d imagined it, frequently and well, since their hot embrace against the truck.

  He’d been giving the Dragon a pass the past few days, using the argument that it was Thanksgiving, even if he’d spent the day by himself, scrolling through TV channels mindlessly. He’d spent Friday cleaning his apartment, of all things, until he realized he was doing it in case he had company.

  Which meant a woman.

  Which meant Thuy.

  Which was, he already realized, a poor idea.

  What he ought to be doing was figuring out some way to drive the women back to California, without actually hurting them or threatening them. He loved his sister too much to scare her with something overt, but she wasn’t listening to reason, and Catfish was going to be breathing down his neck.

  He glanced over to see Catfish emerging from the back rooms. Speak of the devil. He took another pull of beer.

  “Drill,” Catfish said, his voice full of quiet command, and he gestured to the back. Drill nodded, grabbing his beer bottle and following. He was growing to hate these back-office visits. It was like going to the principal’s, back in the day, when he’d been sent there for not paying attention. Or, as his father had said, “for being stupid.” Which had promptly been followed by stupid-beatings.

  He shuffled over, down the hallway, then into the office, closing the door behind him. At least Dirty Dave wasn’t there. It was just him and Catfish. Catfish looked — well, not precisely pissed, but not happy, either.

  “What the hell, man?” Catfish said, without preamble.

  Drill blinked. “What the hell, what?” he asked. “What’d I do?”

  Catfish sighed, rubbing at his temples. “You fucked up this week, is what you did.”

  “What?” Drill growled. “How’d I fuck up?”

  “You didn’t collect on Frank Helms.”

  Drill winced. Okay, that was true. “I warned him,” he said, knowing that was an excuse at best. “And I told him he’d better have it by Monday. He’s still got time.”

  “When I didn’t see the money, I found out that you’d talked to him on Wednesday night — and then you’d let him walk off, not a scratch on him.” Catfish’s deep voice was gravelly with frustration. “Do you know how it looks, when we let somebody walk away like that? What kind of message it sends?”

  Drill was silent, knowing that Catfish would no doubt educate him.

  “It makes us look fucking weak,” Catfish finished, his voice rising. The office was sound-proofed, for a number of reasons, so it wasn’t like anybody else was going to hear Drill’s dressing down. But still, it stung. “And right now, the last thing we can afford to do is look weak! Do I need to draw a fucking picture for you to get that?”

  He knew Catfish had a point. Still, Drill crossed his arms. “A few days — over a fucking holiday, no less — wasn’t going to make that much of a difference. I still think it was a decent call.”

  “Yeah, well, I made my own call.” Catfish huffed out a breath. “I s
ent in somebody to clean up your mess.”

  Drill’s eyebrows went up. “You what?”

  Catfish might’ve been unhappy with some of his decisions in the past, but he’d never outright countered them, at least not without talking about it first. He knew that Catfish was the new president of the club, but what the hell?

  “I sent Timothy King out to talk to him and collect the debt.” Catfish’s face screwed up in distaste. “Needless to say, he fucked it up even more. I sent him to clean up your mess, and he made an even bigger mess.”

  Drill had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What’d he do?” he asked slowly.

  Catfish raised his hands. “Now, this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just done your job from the beginning…”

  “What did he do?” Drill repeated.

  Catfish glared at him. “Watch your tone there, Drill.”

  Drill forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He put his beer down on the desk. “What did Timothy do?” he finally asked, in a reasonable voice. Or at least, the closest he could get to one.

  “Timothy had a little too much fun, went overboard.” He shook his head. “Kid’s got a taste for light torture. He broke the guy’s arm, went at him with a blowtorch a little bit, then went old school and busted his kneecap.”

  Drill winced. “Jesus wept,” he breathed.

  “I know.” Catfish looked disgusted.

  “How did Timothy think the guy was going to be able to get the money to pay us now?” Drill asked, his voice incredulous. “He’s not going to be able to work the farm, he’s not going to be able to sell anything… he’s going to have medical bills…”

  “The bills aren’t our problem,” Catfish said sharply. “Getting our money back is. He knew what he was getting into when he came to us for cash. But you’re right, it was short-sighted, and it’s not gonna help us if he doesn’t have a way to pay us back. That’s why you’re the muscle in this operation. You know where to draw the line.”

  It was a dubious honor, Drill realized with distaste. That he was strong enough to beat the shit out of a guy, but smart enough not to kill the cash cow.