Must Love Hogs

Xavier Neal

Must Love Series #1

Must Love Hogs

Must Love Series #1

By Xavier Neal

©Xavier Neal 2017

Cover by Dana Leah with Design By Dana

All Rights Reserved

License Note

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization from the author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in a court of law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedication: To the Universe...Thank you for all the crazy things I’ve come to love.

Playlist Selects

Here are five songs from the “Must Love Hogs” playlist!

Feel free to follow the playlist on spotify to find more songs I felt related to the book.

1. Home Alone Tonight- Luke Bryan (Country)

2. Girlfriend- NSYNC (Pop)

3. What Kind of Man- Florence + the Machine (Alternative/Indie Rock)

4. Burn- Usher (R&B)

5. Cruise Remix- Florida Georgia Line, Nelly (Country and Rap)

More songs: http://spoti.fi/2ueIxe9

Thirty. Single. And now apparently a fucking pig owner. All of which are against my will.

The tiny pink creature wiggles its shiny, wet nose at me.

“Look it isn’t personal,” I sigh and lean against the balcony railing of my fourth floor apartment patio. “I just…I’m not really sure this is a good fit.”

She continues staring at me from the chair I placed her in.

“You’re a pig. You’re not exactly a cat or a dog…” My hands give my mocha arms a quick rub in a poor attempt to warm them from the unusually cold spring air. “You know, I don’t even know what I should feed you. I mean…you’re like…a baby? Milk?” The realization I am talking to a farm animal as if it’s an actual human being causes me to groan loudly.

So this is where my life has bottomed out at? Discussions with a creature that rolls around in their own shit for fun? Wait. Was this some sort of metaphor message he was trying to send by leaving me with this thing? Is he actually that clever or am I giving him credit when I should be punching him in the balls?

“We can probably find you a good home. People like exotic pets.” My pause is filled with a hum. “You’re not exactly exotic, are you? You’re not from the other side of the world. You didn’t have a shit time trying to get through customs. He didn’t pay a hefty amount just so I could have you…”

Daryl never gave me that much thought. Come to think of it, I rarely give me that much thought.

The doorbell rings and I carefully close the lid to the grill.

I stroll over, pick up the pig, and make my way through the living room for the front door.  Without bothering to check the peep hole, I swing it open and come face to face with a very unexpected sight. A very handsome, knees buckling, genetic lottery winning, unexpected sight.

The 6’0, tanned skin, green eyed stranger offers me a wide smile along with a simple, “Hello.”

His southern drawl kicks the corner of my lip up.

Huh. Just when I was worried I would never smile again, tall, dark, and cowboy shows up on my front doorstep. I wonder if this is some sort of ironic apology for having my boyfriend leave me on my birthday. God, I hope so. Because I will take it.

“Hate to bother you,” he casually continues, “but my name is Ford Shaw, and I think that belongs to me.”

It takes a moment for my eyes to peel themselves away from his muscular frame being hidden in a pair of jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. Shamelessly, I let my eyes caress what my hands shouldn’t, while my brain actively imagines what his accent sounds like in bed. If his voices gets deeper or gruffer right as he’s about to come.

Wow…It’s good to see my lack of sex life is now preventing me from having innocent conversations with complete strangers.

I give my head a shake in an attempt to eradicate the unsolicited pornographic thoughts. “Excuse me?”

Ford points to my new pink companion. “That’s my baby hog.”

Defensively, I cradle the creature closer to me. “No. This is my baby pig.”

“It’s a baby hog.”

“They’re synonyms.”

“Not quite,” he insists. “A hog is always a pig, but not all pigs are hogs.”

Baffled by the explanation almost as much as the unforeseen visit, I snip, “Well this pig is my pig. Her name is Princess Pinky and I love her.”

Lie. Total lie. And a terrible name. Well, maybe a kinda cute name. But I definitely don’t love her. I’m not even sure I like her. It’s the principle of the matter. Who shows up on someone’s door step and just starts demanding something?

Ford tries to maintain his composure but fails. Miserably. “You can’t call a hog Princess Pinky.”

“That’s funny because I think I just did.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

“Just because you do something already, doesn’t mean you should. Or that because you’ve done it in the past you should keep repeating it over and over and over again like there’s no damn consequence to your actions.”

Why do I get the feeling his little tirade wasn’t really about this pig?

Wishing my sympathy meter wasn’t at a new all-time low, but helpless in that department, I snap, “And who the hell are you? The hog police?”

“I-”

“Her name is Princess Pinky. She’s mine.”

“But-”

“Mine! And since she’s mine, I can name her whatever the hell I want.”

A hint of frustration flashes in his green eyes. His body struggles not to tense while one hand rubs the back of his strong neck. I have to stifle down the urge to smirk.  He looks a bit sexy all flustered. Again, that reaction is most likely the result of having to more frequently self-serve over the past two months…I thought it was just a dry spell. Couples have those. At least I thought they did. Would’ve never guessed it was because he was too tired from porking someone else. Pun intended.

“I’m sorry,” Ford sighs deeply. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding here.”

“You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep demanding I hand over Princess Pinky.”

He cringes at the name though this time I smile softly. His eyes catch a glimpse of my response, and he lets out a small chuckle. “She’s actually mine. See, she was a gift to my ex fiancé and-”

“Wait. What?” I interject quickly. “What do you mean your ex fiancé?”

“Carol Ann,” he replies and my eyes instantly narrow. “I left the little girl as a surprise for her while I had to go away on business. It was supposed to be a sweet way to keep her company.”

And a dog never crossed his mind?

“However, when I got home, not only was my fiancé gone, along with all of her things, but so was the baby hog.”

“So I’m not the only one that happened to…” I mumble. “Was it also your birthday?”

Ford’s jaw unhinges.

“Oh okay. Just me then.” With a heavy exhale, I back up to allow him entrance. “Why don’t you come in?”

He hesitates. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I would rather Mrs. Hensley not overhear every word of this conversation. She likes to keep her ear pressed to the door to catch all the drama, so she can to tell her bridge club about it on Saturday nights. Sadly her social life is way more active than mine.”

His smile returns and instantly so does mine.

Rather than dwell on how easy it is to do that around him, I rub the top of Princess Pinky’s head as he strolls himself into my two-bedroom, downtown apartment.

Surprisingly, Ford doesn’t enter in more than a couple of steps. He lingers near the front door with a very distinct fear of overstepping his boundaries painted in his eyes.

Unsure I’ve ever met a man so cautious let alone concerned with upsetting me, I find myself grinning again. “Let’s start over. I’m Ollie. Really, my name’s Olivia, but everyone calls me Ollie…Except Daryl. Daryl called me Olivia, and I hated it. Hate him too a little bit.”

My rambling receives another smirk. “I’m Ford. Everyone calls me Ford except my family.”

Curiosity gets the better of me. “What do they call you?”

A bit of red appears in his cheeks. “Runt.”

I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “Runt? As in…the smallest?”

“Yeah.”

“They make them bigger than you!?”

Ford lets out a loud laugh, and I find my own face heating in slight embarrassment.

Probably could’ve phrased that better.

“I meant…I didn’t….You’re just…not small.”

He wets his lips slowly as if contemplating a dirty retort. “Nope.”

Oh Dear Lord now I wish he was saying that in a naughty way. Ugh. This is not healthy. Not only to basically be ogling a stranger, but to be picturing him naked in various positions. This is terrible! Well, the images of him aren’t terrible. By any means. Hell, the things my imagination is doing with full lips is award winning to be honest…No. No! No. This is bad. This is very very bad. He’s my ex boyfriend’s, new girlfriend’s ex fiancé. That fact alone has to make me wanting to see him naked crazily inappropriate.

I begin attempting to crush the impure thoughts when Ford asks, “Are you barbequin’?”

A puzzled look appears. “No…Why?”

Ford casually tosses his head towards my back patio door.

I turn to glance at the reason he asked. Immediately, I let out a huge squeak and bolt to grab the fire extinguisher from under the kitchen sink. The three of us rush towards the smoking grill, my humiliation reaching impressively high levels.  

He only allows me to struggle with juggling Princess Pinky and the extinguisher for a brief moment. “Can I help?”

Reluctantly, I hand him the pig. “Don’t try to run away with her.”

Ford laughs again and surrenders one hand.

The fire continues to roar at me while I struggle to figure out how to use the extinguisher.

Once more he patiently waits until the frustration on my face is too much to bear before suggesting a switch.  As soon as Princess Pinky is in my arms, Ford picks up the device and sprays it like some sort of flame killing magician.

I let out a deep breath, loose brown curls bouncing out of my eyes. “Thanks.”

He gives me a crooked grin at the same time he places the red contraption of confusion on the ground. “Anytime.”

“You like a firefighter or something?”

“No,” his deep voice contains a hint of mirth. “Just not my first fire.”

Not sure if that makes me feel better or not, I simply offer him another smile of gratitude.

“What were you cookin’?”

“I wasn’t…” Petting the top of Princess Pinky’s head, I sigh, “I was…having a therapeutic moment.”

Ford darts his eyebrows down in question.

Another deep breath escapes. “Found an old photo of Daryl and one of his favorite work out shirts he left behind. Decided on a little goodbye ritual burning to help soothe the anger.”

He drops down into the patio chair Princess Pinky was occupying earlier. “You mentioned it was your birthday?”

I lean against the railing area where I was when he first rang my doorbell. “Yeah. Yesterday, after work, my best friend…well really my only friend took me out for drinks, insisting I celebrate the milestone birthday and since the bosses were paying for it that we live it up. When I came home, his shit was gone, but he had the decency to leave me behind a letter along with the new found responsibility of being a pet owner.”

Considerate bastard. Thankfully, I was too wasted to really process the entire mess. I stumbled into the apartment, read the note, and picked up the pig before going straight to bed. It wasn’t until she woke me up at 4 a.m. that everything really started to sink in. Shortly after came a headache and my executive decision to go back to bed to further delay having to deal with being dumped.

Rather than continue, my sob story out loud, I turn the spotlight onto him. “And Carol Ann was your fiancé?”

Ford quickly nods. “Yeah. We’ve been on and off since high school. Not the first time she’s split, but I think it’s permanent.” There’s a short pause followed promptly with, “I know it is.”

“’Cause she packed all her shit?”

He shrugs. “Just feel it in my gut.”

I hum my understanding. “You don’t seem….too sad about it….unless you’re one of those people who can hide their emotions really well. I’m personally not.”

The laugh out of him inspires me to grin.

How the hell does he keep doing that?

“Nothin’ wrong with wearin’ your feelings on sleeve, Darlin’. Less likely to be a liar.”

“Or at least not a good one.”

Ford briefly smirks before shrugging. “I guess I’m not really too broken up about the whole thing. To be honest? Sadder about losing my hog.”

Wow. What kind of shitty person do you have to be for a hot cowboy to be more upset about losing his pig than you? Here I thought Daryl left me for some sort of super model saint. Some perfect woman, with perfect tits and a perfect waist and a perfect reputation for saving whales or pandas or penguins in between healing sick orphans in Somalia. Hm. I wonder…Is it wrong that it makes me feel better to know she’s probably a shitty human being like him?

His green eyes meet mine and an unusual feeling flutters through my system.  “She was the runt of her litter. The weakest. Needed the most love. Just um…wanna make sure she ends up alright.”

The unmistakable ache in my chest causes me to suggest, “Well, we can share custody of Princess Pinky if you want.”

Ford tilts his head. “Share custody?”

“Yeah.” With a shrug of my own, I say, “We can come up with some sort of visitation system. Swap weekends.”

His hands fold together. “I can probably teach you some things you’ll need to know about raisin’ a hog.”

“Pig.”

He doesn’t resist the instinct to smile. I don’t fight the temptation to enjoy it despite the fact I know I should.

“Oh! And just to be clear, you don’t have to teach me anything. I have Google.”

“Was it Google who taught you how to use a fire extinguisher?”

The jab back drops my jaw.

Ford laughs and surrenders his hands. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist that one.”

I shake my head while trying not glare. “You’re lucky you’re hot. Otherwise I’d kick your ass out of my apartment for being a dick.”

My face flushes again at the realization I complimented as well as insulted him in the same breath. This is most likely why Daryl left. He probably went after someone who was more diverse in social practices than a computer geek like me.

His chuckle provides unexpected comfort. “Darlin’, I don’t know whether to say thank you or apologize….”

His light reaction takes me off guard. I’m not used to this. I’m more accustomed to being snapped at or chewed out for how I speak before thinking sometimes and for trying to ease the situation with a lame joke or shot of sarcasm. Looks included, Carol Ann lost someone amazing…And he has to be amazing. He’s been in my presence for less than ten minutes and I’ve barely been able to stop smiling. Oh shit. No. No. No more of those thoughts… But I mean come on. Who sounds sexy saying the word darling? His sex appeal is vastly bigger than Daryl’s.

A spring gust blows and my nose fills with a horrific smell. After a short gag, another wave of stench hits me. I lean my face down towards my arm pit getting a strong whiff of booze and pepperonis.  Wow. It’s not enough I look like hell when Blue Jean Hottie knocks on my door, I have to smell awful too?

“I need a shower,” I sheepishly confess. “Can you watch Princess Pinky while I do that? We can talk about…pig things and who gets her when, afterwards.”

“I’d love to,” Ford instantly states.

Hearing the word off his lips presses mine together.

“Promise I won’t hog nap.”

The comment causes me to snicker, shake my head, and lead us back into my apartment.

Well, I guess there are worse ways to start the weekend. Discussing parental rights over a farm animal with an overly attractive male stranger who just happens to be in an equally screwed up relationship situation definitely isn’t too terrible. At least not yet…

This is not how I saw this weekend going. At all. Hell, if someone would’ve said I would be arguing with a brown skinned beauty over the custody of my hog, I would’ve laughed them off before telling them it might be time to switch to something lighter, like sweet tea. It’s crazy. This whole situation is crazy…Carol Ann leaving without warning. Her giving my hog away. Showing up here to get it back after demanding she tell me who she passed it off to. Mama’s always said a little crazy is needed in life to make it worth livin’. I just figured she said that shit to try to stay sane raising five boys. After meeting Ollie…I can’t help but wonder if maybe she was right. It’s been awhile since I smiled that wide. Or that long.

The pink hog brushes its wet nose against my arm redirecting my attention away from the runaway thinking I’ve been doing since I stepped foot in this apartment. With a crooked grin I declare, “No way in hell am I callin’ you Princess Pinky.”

She grunts a bit as if arguing.

“You can’t really like that name.”

She repeats the noise.

“You jus’…you jus’…well you jus’ can’t, alright? That’s not a good name for a hog. Guess it’s better than Bacon, which is what Blake named his first hog, but that’s not really sayin’ much.”

Blake, the brother closest in age to me out of the four, is simple when it comes to humor. Life in general to be more exact. He’s a lot like Pop in that aspect.  Both have a habit of nagging me for overthinking everything.

“Oh good,” Ollie’s voice joins the conversation. “I’m not the only one who talks to her.”

I dart my eyes up to see her leaning against the door way to her bedroom, thick legs now covered in a pair of black shorts I want nothing more than to trade places with. The upper half of her body is being tightly hugged by a white tank top that allows the top of her full tits the opportunity to play peek a boo. Talk about a dangerously delectable sight.

My cock gives the zipper to my jeans a knock of approval.

And this is the problem with having to jerk off for months when your fiancé cuts you off. Again. Just the slightest glance of someone attractive, or in this case drop dead gorgeous, causes your manhood to go haywire.

I try to peel my eyes away from her chest when I notice her nipples hardening from the air conditioning that’s just turned on. My tongue swells in excitement of running my tongue around them while my cock thumps its agreement against my jeans.

This is absolutely insane. And wrong. So goddamn wrong to find this woman attractive. She’s my ex fiancé’s new lover’s ex-girlfriend. That’s too Jerry Springer meets Mama’s not so secret favorite soap opera for me….

Ollie wets her lips slowly obliterating my previous objection.

Lord, I need fucking help….

I clear my throat, adjust the hog so she covers my crotch, and ask, “Have you fed this little girl yet?”

Her immediate cringe makes me shake my head.

“You do know hogs need to eat, right? Like people.”

“Are you saying pigs need to eat people or eat the same way people eat?”

The question cracks open my mouth in bafflement.

It only takes a minute before she’s giggling at my expense. “Man, you’re easy.”

A small laugh escapes and I find myself helpless again when trying to dial back my smile.

What is it about this woman that makes everything feel so damn easy?

“Do you have food to feed her?”

Ollie folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know. Daryl didn’t exactly leave me with instructions so much as just a paper goodbye and maybe you can die alone with this creature rather than a cat.”

Anger grips me by the back of the neck.

It’s bad enough the asshole took Carol Ann, but to break this little darlin’s heart in a note really makes me wish we were standing toe to toe. Nothing about her screams she deserved what she got. Damn sure not on her birthday. What kind of man treats a woman like that? What kind of man makes the woman he loves feel so…unwanted? I used to go out of my way to make Carol Ann remember she still meant something to me even when it was clear as day she always had one foot out the door.

“So,” she tries to push past what could become awkward silence, “what do we feed Princess Pinky?”

I shake my head. “Can I just call her Pinky?”

“Princess Pinky,” Ollie corrects with a smirk. “That’s her whole first name.”

The comment causes me to chuckle again. “Then she gets my last name.”

Her mouth drops to object but abruptly stops to ponder over the idea. After a small beat, she shrugs. “Deal.”

“Deal,” I echo softly.

Compromising like this has never been something I had to do. When Carol Ann made a decision that was the end of it. Screw what I had to say or how I felt. She’d always been like that. It’s one reason I’m stuck with a downtown apartment I absolutely hate.

Princess Pinky whines louder in my arms reminding me once more to get back to the original subject. “She’s still young. She needs milk. Sows milk. A few times a day. Out of a small bowl. She’ll resist the bottle.”

“Sow? Like cow?”

“Pig.”

“Right!” Ollie brushes off. “I knew that. I don’t have that but I knew that.”

I offer her a smile. “I believe you.”

“You don’t.”

“Not really, but let’s stay focused here,” I continue. “She’s going to need pig feed. A place to sleep. She’s still small, so a heat lamp or pad to stay warm. Probably a small litter box to help with potty training. A collar and a leash if you’re going to take her on walks.” As the words fumble freely from my mouth, I begin shaking my head again. “Are you sure you wanna keep her here? It’s a lot of work to raise a hog in the city.”

“Yet you were going to let Carol Ann do it.” The snip in her voice is more than apparent. “What’s so special about Carol Ann anyway? What’s she have that I don’t? Why does everyone think she’s better than me?”

There’s no hesitation in my response. “She’s not.”

Our eyes connect, and Ollie seals her lips.

Unsure of exactly what compelled me to announce that as a concrete fact, I inform, “I have a house in Middlebrook-”

“Where?”

“Middlebrook.”

“Which is…”

“The small town right outside of the city. We’re talking right on the other side of the city lines.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“Not surprised. People typically just pass it by when they’re on the highway.”

“I thought that was just nothing but farm land.”

“There’s plenty of that as well as ranches, much of it owned by my family, but there is also a small town.”

A look of surprise slips onto her face.

“My house is on a portion of land near my parent’s home. Short walking distance. We built it there to help me stay close to the brewery I own. They gave me a piece of land a few miles down from it to get my business up and running. When I started making a bigger effort to grow my business past the small town market, it required more frequent visits to the city, which Carol Ann loved, and is what lead her to begging me to rent us an apartment here. Shortly after, Carol Ann got a job downtown and insisted we make it our permanent residence. I refused. We fought. And eventually I agreed we could spend the majority of our time in the city. Princess Pinky was never meant to live just downtown. We were going to have her travel back and forth. She was supposed to be a token of a little country life brought here. A peaceful bridging of a gap.” The hog nestles against me, and I drop my attention down to it. “It was a stupid idea…”

“It wasn’t,” Ollie argues, lifting my eyes back to hers. “It was sweet. Without a doubt more thoughtful than anything I’ve ever had gifted to me.” Her face cringes again. “Shit, that probably sounds like I’ve had a string of losers in my life.”

I don’t comment.

“Not a string. I’m not a string girl. I’m more an…awkward not sure when to stop talking when I start kind of girl. Kinda like now. It’s a problem.”

“Only if they can’t appreciate the sound of your voice.”

Her cheeks flush at the same time she gives her bottom lip a bite.

It has gotta be morally wrong to want to be the reason she makes that face again. Hell, it’s gotta be wrong to be interested in anyone else right after your fiancé walks out of your life. Yet here I am, trying not to let drool fall from my mouth and command my cock not to rise to the occasion.

“I wanna keep Princess Pinky,” she declares. “Whatever we’ve gotta do to make that happen Farm Boy, let’s do it.”

The unexpected nickname crinkles my brow. “Did you just call me farm boy?”

“In a loving sort of way.”

Loving…Hm. It’s been a long time since anyone outside of my family did anything like that my direction. I can’t even remember the last time Carol Ann said the word let alone did anything to prove she meant it. Maybe that’s why I’m not the broken up man over losing her I should be. Maybe it wasn’t really a loss…

Rather than confess those pathetic facts and possibilities out loud, I nod. “Why don’t we take a trip to the pet store, and I’ll fill you in on the shit you wouldn’t find in a basic Google search, like why Princess Pinky is gonna need fresh dirt to play in and why most people recommend you don’t feed her table scraps.”

“She’s a pig. That should totally be okay.”

Standing up, I simply sigh, “You wanna change or go like that?”

Ollie’s eyes dip down to where her thighs are whispering for my touch. “Maybe just the shorts…”

Thank goodness. I have a feeling if she wore those I would spend more time trying to fend off possible Daryl replacements than educating her on how to properly care for our new shared connection. Huh. It’s not really my place to stop other men from coming after her.  She’s not my fiancé. She’s not my girlfriend. Hell, she’s not even really a friend. Up until an hour ago she was a complete stranger. Why should I give a damn who comes after her? Who wants her. Better yet, why can’t I get rid of the feeling in the pit of my stomach it should be me at the front of the line, prepared to destroy any other competition?

To my surprise the day effortlessly flies by. After arguing with me about which pet store to visit, Ollie eventually caved, and allowed us to visit the one I knew wouldn’t let us down. While most of the truck ride was filled with bad directions from her, proving her truly terrifying dependence on Google, the trip around the store was more productive. I did the majority of the talking, and she hung onto every word. At one point, she stopped and wrote herself a memo on her phone, desperate not to forget anything.  It took us about an hour and half to gather all we needed, but she never complained. Never whined it was too much or not enough. The biggest shock came at the end when we fought at the register over who should pay. I’ve spent my whole life catering to one woman without resistance. Carol Ann expected to be taken care of. Ollie’s insistence otherwise causes a discomfort I’m not used too. One I’m not sure I want to get used too. What’s wrong with letting a man, just be a man and pay? Or letting him take care of his woman? Damn it. She’s not my woman…Maybe that was the underlying point she was trying to make? Then again, when it came to grabbing a meal after spending the afternoon caring for the hog, I didn’t even give her the option. Her tantrum at the pet store to make the cashier split it in half was more than enough. I drove. I got to pay. She argued again, but Princess Pinky’s hunger squeaks ceased the discussion. 

A door shuts and I look up at Ollie from where I’m giving my hands a good deep wash in her small kitchen sink. “She asleep?”

“She’s on her way.” Approaching me, she lets out a large sigh, “Who the hell knew raising a pig would be so hard? She requires the same amount of work as a real baby!”

With a smile, I scoot over, and allow her hands to fall under the hot water while I dry mine. “Hogs are not an easy thing to raise.”

“No joke,” she mutters.

Once the two of us have clean hands, we grab the fast food bags along with the six pack of beer and relocate to her couch.

As I busy myself with unloading the bags, she turns to me and states, “Thanks again for today, Ford. You were…way better than anything I could’ve read online.”

Not sure if I like hearing her call me by name or the nickname more, I reply, “Any time, Ollie. All you gotta do is ask.”

She smirks and reaches for the beer. Instead of asking for help popping the cap off, she struggles to twist it, pull it, and eventually settles on banging it against the side of her coffee table. Amused as well as impressed at her stubbornness, I simply watch the growing frustration increase to new levels.

“What did you buy? Impossible beer?”

I shove a fry in my mouth and offer her an innocent grin.

Ollie’s struggle continues to comedic levels. She groans. Hits it again. Alternates twisting with her hand and the edge of her shirt. The flashing of more of her skin defeats the desire to continue to laugh at her expense. All of a sudden, a crossbred squeak-cry escapes her pouting lips causing my chest to ache.

Unsure of what it is about her that provokes the instinct to want to help her or at the very least not let anything harm her, I ask, “Need some help?”

She glares.

“I literally just told you, all you had to do was ask.”

“I thought you were talking about with Princess Pinky!”

“Anything, Ollie. Just. Ask.”

Her face falls, taking my heart with it. “I’m not used to needing to ask for help.”

“With beer?”

This time she emphasizes, “With anything.”

We didn’t talk much about anything too meaningful during the day. Past the basics, which were only required for our ‘proper’ introduction, we didn’t get too personal. Most conversations revolved around caring for Princess Pinky or wild stories about the pigs and hogs on the farm. To say she enjoyed them would be a lie. She loved them. Her beautiful dark brown eyes lit up. Her laughter was loud and lively. Her body shook with joy. It was such a sight to see, all I wanted to do was keep telling her every hilarious thing I could think of just so she would never stop.

“Why not?” I ask as Ollie transfers her beer to my grip. Immediately, I use the bottle opener on my keys to assist. “Daryl one of those men who just…naturally did everything without having to be asked?”

“Daryl was a self-absorbed asshole who had me confused with his maid and mommy.”

The jab grabs a bigger grin from me than intended.

She curls her finger back around the bottle. “I don’t know…I guess I grew up being independent. I never had a lot of friends and my parents were both huge on the idea of me ‘doing it myself’ or ‘figuring it out myself’, that it wasn’t long before I just became very self-reliant.”

I attempt to lighten the situation, “Or in some cases…Google reliant.”

Ollie gives my bicep a playful punch, but instantly winces afterward. “God, what are you made out of, brick?”

My lips curl upward. “Flattered.”

I really am.

After an eye roll and fry grab, she tries to hide the additional color in her face that I have begun to enjoy seeing. “T.V. requests, Farm Boy?”

“I’m a fan of westerns.”

“Of course you are.”

“You asked,” I chuckle and pop the lid off my bottle. “What about you?”

Ollie puts her untouched beer down to grab the remote. “Prefer my movies typically with more animation.”

“Like cartoons?”

The irritation from my question is unmistakable. “Something like that.”

“Meaning?”

Her shoulders drop, and she turns back towards me seconds before I have a sip of my beer. “Pretty much anything drawn and made to move or even CGI now. I’ve always been obsessed with drawing, and the movies that require it instead of people. I love it so much I went to school for and now I actually draw character art for a video game company.”

Surprise smothers my face. “No shit? That’s incredible.”

She attempts to hide her pride. “It’s not really a big deal. They’re a little indie company-” Ollie pauses in quiet deliberation, “Well technically, a big indie company to many in the gaming world, but little in comparison to some of the huge companies like PA and Pipe Leak.” The addition seems to not have been an intended part of her initial explanation by the way she shrugs it off. “It pays well, and I get to decide to make the characters look however I want as long as I reach the criteria provided. Occasionally adjustments have to be made, but never anything major. Never any overhaul worth complaining about.”

Awe, not only from the amount of talent she most likely possesses, but the excitement over it, stuns me silent.

Ollie quickly grows uncomfortable and diverts her attention back to the flat screen across from us. “It’s really nothing special. Just a job.”

“That you love.”

“A lot.”

“I like that.”

Her eyes swing back towards mine.

“A lot.”

What the hell am I saying? Why the hell do I keep…flirting with her? We’re supposed to be co-parenting…maybe friends, at some point, but flirting is not on the menu. Flirting should never be on the menu even if she’s irresistibly sexy with her curly hair pulled up into a messy bun and a makeup free face that allows me to the see the beauty marks by her eyebrow and chin.

She quietly questions, “What did um…What did Carol Ann do for a living?”

The name forces me to have another sip of my beer. “Depended on the day. In the beginning when I was just starting Runt’s Beer-”

“Wait! You named your beer Runt’s?”

“Small name, but still the pick of the litter.”

Ollie giggles yet nods in approval. “Nice marketing line.”

“Thank you. I came up with it myself.”  I replace my beer with my burger. “Anyway, when I finally grew a pair and started Runt’s with my brother Blake, Carol Ann worked at this little bridal store in Middlebrook. She used to huff and complain she was always the one to sell the dress, never to wear it…but I always had a hard time wrapping my mind around trying to marry someone who was famous for breaking up with me on a whim.” Realizing I’ve probably said too much, I clear throat and finish, “As the company got bigger and I started traveling to the city more to encourage local bars to carry my brand, she found a management position at an upscale bridal boutique.”

“There was probably no shutting her up about weddings after that, huh?”

I shake my head, roll my eyes, and have a bite.

If anything it put more pressure on proposing despite everything in my brain telling me not to do it. Despite Blake telling me it would be a waste of time and Mama all but threatening to give me an ‘I Told You So’ lecture when she left again. Beginning to wonder if the reason I like Ollie is because we’re equally hard headed…

Thankfully, she doesn’t press the subject. She has a swig of her beer and smacks unapprovingly at the taste.

Once I’ve swallowed, I chuckle, “You don’t have to drink the beer if it’s not your thing.”

“Oh thank God,” she gags and pushes the bottle at me.

“More of fruity flavor fan?”

“Whiskey.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“Wilcox to be exact.”

“That’s the only thing next to my beer that Pop will drink.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, finally pick up her burger too. “I’ll give your beer a shot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If it’s half as amazing as you are than it’ll be the best beer I’ve ever had.”

The compliment expands my smile but burns her cheeks instantly.

Ollie shoves a bite into her mouth before it can betray her again.

At least I’m not the only one whose brain seems to be mis-wired today. I’ll willingly admit I like when she says shit like that to me. I like the way she blurts it out. The way her face changes shades. The way her eyes bulge. I like her response to me…more than I should.

Why did I think being a pig owner was a good idea? And why didn’t I take one of the many many many outs Ford offered me yesterday? He practically begged to take her away to prevent me from being stressed over something I didn’t have to be. To protect me from the havoc this adorable pink creature would wreak on my life. I liked that. I like how he was never just concerned with Princess Pinky, but both of us. Which is completely nuts. He shouldn’t be! We’re strangers! Okay, not strangers any more since we spent the entire day and most of the night together. After shopping for Princess Pinky’s things and a very in-depth giggle fest worthy lesson on farm life, we spent the evening watching Clint Eastwood westerns with terrible beer. Not only did I learn a new love for cowboys outside of Toy Story, I found myself swooning over Ford’s accent while he quoted along and the adorable way he cuddled with the reason we were initially hanging out. He was gentle and sweet. Kind. Warm. To both of us. All the things I’ve never had from someone of the opposite sex. All things my best friend Camilla swears only exist in romance novels, which she pretends not to read, but I’ve seen her secret stash in the back of her closet. Before meeting Ford, I more than willingly agreed with her…After? Not so sure.

I snap on my snorkel mask and ditch the tube. My hands plant themselves firmly on my hips. “You ready for this?”

Princess Pinky oinks at me as if in disagreement.

“This is happening. And nothing can stop it.”

Seconds before I lean down towards her, the doorbell rings, and she squeals in delight.

I point a stern finger at her. “This isn’t over, young lady. This is just a pause.”

Quickly, I hustle out of the guest bathroom and straight to the front door.

The moment I open it, Ford’s face immediately shifts. “What the hell are you doing?”

My hand lands on my lounge shorts covered hips. “About to give Princess Pinky a bath.”

He tilts his head to the side. “And the mask is for…?”

“Eye protection.”

His mouth twitches to respond but abruptly stops. He simply lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head.

“Aren’t you early for dinner?” I motion my head towards the pizza boxes in his hand. “It’s like 4 o’clock.”

“I shot you a text to see if-” he cuts his own sentence short. “Ollie, where is Princess Pinky right now?”

“Waiting for me in the tub.”

“Tell me you weren’t going to get in it with her.”

My jaw drops in disgust.

“Tell me you weren’t about to have some weird modern version of deliverance.”

Unable to express my growing horror over the thought, I merely squeak and leave my mouth unhinged.

Ford tosses his head back in unabashed laughter. The temptation to slam the door in his face for teasing me is almost as strong as the one to stand here and observe the strikingly beautiful action in progress. His laughter is not only contagious, it’s almost magical. It envelops your entire presence. Burrows into your system making it impossible not to smile. His perfect parted lips and bouncing broad shoulders add to the list of reasons why looking anywhere else isn’t an option. How the hell is it possible for one human being to look this attractive while laughing at my expense?

With a wide grin, I shake my head. “Do I need to take away your visitation rights?”

He catches his breath and returns his smile to a calming one. “You know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“That’s not true. Like…scientifically speaking.”

“Did you Google it?”

I twitch a glare which causes him to playfully smirk.

Difference between his jackass tendencies and Daryl’s? Ford never seems like he means it. The little jabs he makes always seem to be littered with the intent to do something just to see me smile again. I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong. I’m usually wrong. There’s no way in hell he gives a shit about me like that…even if a small part of me hopes he does.

“Just meant,” he sighs softly, “you’re more likely to get whatever you want out of me with sweet persuasion rather than threats.”

His tongue crosses his lips and I find myself desperate for that to be a double-entendre.  Desperate to have those lips grazing my neck…my nipples…my clit…

The corner of his lip kicks up implying I got the point he was trying to make. At the sight of my face flushing, Ford offers, “Why don’t I put the pizza in the oven, the whiskey in the freezer, and help you give our piglet a bath?”

Backing into the apartment, I allow him to follow me inside. Once the door is shut and our eyes are locked, I state, “You might wanna ditch the shirt if it’s the only one you have. Something tells me this task is going to get very wet and slippery.”

Something strikingly similar to a moan lingers behind his sealed lips. As soon as his face begins to flash a deeper color, I give him a wink to let him know two can play his weird word choice game.

Wouldn’t mind him making me either of those things, and I know for a fact now it’s not just the unwanted abstinence talking.

While Ford places our dinner items in the kitchen, I make my way back to our pink problem at hand.

She may be adorable and probably sweeter than any dog I’ve ever met, but her tendency to get dirty no matter how much I try to avoid it is frustrating. And I know she’s a pig. They’re supposed to be dirty. They’re supposed to be gross. But she doesn’t have to be this bad in the two days I’ve had her. How she managed to get peanut butter and syrup on her is a mystery! I didn’t have either of those for breakfast or lunch!

Princess Pinky looks up at me with wide eyes when I return.

I fold my arms back across my Mario brother’s t-shirt. “That’s right, missy. I’m back. And I brought reinforcements.”

Her tiny squeals sound like sassy back talk.

Before I can get another word in Ford enters the tiny bathroom, his large size effortlessly conquering the space.

She oinks her tiny happiness at his return.

My lips press tightly together to prevent from voicing my understanding of her excitement.

It was so strange how much I missed him after he left. Daryl and I dated for almost five months and not once did I ever feel that…sad when he walked out the front door. Not even when we first started dating and people swear they feel like they can’t breathe without the other person. I never went through those emotions with him. I never had the craving or anxious feelings wondering when he would return. I was practically giddy when Ford texted me goodnight five minutes after his departure, even giddier when he asked could he come by for dinner, and the giddiest when I woke up to his good morning message. I know it’s irrational to feel this way, but as long as I feel it and never mention it, then it should be fine…That’s what I’m going to keep telling myself to refrain from checking into therapy for a physic evaluation.

“Hey little one,” he greets warmly, his accent getting unconsciously thicker. “You ready for a bath?”

She squeaks and wiggles around the bathtub clearly concerned about what’s about to happen.

“I don’t think she wants one,” I begin, turning to face him. “I think-”

My words shatter into a million mumbles the moment Ford yanks off his white polo shirt. An unexpected, smooth, chiseled chest greets me along with digitally altered abs perfect enough to make people riot in the streets that he’s airbrushed. Princess Pinky’s squeaks get louder, but my attention doesn’t waiver. I continue to boldly stare on at a sight I loathe being close enough to admire and do absolutely nothing about.

At least I don’t think I can do anything about it. No. I definitely shouldn’t do anything about it. Rebounding with my ex’s new girlfriend’s ex fiancé is a little too close cousin to bad reality T.V. for my liking. God, why couldn’t he have been her brother? Or her second cousin twice removed? Or her next door neighbor’s best friend’s dog walker? Why on earth does the one guy I’ve come across who gives me that weird butterfly feeling, keep smiling ‘til it hurts feeling, have to be who he is?

Ford gives his stubble covered jaw a small rub. “You’re making me feel a little self-conscious, Darlin’.”

I drag my eyes up to meet his stare. “What?”

“The way you’re starin’,” he continues, green eyes clouded with a hint of uncertainty. “Not sure if your tongue is hanging out because you’re rebuffed by what you see or because you’re wishing to see more of it.”

Definitely more. Like a lot more. Like the whole thing. Like the whole thing on top of me in a hot heaving mess.

A moan attempts to escape my lips. I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

He quietly questions, “You gonna tell me, which one it is?”

“Nope.”

His light laugh echoes around the room.

My eyes threaten to close, enthralled once more by the sound.

I’ve gotta get a grip on reality or get shit faced drunk tonight to forget I have spent the entire weekend playing the updated version of Elly May Clampett with a southern dream boat who is sexy enough to sink all of my senses with minimal effort. Yeah…Getting drunk definitely appears to be the easier of the choices. 

The two of us lower to our knees at the same time. He makes the attempt to settle Princess Pinky while I turn on the faucet. From the first sound of the running water she squeals and whines her grievances.

“It’s not that bad,” I scold slowly changing the temperature.

“Have you ever had an ice cold bath?”

“Why are you on her side?”

He begins to lift a hand in surrender when she slips out of his grasp and starts splashing around the tub furiously. Ford scrambles to get a better grip at the same time he’s profusely trying to calm her down. Unfortunately, he fails. On both accounts. She lets out such a heart wrenching cry of pain I shut off the water in submission.

I’ve gotta be the worst pig parent ever.

Ford’s eyes meet mine and I whisper, “She’s terrified.”

“She’ll get used to it.”

“But look at her, Farm Boy. She’s shaking.”

His hands curl around the edge of the tub. “Ollie, most creatures are scared of new things. It’s natural.”

Like me of you? Like how attracted I am to you?

“She’ll learn to muscle through. She’ll see none of this is as bad as she’s thinks.” Suddenly, he scoots around me to switch sides. “Why don’t you hold her while I warm the water a bit and then we’ll put her in it?”

“You don’t wanna hold her?”

“I don’t want you to be the bad guy. You’ll be spending more time with her than I will…”

Instead of blurting out how I hope that’s not true, I nod and turn my attention back to Princess Pinky. “You wanna get out?” I slowly extend my arms towards her. “Wanna get away from the mean water?”

She scurries towards me, slipping in the process. The action makes her squeal in irritation, but she cuddles in close the moment she’s in my grip.  He gives me a wink and starts the water again. This time she screams her fear yet allows me to hold her. To protect her.

An unusual feeling tumbles through me.

No one else has ever depended on me to take care of them like this. Daryl was a bit of a baby when it came to having someone do his laundry, his cooking, and making sure his favorite wine was chilled, but he didn’t really need me.

“Talk to her,” he encourages, testing the water with his thick fingers. “Tell her it’s gonna be alright…”

The combination of his tone and elocution stir up the feelings I’m trying to ignore. It’s strange when he says the words, I actually believe them…We’re not just talking about the ones for Princess Pinky but the ones for me too. How bizarre is it really, to find comfort with someone who is going through the same situation? To find solace with someone who was probably just as undervalued as you were?

“It’s going to be fine.” I give her slow steady strokes, and continue watching him fill the tub. “We’re going to get you all cleaned up. And fed. And then a nap in my lap…”

“Never thought I’d be jealous of a hog,” Ford teases sweetly.

If only he knew I would willingly bath him, hand feed him, and then let him fall asleep with his face between my legs…

Princess Pinky squeals in what I assume is joy. “Doesn’t a nap sound great? You love the heating blanket!”

After just a couple more minutes, he stops the water and motions his hands towards it. “Should be a good temp. Put her in whenever you’re ready.”

I look back down at the unhappy pink creature still quivering. “Nice and easy, okay?”

My attempt to place her in the drawn water is ten times worse than Ford’s efforts of holding her in it. Before I can even get her close, she manages to slip out of my grasp, land on the tile with squeak of pain, and bolt out of the room.

A huge sigh of frustration jumps out of me. “Damn it!”

Ford pins me with a mischievous grin. “Your downstairs neighbors are about to hate you.”

As I stand to my feet, I declare, “They already do.”

He lifts his eyebrows in curiosity at the same time he comes to his.

“I will show you exactly why after we catch ourselves a pig.”

“Hog.”

His correction is followed by a chuckle and the two of us rushing to catch the pink bandit hell bent on escaping.

“You really suck at this game,” I tease from my spot on the couch beside Ford. “I thought you were a cowboy. Aren’t cowboys supposed to be good at shooting?”

Ford misses the shot and a zombie successfully takes a bite out of his neck ending the game. He growls his frustration at the same time he snaps his face my direction. “First off, the aim of this thing is nothing like a real shotgun.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And second of all, I never said I was a cowboy.”

“Cowboy…Farm boy…Same thing, right?”

A look of dismay darts his eyebrows down. “Absolutely not.”

The look of unhappiness rushes me to defend, “Is there really a difference or is this the pig versus hog argument all over again?”

He tosses the controller onto the coffee table. “There’s a difference in those too.”

My hand mockingly waves side to side.

“Google confirmed it!”

Enjoying the fluster, I continue, “Did it really?”

Ford abandons one fit for the other.  “Yes. There’s a difference between cowboys and men who farm or ranch.  That’s like asking me is there a difference between a gamer and a geek.”

I gasp in a highly offended fashion.

“Exactly.”

Ford offers me a warm grin and I instantly relax back against the couch, thankful Princess Pinky didn’t wake up during my startled movements. After eventually catching her, I bit the bullet and got into the tub to insure she didn’t escape a third time. Ford spent most of the time making inappropriate bestiality jokes, and I sophisticatedly countered with several splashes of soapy water to his face that only looks even more delicious when wet. Talk about backfiring. By the time we were finished, we were almost equally drenched. While I changed, Ford dried and fed our stubborn pig. To my surprise, the entire thing was not only fun but felt easy to do together. The kind of easy I’m not used to. Most people I know have a difficult time being around me for long periods of time, never mind actually enjoying my company, but Ford treats me like I’m his oldest and best friend. No questions asked. No expectations shoved in my face. It’s refreshing. He’s refreshing…

He reaches for his glass of whiskey. “So, you drew the characters in the game?”

“Yeah.”

“Like all of them?”

With a nonchalant shrug, I repeat, “Yeah.”

His eyes bulge behind the sip he’s having.

“The four main leads were simple because I was given descriptions. The city sketches were based on a couple major cities I just fused together. And the zombie you just got eaten by, well, they were really just one type I designed with slight modifications to make them appear as different ones, like hair color, skin color, shirts. Nothing too special.”

“That’s incredible you did all those things.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, I deny, “Not really. I mean once I’ve got a sketch and recreate it on the computer; it’s pretty much a walk in the park. Not a big deal at all.”

“It’s a huge deal,” he corrects with promptness. “Stop selling your talent short, Ollie.”

I guess I never realized how much I do that. To me, it’s not a big deal. Maybe that’s why I have a hard time thinking it is. “I don’t…I don’t mean to. It’s just…drawing is what I do. Like breathing. Or eating. I pick up a pencil and doodle. Even when I go out to eat, I draw cartoons on the napkins…which is cute when you’re a kid but heavily frowned upon at twenty-nine-er-thirty.” Ugh. Thirty. My new least favorite number. “I guess I forget anyone else might consider it something special.”

Ford gives me a crooked smile. “You are special and while nobody should have to tell you that, the man in your life should’ve made you feel that.”

Daryl never did, yet here’s a man I’ve known for less than 48 hours making me feel like he’d hang the moon for me because he swore I pulled up the sun for him.

He clears his throat as if uncertain his comment was well received. “And I’ve always been shit at video games. My hands are better with real guns like when we go huntin’. Oliver, my middle brother, he was always good at this stuff. Still is. He’d always rather be inside than outside.”

“Sounds like we would get along great.”

A solemn look flashes in his green stare.

His discomfort tugs at my tangled heart strings. Why on earth would a joke like that bother him unless…well unless…unless I’m not as crazy as I am trying to chalk myself up to being. “So, how many are there of you anyway, Farm Boy?”

“Five.”

“From the same two people?!”

Ford’s laughter bounces around the room loud enough to stir the sleeping pig in my lap.  He tries to dial it down by hiding it behind his balled fist. Once his composure is collected, he answers, “Yeah. My parents were high school sweethearts. Started at 18 and quit with me at 25…”

Hearing him speak of his family fondly encourages me to ask more questions, “And you’re really the smallest?”

“Oh yeah. My oldest brother William Jr. or Big Foot as we all call him, is 6’6, beating out Pop who is only 6’5.”

“Holy shit!”

He chuckles, yet continues, “Then there’s Edward or Eddie, he’s 6’5 along with Oliver and Blake. I’m only 6’0, so…a runt in comparison.”

Completely baffled by the information, the only thing I’m capable of is allowing my mouth to bob around.

The sound of his chuckles swells my heart once more preventing me further from speaking.

I wonder how wrong it is to completely love hearing someone else laugh as much as I love hearing him do it. I mean like hearing him do it. I mean enjoy hearing him do it. Yeah. I think I need another drink.

“Are both of your parents related to the Jolly Green Giant?”

He shakes his head, smile never ceasing. “Mama’s only an inch or so taller than you.”

“That’s crazy…”

“Only way to live a good life is with a little bit of that in it…or least that’s what Mama says.”  All of sudden, he takes me off guard again, “What about you? Siblings? Short parents? Possibly members of the Lollipop guild?”

Pleased the conversation is never one sided, something else I am not accustomed to, I reply, “Only child with average sized parents.” We share a snicker. “They were both only children and never saw any reason to change the pattern.”

Ford nods his understanding. “What about you? Do you want kids some day?”

His question starts an unexpected ramble, “I-I-I-I-I don’t know. I don’t even know if kids like me. Hell, men don’t even like me long enough to really get that train of thought to leave the station.” The awkward confession heats my face with shame. “Besides, if raising kids is anything like raising Princess Pinky, I will probably suck at it and probably shouldn’t do it. Save the world some stress and destruction. My gift to society….”

He lets out a short laugh. “You’re not nearly as awful at things as you think you are. Your problem isn’t with the actions, Ollie. It’s with the confidence.”

Definition of my life. And yeah, I know self-confidence is an inside job. That’s something Camilla croaks at me at least once a month. But it’s not an easy one. It damn sure isn’t one I always feel like putting the effort into. Then again, like everything else, around Ford it just feels natural to do things differently.

“Alright, Farm Boy,” I swiftly change subjects. “Pick your western of the night.” Just as he reaches for the remote I declare, “But I think we should turn it into a drinking game.”

There’s no objection. “Rules?”

“Anytime there’s a horse on the screen.”

Ford shakes his head. “We’ll be drunk ten minutes into the movie.”

“Not sure I hear a problem…”

The smile I am becoming more and more enamored with is presented again. “How about every time Clint Eastwood rides his horse.”

“Deal.” His brightened grin ignites mine. “But if he only rides the damn thing twice I’m gonna be pissed.”

We share another round of laughter, which Princess Pinky pops open her eyes to. Ford offers to take her off my hands to do the next round of feeding. Glad to be sharing the responsibility, I transfer her over, and head to the kitchen to gather her things. Once she’s been fed, played with, and successfully gone potty, she’s wrapped back up in her heating blanket where she immediately drifts back to sleep. The two of us try to quietly consume luke-warm pizza in hopes she doesn’t wake up to repeat the cycle.

As soon as we’re certain she’s truly knocked out, Ford starts A Fistful of Dollars, his favorite Clint Eastwood western. From the minute the movie starts, the liquor is pouring. While the game rules are the ones we agreed upon, we decide it’s alright to sip a little extra. It doesn’t take long for a little extra to become a lot extra. Between the whiskey and Ford’s amusement flowing smoothly, it’s only a short matter of time before I am tipsy on two very different things.  And the more I try to resist the latter, the more intoxicated I become.

I place a hand on my mouth to stop the giggle from escaping. “Why the hell is this your favorite movie?”

“Of all time,” he corrects. When I give him a pointed look he playfully commands, “You have to the say the whole thing just like I do with our hog’s name.”

Rolling my eyes, I brace myself back against the couch, realizing we are sitting closer than I think we were when the movie started.  “Fine. Why is this your favorite movie of all time?”

His triumphant chuckle excites me in ways it shouldn’t. “’Cause Clint’s the anti-hero.”

“What?”

“He had been known for basically being the good guy up until this point. You know, the good cowboy who saves the day. Who does the right thing. Who lives an honorable way…” Our eyes lock. “But not in this one. In this one…he’s an asshole. He’s selfish. He gets what he wants…” Ford’s eyes drop down to my lips causing them to part.  My breath thoughtlessly hitches as my heart begins to race a little faster. “For once…Clint took on a role where he wasn’t playing it safe. I guess I always liked the idea of that being me some day. Not necessarily an asshole, but more comfortable doing things…differently.”

The silence that settles between us softly sings to both of us to scoot in a little closer. So we do.

Ford drapes his arm around the back of the couch. “Carol Ann hated westerns.”

Her name ignites a sneer. “Clearly she has terrible taste if she left you for Daryl.”

Pride along with lust begins to fester in his gaze. “I think the same thing about him…”

What are we saying? What are we doing? How wrong is it to spend the weekend together like this? Am I really hot and bothered because he does something for me no one else has or is this revenge for being dumped just rearing its ugly head? Or is it just the damn good whiskey we’ve been slinging back? What are the chances that maybe out of a terrible situation for the two of us something beautiful just might be created?

“Daryl hated whiskey,” I add to the bashing. “He was a red wine or nothing type of man.”

“So, a snob?”

“Extremely.”

“Carol Ann hated pizza.”

She’s fucking crazy…

“That’s un American.”

Ford winks. “My thoughts precisely.”

“She probably should’ve been shot for her treason.”

His laugh sweeps the room.

“Oh! Daryl hated cheese.”

Yes. He was also fucking crazy and definitely should’ve been shot for treason. See. Perfect country betraying pair.

“Carol Ann hated spending this much time away from her phone.”

“I don’t even know where mine is,” I quietly confess. His light chuckle sways my body to brace itself against his. “Daryl hated to cuddle…”

Ford lowers his arm to my shoulder and tugs me in closer without hesitation. “I enjoy the hell out of it.”

An overwhelming inability to breathe tumbles through me. His green eyes hold my brown ones captive, while his arm flexes around me tighter. Slowly, he leans a little closer and I thoughtlessly whisper, “You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?”

For a moment he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Shit! I shouldn’t have said that! I should’ve just rested my head on his shoulder and watched this stupid movie! God, I’m like the world’s worst flirter! I have no business flirting with him and if I’m going to defy all social norms than I should at least do it better. Gah. Come first thing…eh…more like third thing, Monday morning, Camilla is giving me some fail proof pointers.

All of a sudden, Ford brushes a few strands away from my eyes before letting his touch drift down to my chin. “Not with whiskey on your breath Darlin’…”

The comment instantly stops what I hope was an overreaction; however, a loud noise from the screen causes me to jump in my seat.

“Relax, Ollie,” he declares, his snug hold increasing, “this is the best part….”

Why do I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach his reference wasn’t about the movie?

My arms curl around the wiggling warmth and enjoy the pressure resting on my chest. Unsure of the last time I’ve slept in or all night for that matter, I merely keep my heavy lids closed and attempt to drift back off to sleep.

“Ahhhhhhh!!!!”

My eyes shoot open to the sight of Ollie staring at me. “Ahhhhh!”

There’s a similar squeak from Princess Pinky who was still snuggled beside Ollie before the screaming began.

She tears her body off of mine. “What the hell are you still doing here?!”

“I-”

“Did you sneak back away and sneak back in?”

“What?”

It only takes a brief moment for her to become confused by her own question as well.

I give the side of my face a rub. “I…I must’ve fallen asleep during the last movie.”

Funny thing is I knew I should’ve left before we even started it. I knew if I stayed where I was, come hell or high water, I wasn’t going to be able to force myself to go. Everything felt too good. Too easy. Too right. When Ollie fell asleep a third time pressed against me, wound so tightly in my arms I was afraid I was going to bruise her, I was done for. It didn’t matter if I was sober enough at that point to drive four blocks over to my cold, empty apartment. It’s not where I wanted to be. It doesn’t even feel like home. It never has. Not even when Carol Ann was there. But right here? Right here in this messy, unorganized, brightly colored apartment that looks like it belongs to a confused nineteen- year-old boy rather than a thirty year old woman? I feel like it’s the only place I wanna hang my hat…metaphorically and literally. I didn’t mean to stay the whole night. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling for a little longer.

Ollie tries to flatten down her fluffy curls. The same curls I ran my fingers through last night. The same ones I twirled around my finger while pretending she was my woman and this situation wasn’t as unorthodox as it is.

“I apologize if I crossed a line. I would never intentionally hurt you, Ollie.”

“Accidents happen,” she sweetly hums and fiddles with her hair again. “It’s not like you purposely fell asleep on my couch.”

Well…it wasn’t on purpose the whole night…Wild how I can’t remember a time when I’ve slept better.

“Just…can’t believe you’re staring at my Muppet morning head and not rambling off jokes.”

Her slipped out insecurity forces me to bite my tongue.

Fuck Daryl for making such a beautiful woman this hard on herself. What kind of man does that to his woman? What kind of person does that to another human being? Him and Carol Ann belong in the same boat and I honestly hope it sinks. She used to try to do that shit to me, but I brushed it off. Who gives a fuck if my belt and boots don’t match every time I leave the house? Or that my face isn’t always shaven? Or if I have screwed up tan from helping Pop in the yard or with the livestock? There’s more to life than lookin’ ‘perfect’. Besides. It means more when you can appreciate someone in all of their forms.

“You look just as beautiful as you did yesterday as far as I’m concerned.”

Ollie’s smile begins to return.

“Besides, you look less like a Muppet and more like Miss Frizzle.”

She drops her jaw and swings a playful punch at my arm. Afterward she groans, “How the hell are you that solid? How many bowls of Wheaties do you have for breakfast?”

Her joke gets a short laugh followed swiftly by me jumping up onto my feet. “Oh shit! I gotta go!”

“Wh-”

“It’s Sunday!” I scramble around, beginning a search for my shoes.

“That usually comes after Saturday…” she teasingly mumbles.

I slide on the first shoe, which is strangely enough behind the couch. “I do family shit on Sundays!” Panic continues to run rapid in my system, but I ramble on, “Sometimes I take my nephews for pancakes or to the park after they go to church. Sometimes I go fishin’ or huntin’ with one of my brothers. Usually, Big Foot or Eddie. Sometimes it’s just a movie. Sometimes it’s just a beer and football game. But Sunday night is always dinner with Mama and Pop unless I’m out of town.”

“Hm,” Ollie grunts out seconds before I spot my other shoe closer to the front door.

“Hm what?”

“That’s a lot of family time.”

“Yeah.”

“A lot.”

Her words cease my movements. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shrugs. “Not if you like your family I guess.”

“Do you not like yours?”

“I do! At least I do when I’m around them. We just happen to live a couple states away from each other. It’s really just my parents since both sets of my grandparents are deceased and they were only children too. I usually only see them for holidays a couple times a year.”

My shoulders sag.  “That’s it?”

Ollie tries to hide her shame.

While the instinct to comfort her is strong, it doesn’t overpower me enough to stop me from blurting, “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Sadness sweeps across her entire demeanor.

“No offense.”

“A bit taken.”

The unexpected reply has my heart sinking to my stomach.

Not sure why I care so much about everything I say to her, but I do. The idea of anything I state being taken in a hurtful way pangs worse than anything I ever felt with Carol Ann. Also not sure why that is.

“My family is just…they’re my family. They’re my whole life. They’re there for everything. They’re a part of everything. The good I go through. The bad. They are the people I love most in the world, so I can’t imagine the pain I would feel from not seeing them like I do…I can’t imagine the pain of being completely alone.”

She sheepishly states, “I’m not completely alone…I have Camilla.”

“Your best friend.”

“Right. And now…Princess Pinky.”

“And me,” I add without missing a beat.

Her brown eyes soften as they brighten.

It’s the God’s honest truth. She has me anyway she wants me. Father of the hog. Friend. Lover…Fuck, I’m hoping too strongly for that one.

I clear my throat to resist the urge to groan and let my mind wander down a path it has no business being on. “I gotta go, but call or text me if you need anything.”

“You mean for Princess Pinky?”

“For either of you.” My foot wiggles around in the newly placed on shoe. “Have a good day, Ollie.”

“You too, Farm Boy.”

The nickname widens my smile and I rush out of her apartment, trying not to get twisted in my desire of never wanting to leave.

After a quick shower and change into fresh clothes, I meet Eddie and his boys at the park. We spend the entire afternoon running around the playground playing tag, tossing the football, having slide races and of course competing to see who can go the highest on the swings. Most of the conversations we have are about the boys who are four and five. My brother gripes about the cost of childcare, but praises the difference in behavior it’s making for them. He fills me on Sienna wanting a baby, but how they’re struggling to deal with the two they already have. Unlike my oldest brother, I don’t feel compelled to offer advice. I’ve learned over the time, Eddie doesn’t want advice. He just wants to toss it out there on ears who love him, so he can move on. It’s the reason when he wants to vent he turns to me and not Big Foot or Blake who are always quick on the draw with advice. Complete opposite advice from each other at that. By the time we’re wrapped up they’re worn out as well as starving for dinner. He heads home and I start the forty-five minute drive in the opposite direction to our parent’s place. Thankfully, I arrive just in time to wash my hands and plop down, having missed the portion where I normally help set the table.

Mama places my plate in front of me with a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Have fun with my grandboys?”

I offer her a smile. “Of course. You know, Kyle’s got a helluva arm on him to only be four.”

“Something to write home about considering his father is all butterfingers when it comes to sports,” Pop jokes from the seat across from me at the dark wood, rectangular table.

“Mama, why does Ford have more mac and cheese than me?” Blake whines from next to me.

I look at him with a sardonic smile. “What are you, twelve?”

“You’ve got about twelve scoops of macaroni conquering that plate, Runt.”

Mama intervenes, “He had his heartbroken recently. He needs the extra cheese to feel better.”

I don’t. But I’m not going to say that and risk losing out on a double helping of her famous mac and cheese. The dish she only brings out when someone’s hurt, someone dies, or on the occasion she wants to out cook my aunt Sally, who she swears spreads rumors about her not being able to cook anything from scratch.

My fork stabs a piece as I give my brother a smug smirk.

“He’s not sad!” Blake argues, childishly. “He’s not even bothered by it. Look at him!”

Before I have a chance to lift the bite to my lips, Pop says, “You do look pretty cheerful for a guy whose fiancé left him while he was out of town for the night.”

Ollie’s face instantly flashes in my mind. The smile remains. Carol Ann’s Houdini act is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me next to starting my own brewing company.

“You okay, Runt or just trying to be a man about it?”

“I’m fine, Pop.”

“See. He’s fine, Mama. Give me his mac. I’m the one who’s torn up.”

She gives Blake a pointed look from her seat across from him.

“It just broke my heart when we didn’t get the contract,” he pretends to sound upset between bites of fried chicken. “Could barely sleep. Could barely eat…”

“Uh-huh.” Pop mocks. “I can sure tell by the way you’ve put back almost that entire piece of chicken in County Fair record breakin’ time.”

A less than innocent smile slips on his face. “No one can resist Mama’s fried chicken.”

Even vegans would give it a second thought. It’s that damn good.

“You didn’t get the contract?” Pop asks, his eyes landing on me.

I swallow the only bite I’ve managed to have. “No sir. Not this time.”

It’s alright. Getting bars to carry a local brand has never been an easy feat. But I’m not a quitter. Not when it counts.

He gives me a warm look. “Like I always say, when the good Lord tells you no, it’s because something better is out there for you.”

Two days ago I might’ve argued with that theory. Not to his face because I’m not a moron like the brother beside me, but now? After spending the weekend with a woman who makes Carol Ann look like an overdramatic villain from an old western, I’m inclined to agree.

“Same goes for getting rid of that piece of trash once and for all,” Mama joins the conversation from behind her glass of ice tea. “Tell me it’s for good this time, Runt.”

“It’s for good,” I agree, reaching for a roll after Blake snatches up two.

He was like this when were kids too. Bottomless pit with no proof he’s ever eaten anything. Out of the five of us he’s the leanest. And most childish.

“You sure?” Blake questions, smacking on the fresh baked role. “Because you two have been doin’ this same shit now for over a decade. You break up. She screws around. She comes back and it starts all over again.”

“No. This time is for good. I can feel it.” Ollie’s giggles echo throughout my brain, extended proof to trust the intuition. “Besides, this was the first time she took all of her shit.”

“Good riddance,” Mama loudly states. “That woman was like Wal-Mart. Her legs never closed and most likely gave you poor service inside.”

Blake starts to choke on his roll. “Mama!”

I don’t bother hiding my laughter.

“You can’t say shit like that at the dinner table!”

“I can say whatever I want Blake Jenkins Shaw. It is my dinner table.”

He whines, “Come on, Mama, we’re eatin’.”

“Dinner and entertainment,” Pop interjects. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Another laugh leaves me as I scoop up a bite of green beans.

While my parents live out in the country, they are far from the stereotypical types. Neither has a filter, which explains some of the shit Blake says to women and why Eddie has a hard time not pissing off his boss. Neither are afraid of life or taking huge risks. It’s the reason starting my own brewery was ever a real possibility. And most importantly, both are as open minded as they are opened hearted. Two skills they drilled into us even harder than having a good work ethic or great manners. They raised us to try to be understanding and accepting, insisting the world had plenty of judgmental assholes already. They believed and still do believe, give people a chance to show you who they really are…in Carol Ann’s case? I should’ve believed what I saw from the beginning rather than hoping she would change.

“You make sure you go get checked, Runt,” Mama scolds, pulling apart her dinner roll. “Last thing we need is your dick fallin’ off and you begging me to sew it back on.”

My brow winkles at the idea.

“You do know that’s not how dicks work,” Pop loudly whispers.

“Well I rather him go make sure he’s fine before we all have to find that out for sure.”

The odd argument that has Blake torn between chuckling and cringing prompts me to insure, “I’m fine, Mama, but I made a doctor’s appointment for the week. Just…to be safe.”

Blake unnecessarily adds, “Yeah with the way Carol Ann wanders away and wanders back, it’s reminds me of how the black death got started. Except in this case rather than kill you, it’ll just kill your cock.”

Pop picks up his beer with a look of disapproval. “Did you ever pay attention in school, Blake, or just show up to stare down Miss Baker’s low-cut tops?”

“Why were you making notes of how low her tops went?” Mama snips.

“Yeah Pop,” Blake tries to rearrange the heat from the situation. “Why is that?”

The conversation takes an unexpected toll, but I absolutely love it. It’s not that I’m ashamed or broken up about Carol Ann, I just don’t feel like talking about her. I would rather my time with my family be spent in smiles or laughs. Good times. She’s ruined enough of my life. I don’t need her ruining any more of it.

After dinner, Pop abandons us to smoke a cigar on the front porch like he always does post Sunday supper, while Blake and I are left to help with the dishes. On my way back from taking the first round of dishes to the kitchen, the unexpected vibration from my phone stops me mid stride.

I pull the device from my pocket and check the message waiting.

With one swipe, I’m exposed to a sight that melts my heart.

Ollie and Princess Pinky are squished face to face in the selfie.

Underneath it reads:

We miss you.

I miss them too…

“Wooo weeeee, that’s a good lookin’ hog,” Blake comments from over my shoulder.

Anger threatens to overrun my system in an unusual fashion. I cut my brother a harsh look. “Your ass better be talkin’ about the pig and not the woman.”

His light brown eyebrows fall to confusion. “I was…”

Blake’s perplexity pokes mine. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I being so defensive over her? She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not mine to be this bent out of shape over.

“Who’s the chick?”

Knowing better than to reply to the message with him breathing down my neck, I simply shut the screen off, and slide it back in my pocket. “She’s um…a new friend.”

“A new friend?” Blake folds his arms across his chest. “Is this new friend the reason Carol Ann bolted?”

“No.”

“Is this new friend the reason you’re not sad Carol Ann’s gone?”

I don’t answer.

“Is this new friend the reason you’re absolutely certain it’s over? Because you’ve moved on?”

“It’s not like that.”

“But you want it to be like that,” he corrects quickly. “And I say you should fucking go for it man. Move on. Just don’t go dipping your dick into chocolate until you’re sure it’s not going to contaminate it. Nobody likes chocolate with bad nuts in it.”

I shake my head at the picture he’s painting, slightly baffled how he had the audacity to get on Mama’s ass for speaking just like him. “It’s complicated.”

When I attempt to return to grabbing more dishes, he blocks my path. “Why?”

Frustrated, but knowing if I don’t just confess now, he’ll bulldoze his way to the information later, I sigh, “Because she’s Carol Ann’s new boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.”

Blake cocks his head to the side clearly trying to follow the train of information. Once he’s got it straight, he shrugs. “That’s a little strange.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh it is not,” Mama calls from where she’s been listening.

Okay. One drawback to having a tight knit family. There’s no privacy. Ever.

I turn to face her as she says, “It’s not at all like when Big Foot started seeing Gem, only to realize they were secret second cousins because Aunt Donna got knocked up when she was in high school and failed to mention she gave the baby up. Now that was strange.”

That was definitely closer to an episode of Jerry Springer than my current situation.

“You have been in the most pleasant mood all evening, Runt,” Mama informs with a mischievous smirk. “And if that girl has anything to do with it, I don’t give a damn if she’s the mayor’s ex-girlfriend, you go after her Ford Bradley Shaw. You don’t let her get away.”

Not if I can help it. Not if she’ll have me. Not if we can both ignore how we got into this situation and just be glad we did. It may take us a few days or maybe even a few weeks, but that’s alright. Like I said earlier, I’m not a quitter. Not when it matters.

The moment I let out a deep breath, relieved Camilla hasn’t found me yet, I am severely corrected. “Oh, you think you can just creep in here Miss Thing, after skipping work on Friday and avoiding my phone calls all weekend?”

Once I’ve hit the button to turn my office computer on, I swivel my chair to the left where she has taken a seat on the edge of my desk. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Oh really?” She folds her caramel covered hands into her lap. “What do you call watching my name flash on the screen and then not returning my messages? Because where I come from we call that avoiding.”

The thing I love most about my best friend is also the thing I hate about her. She’s overbearing. Always. Whether she’s being loving or being hateful, she does it with everything she has. Passionate would be the kinder, less likely to get me slapped if she could hear what I was thinking, term.

“Now, is that anyway to thank me for taking you out for your birthday?”

“You didn’t take me out. The company did.”

“I was the one who voluntarily picked you up from that day and made sure you got home safely.”

Forced me. She threatened to physically pick me up and put me in her car if I didn’t let her drive me to guarantee a night of free drinking.

“They paid for it.”

“And I made sure they got their money’s worth.”

“By getting me shit faced... I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk in my life.”

“Can honestly say I am not surprised.”

I key in my password. “Don’t say it like I’m a light weight.”

“Ollie, you had like three margaritas.”

“Top shelf!”

She brushes off my addition with the wave of her brightly polished hand. “Were you really so hung over on Friday that you just ‘had to work’ from home?”

The slight jealousy I am allowed flexibility while she is not makes me smirk. “Still pissy that Bart wants his testers only working under his roof?”

“Who the fuck wants to steal any of these games that bad?”

More companies than she’d think. We’ve dealt with espionage moments three times in the six years I’ve been here and the saddest thing is we’re not even a huge company. Bart and Buddy, whose real name is actually Bernard, have been friends since they were in diapers and dreaming of having their own gaming company since they played Mario Brothers for the first time. Both had been offered positions at some of the well-established businesses, but neither wanted to betray themselves or one another. They started B&B, doing all the work they could before hiring out. I was one of the first employees. It didn’t matter it wasn’t going to be a high paying job. What mattered was I had complete creative control to do my favorite thing. I got license to let my imagination run wild. Their games have always had a basic cult like following, but lately have been grabbing bigger and bigger audiences, catching the eyes of the well-known companies who are offering large lump sums to buy them.

Camilla removes my wireless keyboard out of reach.

“Hey!”

She lowers her eyebrows at me, the pierced one shinning in the sunlight pouring in through the cracked blinds. “You were avoiding me, Ollie. Why?”

I lean back into my chair.

“What happened? Did Douche Daryl give you shit for going out on your birthday?”

“You do know that’s not his actual name, right?”

Though after what he did it damn sure might as well be.

“It is to me,” she gives me a playful smile. “Did he even remember or did he lie? You know, something he thinks he’s good at, but really isn’t. Did he pretend he had a huge surprise all lined up that he had to cancel because you ruined it?”

“He broke up with me.”

“What!” Her shriek pulls the eyes of the people right outside of my corner office. “What the fuck do you mean he broke up with you?!”

“When I got home, all of his shit was gone. He left a note-”

“A fucking note?!”

“And a pig.”

“A fucking pig!?” The words she shouts stop whatever rant she was about to start. “Wait, did you say a pig?”

“Yeah. Princess Pinky. She’s a cute little piglet. Probably the best thing he’s ever given me.” Sad it is one of the only things. “Even if it wasn’t really his to give.”

Camilla’s expression ceaselessly cycles through rage, irritation, and bewilderment.

Daryl was far from a winner. I had my suspicions given how we met when I kindly offered to pay for his coffee when he couldn’t find his wallet, but I knew for sure on our second date when he went on a tangent about men always being the ones to pay for dinner in the beginning of relationships. I had no qualms about paying, but the tirade felt more like he just wasn’t in the mood to spend more money. Almost like I wasn’t worth it…yet I went out with him again because he asked. Because men never ask me out. Because men, outside of the work place, flee from me like I’m flea infested. I knew I was only in a relationship with Daryl because I thought it was the best I could do. But I was wrong. Even though I know Ford and I won’t get to go down that path, he has this way of reminding me I’m not the giant L I have come to believe I am.

Finally, she prepares to reply when there’s a knock on my door.

The two of us turn to see Elliot, the lead programmer, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “Hate to interrupt.”

“Then why do you do it?”

His jaw bobs around in a desperate attempt to answer.

Camilla grumps, “What do you want?”

“The level has been updated. It’s ready for another testing round.”

She groans and tosses back her thick black curly hair she keeps colored to match whatever color is on her fingers and toes. She keeps herself poised for dramatic effect.

Elliot helplessly lets himself drink in her thick frame she’s showcasing in a pair of high waist, ripped acid wash jeans, an off the shoulder black top with a floral print, and a pair of white wedges. An adorable longing floods his eyes.

He’s had a crush on her from the minute he was hired.  Too bad he doesn’t have the guts to say anything and that she barely pays enough attention to him to notice.

Camilla lowers her face back down to his. She gives her black glasses an adjustment and states, “I swear, if I get to my computer and that bug where the heads shrink down to nothing rather than explode outward is not fixed, your head is going to roll.”

He nods, pushes up his own glasses, and backs out of the room not saying another word.

Once he’s out of my sight, I quietly question, “You do know you scare him, right?”

Camilla crosses her legs. “Then I suggest he reads my safety guide before pretending he wants to take this ride.”

Okay. So maybe she has noticed.

“Back on topic-”

“Shouldn’t you-”

“Get to the bottom of the reason why my best friend didn’t answer my call when she was clearly in need of me?” Her tone slinks me down in my seat. “What the hell, Ollie? Why didn’t you tell me on Friday! Why didn’t you answer my calls so I could come over with pints of ice cream, classic Brad Pitt movies, and my long list of why this is what’s best for you?”

Innocently, I answer, “I didn’t wanna be a bother.”

“Oh my God, Ollie, that’s the time to be a bother!” She announces with her hand motions as backup. “That’s what best friends are for! To be there for one another. Good times and definitely for the fuck him times.”

Guilt seals my mouth shut.

Like I told Ford. I am not good at needing other people.

After a defeated sigh, she commands, “At least tell me you didn’t spend the entire weekend alone crying buckets and doodling his name on your notebooks.”

“You do know I’m twenty-nine-”

“Thirty.”

I wince at the correction. “Right. You do know I’m thirty and not thirteen?”

“Ollie, I’ve seen you draw Mickey Mouse on the back of a 500 dollar credit card receipt at a five star restaurant.”

Her acknowledgement of my quirky ways silences me again.

Is that why Daryl cheated on me? He couldn’t deal with me? Does it make me immature, the need to draw?

Before the line of questioning can get away from me, Camilla continues to interrogate, “So? What did you do?”

“Well, I burned some of the things he left behind on the grill.”

“Nice.”

“And then spent the rest of the weekend bonding with Princess Pinky and her father.”

“How many goddamn pigs did that asshole leave you with?!”

Laughter leaves me as I shake my head. “No. No. Not her biological rather, but Daryl’s new girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend who had no clue he was being dumped this weekend either. Apparently, Princess Pinky was a gift he gave to her that she then let Daryl bestow upon me as some sort of backdoor fuck you.”

There’s a long pause before she lets the corners of her lips tip up. “So, this pig daddy is the reason you didn’t call, you don’t look sad, and are probably the happiest I’ve seen you outside of working for the past….years?”

A flash of heat fills my cheeks. “I am not…this is no…I’m…” The words roll around in my mouth unsure the correct order to come out. With a swift clearing of my throat, I state, “I’m fine, Camilla. Breaking up with Daryl really wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like he loved me or anything.”

“His. Mistake.”

Ford’s. Gain.  Shit! No! No! That’s not where my head should be going. That’s not…right… It can’t be right. It can’t happen. Sure, I fell asleep in his arms and somehow stayed their all night long, resulting in the best sleep I’ve had in months, but that doesn’t mean being together is a good idea. Or going down the path to be together is something we should consider. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not his type. Aside from the geek chic I am rocking, he clearly needs a woman who is willing to be just as family oriented as he is. Not sure that’s me. I’ve never been to a family reunion. I don’t have cousins. My extent of being in large groups of people who are related ends with my childhood Christmases, which only count because we always spent it with one set of grandparents. Ford probably wants someone who has a huge family or at the very least wants one. I’m barely qualified to take care of a farm animal.

My cell phone buzzes loudly in my bag grabbing my attention.

I push away the disheartening thoughts, lean over, toss my notebook on my desk, and pull out the device.

Camilla leans over to read the text with me.

Ford: What do you want me to grab for dinner tonight? Steaks?

“You’re having dinner together?” Camilla squeaks and slaps my arm. “You didn’t think you should tell me that!”

It was his idea….He suggested it last night after complimenting how adorable ‘his girls’ were. The fit of hyperventilating I was sent into over the term was humiliating. Thank God he couldn’t see it.

“Did you spend the entire weekend together?”

“Just Friday and Saturday. He had to visit his family on Sunday.”

“Or otherwise he would’ve been there. At your place. With you.”

“And Princess Pinky!”

“That has to be the most adorable name for a pig,” she mumbles to herself.

Instead of feeding the discussion she wants to have, I offer, “Wanna see some pictures of her?”

Camilla nods, and I bring up the gallery. My finger starts swiping to show off the precious pictures of my new baby.

It isn’t long before a picture of Ford and Princess Pinky together appears. “Holy shit! Is that him?”

Unconsciously, I grin, “Yeah…”

“Do they make them in my size?”

Her small jab at her own curvier than normal features causes me to roll my eyes. “He’s actually the smallest of the five.”

“Five!” She shouts, jaw hitting the ground. “There’s five of them?”

“That was my reaction too!”

“Is his mother a medical marvel?” I snicker, which is when she pleads, “Tell me the others are just as hot as he is.”

“I don’t know. I assume so.”

“Don’t ever assume,” Camilla scolds. “He might be the hot one while the rest look like Elmer Fudd.”

Her description gets me laughing again.

“I mean it, Ollie.” The tone in her voice drops to a serious one. “Don’t ever assume anything. Including that he’s not interested in you the same way you are clearly interested in him.”

I let go of my impulse to argue. Is there any real possibility she’s right? After all, he didn’t have to do dinner with me if he just wanted to see Princess Pinky. He didn’t have to spend the weekend at my apartment, taking an interest in what I do, and letting me reciprocate. He could’ve bailed. He could’ve just agreed to an every other weekend thing. He could’ve threatened to just take me to small claims court if Princess Pinky was all that truly mattered, but he didn’t. Not once did I feel all our time together was really about her. Maybe, just maybe, I should be opened minded about the two of us moving from co-parenting to something more.

I slide my hands into my suit jacket pockets just as Ollie strolls out the front entrance door of her apartment. Princess Pinky squeals loudly at my presence and it doesn’t take any time for Ollie to realize why she’s suddenly so excited.

“Hey!” Her voice sings with such joy my chest noticeably swells.

Why shouldn’t it? No one is ever as happy to see me as they are.

“Hey,” I cheerfully state back at the same time they reach the bottom step. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, steering the hog to the right. “I thought you had plans.”

“I do. Just…wanted to come by and see the two of you beforehand.”

The expression of excitement she attempts to hide strokes my ego harder.

Didn’t realize how good it felt to actually be wanted again until her. Not sure if Carol Ann just got so comfortable around me she let herself forget to show it or if the truth was she never loved me enough to at least fake it.

“You know I hate not seeing the two of you for more than a couple of days.”

Ollie hums, pushes some hair out of her face, and quietly confesses, “The feelings mutual.”

My heart thrums a little harder than expected.

In the past three weeks, there has only been one stretch of time we went more than two days without seeing each other. It was awful. It was unexpectedly awful. At first, I thought I was over exaggerating, but then the day just spiraled out of control leaving me an inconsolable asshole. The next morning, I stopped by Ollie’s with doughnuts and coffee to mentally prepare myself for the next hurricane of shit I was anticipating, yet it never came. I went into the office feeling like I could conquer the world. I had this huge grin on my face the entire morning, but it wasn’t until Blake asked if I had slipped whiskey into my coffee, I gave any consideration to why it was there. Maybe it’s insane a woman I’ve practically just met has such a strong, positive effect on me or maybe it’s more insane that I wasted years with a woman who never did.

The two of us continue our stroll, relieved to no longer catch as many scoffs and sneers for exercising a farm animal in the middle of downtown.

“I think she’s cold,” Ollie sighs.

My attention pulls away from her to Princess Pinky who is happily strutting along. “She’s fine.”

“She’s shivering.”

“She’s wiggling.”

“She’s cold,” Ollie continues to argue. “I’m telling you she’s freezing. I should’ve put a jacket on her.”

Which she has. It’s pink. It sparkles. And it belongs nowhere near a fucking hog.

A gust of the cool night air catches us. Ollie instantly shivers, and I instinctively begin to peel off my work jacket. “She’s fine, but you’re not.” My hands drape the article of clothing over her shoulders. “Why didn’t you grab yours?”

“I wasn’t expecting the temperature to drop in the thirty minutes since I’ve been outside.”  Her hand adjusts my jacket to cover a bit more of her shoulder. “You didn’t have to give me yours, Farm Boy.”

With a short shrug, I say, “It’s not a big deal.”

She opens her mouth like she wants to disagree yet promptly shuts it. For a few minutes more we continue our walk around the block in silence. The fact we can comfortably be in one another’s presence without feeling pressured to fill the gaps makes me smile.

As we make our way across the street, Ollie asks, “How’d that meeting go today? Did you get the contract? Did the bar agree to start carrying your beer?”

Her memory for what’s going on in my life doesn’t go unappreciated. “No…but thank you for asking.”

There’s a very distinctive humph out of her. “Their loss. I’m sure your beer is amazing.”

Constantly being rejected by all the bars outside of my hometown give a man a different feeling.

“Even though you haven’t brought me any to taste yet,” she teases.

I lightly chuckle, bump into her, and slip the leash out of her grasp. “It’s not like I keep a case of it at the apartment.”

“Why not? Do you keep a case of it at your house?”

“Yeah, but that’s home. The apartment…” my sentence fades away like the sun is starting to in the distance.

“You hate it, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Is it because it reminds you of Carol Ann?”

Fighting the instinct to lie so the conversation can be over, I reply, “It’s because it doesn’t feel like I belong there. In my own apartment, it’s me that feels out of place. That’s a fucked up feeling I don’t care for.”

Ollie loops her arm around mine. “Is that why you prefer we always hang out at my place?”

I let out a small sigh of relief from the feeling of her body being close to mine. “Yeah.”

While we aren’t….dating or have even discussed the idea, we constantly dance in the territory. Hell, if I’m completely honest with myself, I wish we were dancing in cement. I love the moments we’re together. Whether we’re talking about the weird weather or fighting over whose turn it is to pay, it doesn’t matter. Just being with her is wonderful. But these few moments when we’re touching like this, which are steadily increasing thanks to my lucky penny wishes and Mama’s echoed scolding in the back of my brain, these are the best moments of my fucking life. Without question. How one person’s touch can cease worry as well as create joy is incredible. But that’s Ollie. Everything about her is incredible.

After our walk ends, I swing by my apartment, change out of my button down into a t-shirt, and haul ass to Pete’s, the local bar in my hometown.

The minute I walk through the door, I’m instantly greeted by a few of the regulars who recognize my face. Several lift their bottles to show me their support and to showcase their loyalty to my brand as well as standing by one of their own.

I flop down on the stool beside Oliver who is also chugging back one of my beers.

“You’re late.”

“Five whole minutes.”

“Late is late. You know that.”

Out of all of us, Oliver is the least laid back of the bunch. Mama’s not sure how it happened considering the rest of us are pretty much go with the flow people, but she says everything about Oliver has always been different. He was the only one of us who was born two weeks early. He was the only one who was walking at a year exactly. The only one who stayed consistent with his growth each doctor’s visit. And he’s the only one who hates getting dirty. Makes perfect sense how he ended up with a cushy office job fixing broken computers.

I toss a finger in the air at Scrappy, the bartender, who acknowledges me with a nod.

“Is that why you didn’t land the deal today? Were you late?”

Giving him a sharp look, I sarcastically reply, “No mama, I wasn’t late. They just weren’t interested.” Scrappy sits the beer in front of me at the same time I snip, “And how the hell did you know that?”

“Blake complained on his Facebook page. Again.” Oliver adjusts his tie. “Does he realize he doesn’t have to post everything that happens to him?”

Pop always jokes Blake is overly social to make up for the fact Oliver is not. While they’re not twins, they are close enough in age and face to make people question it. They’re also when Mama and Pop discovered their boys were capable of not getting along. Because of their constant bickering, I almost wasn’t born.

“Other than being pissy about my tardiness, how are you?” I ask between sips. “Still seeing that chick you met online, Lisa?” Unsure if that’s the correct name since he only mentioned her once during our meet up two weeks ago, I continue to ramble off, “Liza? Lindsey…?”

Oliver grunts his displeasure. “Nope.”

“Nope, that wasn’t her name or you’re not seeing her anymore?”

“Both.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

I nod my surrender while he orders us a couple of burgers and cheese fries to split. Before things can get too stale, I encourage him to talk about something I know he’s comfortable with. Work.  Oliver’s blue eyes bulge at the invitation to freely complain about his most recent grievances. He drones on and on through two beers and half our meal.

Around the time he’s finishing up his disappointment with his bonus, my cell vibrates in my pocket grabbing my attention.

“Maybe you should quit.” My suggestion is met with a scowl. “I’m just sayin’ if you feel underappreciated or can make more money elsewhere then quit. Move on.”

“What is with the Shaw family? Why is everyone’s first response to quit when they’re unhappy with something?”

“Because none of us can see the point in spending that much time being miserable.”

I swipe my phone open to view the message at the same time, Oliver grunts, “Then how do you explain dating Carol Ann for a goddamn life time?”

The accusation pulls my eyes to his.

“You weren’t happy yet you didn’t quit. You kept going back every time even though you hated her more and more every day. How can you tell me to leave my job, to move on, when it took you years to even consider finding someone else?”

Thoughtlessly, I retort, “Because now I understand just how much time I really wasted.”

Oliver’s face shifts to one of shock.

Sometimes when I’m sitting in my office, I imagine what it would be like if Ollie and I met under better circumstances. If we would’ve met sooner. If we would’ve met before Daryl or Carol Ann had the chance to do some of the damage they’ve done. Sometimes I shake my head at all the effort I put into something with someone who just used me more than I wanted to admit.

I look down at my phone to read the text.

Ollie: French toast tomorrow? It’s the only breakfast food I’ve mastered cooking from scratch, lol.

Her comment causes me to smile as it always does.

“What?” My brother immediately questions. “What’s got you grinnin’ like a lunatic all of a sudden?”

“My someone else…”

It may not be official yet. But one day. One day soon I hope.

“You boys need anything else?” Scrappy appears in front of us. “Another round, maybe? This one’s on me.”

Oliver nods, but I decline, “I’m good. Gotta drive back into the city.”

Scrappy leans onto the bar, a wave of smoke and whiskey wafting our direction. “Why ain’t ya stayin’ at your place out here? Isn’t work on the same property?”

Rather than pour grains into the rumor mill of this small town, I simply state, “Have a morning meeting.”

Which isn’t a lie. I do. The minor detail about it not being for work doesn’t need to be included.  

“Glad you’ve been keepin’ yourself buried to brows in work instead of pining over Carol Ann who was just in here the other day with her new boyfriend.”

I swallow my disgust. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “And that man’s a real piece of work. Just like her. Both were flashin’ too many diamonds for my likin’. His on his wrist. Hers on her neck. It’s like they had just come from a his and hers diamond exchange.”

Oliver shakes his head. “That’s not a thing Scrappy.”

“Is too,” his gravelly voice swiftly argues. “Anyway, didn’t mind ‘em bein’ in the bar, but they were all over each other. Hands in places that made crazy Mrs. Muller’s mouth mumble bible phrases about living in sin or sleeping with temptation-”

“Being led into temptation,” my brother quietly inputs.

“It was quite a show she was puttin’ on,” Scrappy continues. “Almost makes ya wonder just how long they’ve been together…Damn sure looked like longer than just a few weeks…”

Oliver cuts me a quick glance. “I’ll take a fresh one for sure, Scrappy. Maybe a piece of Sharon’s cheesecake, if you’ve got any.”

“You know I always have my wife’s cheesecake,” he chuckles and stands back up.

“Wanna make it two?” Oliver asks me. “Tonight’s on me.”

His attempt at being sympathetic isn’t missed.

“Sure.” I shrug. “I’ll take a piece.”

“Coming right up,” Scrappy announces before strolling towards the back.

In a lowered voice, my brother does his best to comfort me, “Sorry she was cheating on you, Runt. No one deserves to go through that.”

Maybe not. But if she hadn’t there’s a high chance, Ollie and I wouldn’t have ran into each other. We wouldn’t have a friendship or the possibility for more. More importantly, if she hadn’t done what she did to me, there’s a chance I might still be as miserable as I was, just waiting around for her to come back instead of finally trying something new. Carol Ann may have walked out of my life like it was nothing, but Ollie stumbled in and stayed like it was something. Like I am something worth sticking around for. Maybe that’s why I’m not as broken up over it as everyone is expecting. Maybe I’ve finally moved onto happiness like a real Shaw always does.

“Something is wrong!” I squeak in to the phone. “Something is very very wrong, Ford! She’s never acted like this before! She’s sitting really weird! I don’t know what to do! Tell me what to do!”

“Whoa, calm down, Darlin’,” he casually commands from the other end of the conversation. “I’m sure she’s fine-”

“She’s not!”

“Take a deep breath-”

“She’s sick!”

“Ol-”

“She won’t eat!”

“Ol-”

“She won’t drink!”

Princess Pinky looks at me with the saddest eyes from her spot on my couch.

“Oh God, I think she’s dying!”

“Ollie,” the firm sound of my name shuts my lips tightly. “You can’t panic like that. Animals pick up on it. So do me a favor, in case something really is wrong with her, take a deep breath and try to calm down.” After hearing me do as he instructed, he states, “Look, I’m at work still. It’s gonna take me at least twenty-five minutes to get to you. Can you hold it together that long?”

The realization I’m being intrusive rings a little too loud, a little too late. “God, you’re at work…” Shaking my head profusely, I apologize, “I’m so sorry. I had no right to call. You have a job! You run a company! You-”

“Would’ve been hotter than bacon grease had you not called.”

The analogy receives a small chortle.

“Told you, Ollie. Any time you two need me, I’m there.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he ends the argument. “I’m leaving now. Just…try to refrain from further panic, please. If not for my sake than for Princess Pinky’s.”

“Okay…” Slumping back against the couch, I quietly say, “Thanks, Ford.”

“Anytime, baby.”

The change to a more intimate term of endearment gets my heart racing once more, this time for a better reason.

“I’ll um…I’ll see you shortly.”

Ford ends the call without waiting for a proper goodbye from me.

His conflicting actions cause me to grumble my irritation.

It’s been six weeks since we first met. Six. Weeks. According to Camilla we’ve missed our window of being more than just close friends. I want to tell her she’s wrong or better yet that I’m praying to God she is. I can’t imagine ever feeling this comfortable around anyone else or this…painstakingly horny. It’s embarrassing. Really. One minute I’m mindlessly baring my soul over drinks, the next I’m a watching him lick Dorito cheese off his fingers wishing it were my juices instead. I have discovered the true definition of sexually frustrated. Why he hasn’t just made a move is what has me worried. In the beginning, I swore it was because it was an awkward way for two people to start dating, but as time has gone on, I’m beginning to think maybe he’s truly not interested. Maybe the vibes I believed I was getting at first were just rebound booty, the whole looking for a new woman to get into to forget the old one. Even if that’s not the Ford I feel I know, it’s the only conclusion that makes sense of the hot, cold nature he’s drowning me in. Camilla keeps suggesting I just jump in his lap and throw my tongue down his throat to prove she’s right. I’m choosing to take those comments as her way of offering comedic relief and not actual advice.

By the time Ford arrives at my apartment, I’ve got my shoes on, purse ready, and Princess Pinky wrapped snuggly in a blanket in my arms.  His concerned expression warms my heart.  “You two alright?”

“I wanna take her to the pet clinic.”

“Ollie-”

“No.” My head defiantly lifts. “I wanna take her to pet clinic and make sure she really is okay.”

“Most pet clinics are closed by now. It’s after seven.”

“Then the emergency one.”

“They don’t typically deal with farm life, Ollie.” When my expression doesn’t budge, he caves. “Fine. I know one who does. His place is closed, but he’ll see us anyway. I’m warning you now. It’s a bit of a drive.”

“It’s worth it if you’re sure he’ll see us.”

“I am.”

“Then let’s go.”

The three of us promptly exit my apartment. After a quick message is sent, he guides us to where he parked his truck in the garage of my parking complex.

He carefully helps me onto the step to climb inside. “Sorry about the mess. Rushin’ over didn’t give me any time to clear my shit out.”

I look down at his muddy cowboy boots, a balled up work shirt, and his computer bag.  “It’s fine.”

Once I’m settled in, he hustles around to the other side, and gets in himself.

On the drive out of the city, he cycles through a list of question that sounds very similar to what I’m sure the vet will ask. He asks for as many details as he can in regards to when I believe the symptoms she’s showcasing began, to the various shades of color of her last poop. Despite my gagging over pee smell accusations and the idea of possibly having to change a diaper if she indeed does have to have medication that gives her diarrhea, Ford remains the same sweet guy he always is.

About forty-five minutes later, we’re pulling into the dark, vacant parking lot of a veterinary clinic in what feels like the middle of nowhere. The lack of other nearby businesses has me more skeptical than I care to admit out loud. Beggars can’t be choosers, but it doesn’t mean I should fear I’m going to be eaten by coyotes rather than afraid I’m going to get mugged.

Ford kills the engine, hustles around, and helps the two of us out like he did in. When we arrive at the dusty door, he offers me a smile at the same time he knocks. The lack of answering causes him to turn his polite hits into harsh bangs.

All of a sudden the door swings open and a frightening large man towers over us.

“Please don’t kill us!”

The man leans one arm on the door frame while lowering his green eyes to a glare at me.

I said please! Maybe he’ll take that into consideration before he drags us to the basement to reenact something from Silence of The Lambs or whatever he was inspired to by an episode of Criminal Minds.

“Knock it off, Big Foot.” Ford commands with a point of a finger. “She’s already worked up enough over the hog.”

The giant’s grin appears wide enough to shade us from the moonlight that’s just beginning.

“B-B-B-Big Foot? Wasn’t he covered in hair and not real?”

The man lets out a hearty chuckle, wets his lips, and shakes his head. “You’re weren’t kiddin’, Runt. She is a beaut.”

Not sure if he’s referencing me or the hog, I decide it’s best to remain silent.

“Let us in already,” Ford demands.

Big Foot takes a step backward allowing us safe passage inside. He shuts the door behind us while I observe the very country themed, very calming waiting area. The dark brown couches with the plaid pillows to match the plaid curtains reminds me of the shirts Ford always seems to be wearing when he sends me photos on Sundays.  On the walls are stars and sweet sayings spelled out with twine or rope. Everything is neat, cleaned, and obviously shut down for the night, making me feel even guiltier about intruding.

“Before we get started, why don’t I introduce myself since Runt here lacks manners,” Big Foot states slyly. “William Jr. or as friends and family know me, Big Foot.”

“No shit,” I mindlessly mutter out loud.

Both men laugh together, not even remotely offended.

My face threatens to shade the color of my pet. “Sorry…You’re just…very large.”

“And you’re very tiny. Like pocket size.”

Big Foot looks identical to Ford except slightly older in the face and a helluva lot taller. I’ve seen pictures of the other’s but this is the only one I’ve met face to face and definitely the only one he looks like he might’ve been cloned from.

His enormous arms fold across his solid chest. “No wonder Runt likes you so much. He gets to feel tall for once in his life.”

This time my eyes glance Ford’s direction to see his face reddening.

Huh. That’s two references about being interested in more than just friendship. Okay, so not two definitely because you could call your friend beautiful, but the likes you so much comment was about more…It has to be. Why else would his face look like a strawberry ready to burst?

“I’m Ollie,” I extend my hand for shaking. As his engulfs mine, I add, “And this little missy here is Princess Pinky.”

“Princess Pinky?” Big Foot tries to say without laughing.

Ford helplessly cringes at the pending ridicule.

He tosses his brother a playful look. “You let her name your hog, Princess Pinky?”

“He didn’t exactly let me.”

Big Foot gives me a crooked smirk.

“I named it and he just requested her last name be Shaw. We compromised.”

“Compromised?” Big Foot nods, still mockingly towards his baby brother. “New territory for you, Runt.”

“Will you just shut the hell up and check her out, please?”

He chuckles again, swallows whatever comeback was on the tip of his tongue, and questions, “What’s wrong with the hog?”

“She’s dying!”

“She’s not dying.” Ford rolls his eyes. “She might’ve eaten something she shouldn’t have. My money says she’s fine, but Ollie needs the reassurance.” He offers me a sweet smile before asking, “Can you check her out as a favor?”

“Yeah. But you owe me one. It’s bath night for the boys and because I’m coming home late, I’m in charge of it.”

Curiosity has my mouth run away from me again. “You don’t bathe your kids every night?”

Big Foot’s green eyes fill with mirth. “We just hose ‘em off most nights.”

My jaw drops.

The two of them laugh again at my expense getting a glare in return.

“We have a deal with the twins. If they shower without givin’ us hell, they are each allowed one night a week to have a bath instead. When they were real little, it would’ve been easier to give a bath to a frog than either of them, so we turned bath night into somethin’ special. There’s bubbles, battleships, and juice boxes. Basically, a party in the tub.”

“That’s really clever.”

“Didn’t Runt tell you I’m the oldest, most attractive, and the wisest?”

“With an ego the same size as you,” I tease getting chuckles out of both men.

He wags a finger at me. “You’re a keeper.”

I catch Ford pressing his lips together as if to stop his agreement.

Am I? Because shouldn’t you kiss a keeper or at the very least have an official date?

“I’m gonna take her into the back, just the two of us. Sometimes when animals sense their owner’s discomfort it feeds their urge to wanna overplay an injury or illness, just like children.” Big Foot gently transfers her into his arms. “I’ll take real good care of her. You two just sit tight.”

We nod and have a seat on the couch closest to the receptionist desk. 

This is worse than waiting at the regular doctor’s office…What if she is dying? We’ve barely had her! If she does, will he stop coming over to see me? Will we get a new pet to share? Will we-

“Relax,” Ford softly states giving my lap a pat. “Stop worrying about her.” Before my mind can start wondering off again he informs, “Big Foot is phenomenal with animals. All kinds. Always has been. He was even better than Pop. When he was about ten, they say he announced he was gonna be a veterinarian and never let it go. In clinic he sees your typical shit, cats, dogs, the occasional snake, but he also makes house calls to many of the local ranches. He bought this property to build his own place and their house on. He never wanted to be far from his family if he didn’t have to be. We’re about twenty, twenty-five minutes from my parents and probably about three from his place. The boys love all the room to run around, plus with five dogs and 4 rabbits, and 2 cats, the extra space is probably a great thing.”

“Holy hell,” I snap, face now staring at his. “That’s a big ass family. How many kids do they have?”

“Together? Just the twins. But, Dawn had three boys of her own when they got together, so five total.”

Another surprised expression appears on my face.

“Big Foot loves those boys like they’re his own, cause to him they are. And none of us treat them any different either. As far as we’re all concerned, he accepted them as his own, which means so should we. They’re family. They deserved to be loved like such.”

“What about their biological dad?”

Ford shrugs. “Not real sure. He’s never popped his face in the picture and Dawn never brings him up. Only one of the boys even remembers him…”

Amazed at Big Foot’s open arms, but appalled at the idea anyone could just abandon children, I simply state, “They’re so much better off with a warm, welcoming family like yours than anywhere else…”

He lets the corner of his mouth kick up. “Would you like to meet the rest of them?”

“Your family?”

“Yeah.”

Fear over the fumbling embarrassment I would be on a much larger scale than I was just a few minutes ago fills my veins. “I don’t know…I mean…what if I say something else crazy or rude or stupid? Do you really want to take that risk? I’m really not good in large groups of people, Farm Boy. I’m as awkward as it gets.”

His head shakes. “You’re as amazing as it gets, Ollie. Learn the difference.”

He abruptly looks away and a thick, dreadful silence nestles between us.

I watch him stare at a spot on the ground, forehead wrinkled in sheer confusion.

My lack of self-esteem upsets him? Him?! Like he’s had to be the one who has spent her life ignore or picked on or spit on for being out of place? He has no idea what it’s like to have to find ways to deal with the fact I’ll most likely never be seen as anything else than a nerd with an okay chest to gawk at.

Quietly, I announce, “I don’t know the difference, Ford.”

He lets his eyes drift to me.

“You keep saying it and every time you do, I feel it might actually be the truth. But you have to understand, I have spent the majority of my life alone. Drawing, creating, those have always been my faithful companions. Daryl was a fluke I latched onto because I was so damn tired of being by myself. I’ve had three boyfriends my entire life and one best friend. Before Camilla people rarely even spoke to me in the office. They’d just email. So you have to be a little patient if you expect me to ever get comfortable with the idea of you wanting to be around me. Of you…wanting me at all.”

Ford’s green eyes fill with so much adoration I feel compelled to look away yet I don’t. “God, Ollie, if only you could see yourself through my eyes. You’d never doubt just how incredible you truly are.”

There’s a small pause followed with a bold question. “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

His mouth cracks open, obviously stunned my brazenness.

Definitely makes two of us.

He starts to form a reply yet abruptly stops. He repeats his action four times before I whisper, “I don’t have whiskey on my breath this time…”

Ford’s shoulders drop at the reminder.

Is it wrong to wish he would’ve kissed me that night? That instead of spending these past six weeks merely entertaining the idea, we would’ve been living it? Unless of course, the reason we haven’t is indeed because Camilla is right. He just wants to be good friends. Very good friends. I’ll take that deal I guess. I’d rather have part of Ford Shaw than none of him.

Finally, he sits up straight and begins, “I-”

“Got good news,” Big Foot interrupts swiftly stealing our attention. “You two have a constipated pig.”

Romantic…

My head tilts to the side. “Really?”

“Really.” He grins giving her a soothing rub on the head. “No fever. Not lethargic with me. She hasn’t been going as frequently today, has she?”

“No.”

“Yeah, my guess is the little princess is just a bit backed up. If you can get some apple sauce or canned pumpkin, toss a little in with her food, she should back to smelling up your patio in no time.”

The imagery causes me to gag, which makes Ford chuckle. Afterward, he gives our pet the gentlest touch. “You sure it’s not blockage, Big Foot? Did you give her an x-ray?”

He swings the pig away from his baby brother. “Are you seriously standin’ in my clinic askin’ me if I did my job?”

Ford doesn’t back down. “Did you?”

The low grumble is hard to miss.

“I don’t feel like you were in there very long. Did you do everything you should’ve? Did you check it all twice?”

“Runt, you are packin’ a pair on you tonight,” he grouses under his breath. “No. I didn’t put your young hog through the horror of an x-ray. I gave her an ultra sound. She’s fine. No blockage. No fever. No bizarre behaviors while I had her. And in case your ass has forgotten which one of us has the medical degree to determine if my job was done properly or not, let me redirect your attention to the goddamn wall behind you where my degree and my recently renewed license sit.”

He quietly states, “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Big Foot.”

“Some fuckin’ takin’, Runt.” The older brother lecture promptly continues, “You are my baby brother. I wouldn’t shaft a normal customer. Damn sure wouldn’t for family and least of all my baby brother who has asked for the least favors out of all of the Shaws, Oliver included.” He tries to calm his tone back to a controlled one and faces me. “Add the apple sauce or pumpkin to her food for a couple days. If the constipation remains or she stops pooping at all, bring her back. Doesn’t matter if it’s 2 a.m. Bring her back here. An untreated blockage could kill her.”

My head bobs in understanding as Princess Pinky wiggles joyfully back into my arms. “You ready to go home? Have some applesauce?”

Her squeaks steal a smirk from everyone’s lips.

“Oh shit.” I snap my head up at Ford. “We need applesauce.”

Big Foot lets out a small laugh. “You know what? We have a shit ton at the house. Why don’t you two just drive over, say a quick hi to Dawn and the boys, and take some of it with you?”

Ford’s face lights up yet he turns to me. “Do you mind? Or would you rather I just stop at the store on the ride home?”

The southern drawl twisted with the sweet pleading to get me sucked more into his world causes me to reluctantly cave. “We can swing by for a minute.”

Our ‘quick visit’ almost instantaneously transform into an extended one. For two hours, the boys take turns holding Princess Pinky, sneaking her treats she doesn’t seem bothered to be eating, and running around outside with her. Thankfully, there’s a fence around the area to keep me from having to worry too hard about her suddenly becoming a wild animal or a wild animal’s after dinner snack. While the boys play, we sit with Dawn who is pencil thin yet almost body builder muscular.  Other than the brown eyes she’s seemed to given to all the boys and the speckles of freckles two of them have, there’s no other evidence she’s ever given birth. Like the rest of the Shaw family, she too is something science should study.

They offer us leftovers, which we both devour right alongside a starving Big Foot. He tells us how he skipped lunch, she nags how he didn’t skip lunch he just didn’t have a second helping, and we laugh at their sitcom like moments. Not once, even when the questions turn my direction, do I feel out of place or snubbed. It’s strange, but so wonderful. With each passing laugh and playful exchange, I understand more and more why Ford spends so much time around them. What the hell was wrong with Carol Ann? Who the hell could give up a family like this? And for what? A painfully pale man with a shorter than average dick and Oedipus complex? I think she might need to see a doctor…

 Exhausted, I wiggle my feet out of my flats, stretch them out near his cowboy boots, and settle Princess Pinky into the seat beside me. She nuzzles her face on my thigh like a pillow only seconds before she’s completely knocked out.

Ford grins proudly. “I think she just needed a little extra attention.”

“Maybe…” Looking up at him I coo, “Your nephews were amazing with her.”

He nods. “They get that from Big Foot. From the minute he could get those boys around animals he did. Hell, the twins were only six months when he would take them to feed the goats. When I was a kid, it was him who taught me everything I should know about animal sounds…Mama would laugh but let him. I guess when you’ve got a parent willing to feed your passion it makes it easier for you to become one that does.”

The profound thought receives a warm smile of agreement.

Neither of my parents have life altering skills they went on to make a living with. Neither had wild dreams they can recall wanting to follow. Perhaps it’s why they let me go off and chase mine.

“I know you’re tired, but mind if I take the long way home?” He politely asks. “You can even fall asleep like Princess Pinky if you want.”

Not seeing a reason to prevent it, I shrug. “Sure…Go ahead.”

Ford pulls onto the dirt path leading off their property and onto the paved road. He fidgets with the radio, scanning for a mix for me to enjoy. When I suggest he plays me his favorite, he puts on a Luke Bryan playlist and proceeds to explain why. I stretch my arm across the console, rest my head on top of it, shut my eyes, and get lost to the sound of Ford crooning along. His deep voice drags itself across my skin until it’s burrowed into every crevice willing to accept it. Thoughtlessly my body sways to the rhythm, completely forgetting how uncoordinated I am. The car pulls up to what I imagine is a stop light and his fingers slip between mine. A sharp breath makes a haste appearance.  To my surprise, he curls them tighter, forcing my somnolent stare up to him.

The light changes color returning his attention to the road.

Unsure of what this means to him, I impatiently wait for the answer.

I’m twenty-nine. Ugh. Fuck. Thirty…I know there are plenty of men and women who hold hands occasionally as friends. I just need to know if we’re one of them. I need to know what we are, so I know how to handle it. I have never dealt with this much uncertainty and I hate it. Much more accustomed to being ignored or rejected for simply smiling too long. That I can process no problem.

I slide my body carefully upwards insuring not to break the hold or disturb the snoring animal beside me. Once I’m completely sitting up, I’m startled at the completely empty town we’re in the middle of. “Where the hell are all the people?”

“Whole place basically shuts down around nine.” He answers cruising along at thirty. “Couple gas stations at each end of the town, and the movie theater we just passed, stay open ‘til midnight, but everything else? Closed.”

“That makes you happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” I give the deserted sidewalks another glimpse. “Why does feeling like we’ve entered The Hills Have Eyes part 87 make you happy?”

“Well, when you’re dating the Sherriff’s daughter you’re less likely to get caught making out in an empty back parking lot since everyone is at home.”

“Classy.”

He tosses me a playful smirk. “Last girl I dated before Carol Ann.”

Her name instantly fills my mouth with a sour taste.

“That’s why I like to drive through this place. Reminds me of life before her. Before I started just settlin’ for whatever it was we were doin’. Before I had…given up on findin’ the right person.” He glides to another stop light. This time when our eyes meet he says, “Before I had to second guess every choice I made, including every time I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

My heart pounds harshly, like the bassline to the song I care barely hear any more.

“Once I kiss you Ollie Steele, I’m not gonna stop. I’m gonna kiss you when you’re happy. I’m gonna kiss you when you’re seein’ red. I’m gonna kiss you when it’s rainin’, when it’s snowin’, and when there’s a goddamn hurricane outside. I’m gonna kiss you when there’s whiskey on your breath…until it’s on mine.” His hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on my cheek, “Like I said, Ollie. Once I kiss you…I’m not gonna ever stop.”

Ford hesitates only a split second more before pressing his lips firmly against mine. The initial pressure ignites a sweet sigh, but when our lips part and our tongues lightly touch a strong moan is stolen along with all the air in my lungs. A groan of agreement slips out as he proceeds to reiterate his point with passionate press after press. My hand squeezes his tighter, eager for something to hold onto while being blissfully dragged away from the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Because that’s exactly what Ford Shaw is. Extraordinary.

Social media is the work of the devil, I fucking swear. It’s oddly suspicious how shit pops up on your feed when you either need it the most or more often, and when it’s the absolute last thing you need. For the past ten days Ollie and I have settled into a routine I can’t get enough of. Breakfast together, ass-early, making out between bites, and going our separate ways until sometime in the evening. Every. Day. Now of course, what time depends primarily on when I get back downtown or which brother needs to be seen, but nonetheless, we start and end the day with time together. Except today. Today she had a doctor’s appointment. Today I had to sit in an early marketing meeting to discuss ways we can improve, so we can actually expand our reach by the end of the year. Today I made the mistake of logging onto my Facebook account to keep from gouging my eyes out during the monotone lecture about the rise in material cost only to be shown a memory of Carol Ann and me from a year ago. At first the photo made me smile, in the nostalgic way photos do, but then my oversized finger hit her name showing me her new and ‘improved’ page, which is flooded with dramatic claims of love. Stories on how he’s her soul mate. Pictures accompanied with ‘love of my life’ quotes and other sickening displays of affection to reassure everyone who is looking he is her everything and the past lover, me, was nothing. Now, I don’t need her to mourn or miss me or even pretend to give a shit about me, but seeing her spit on the grave of our past years together rubs me the wrong way. Was life with me really that terrible? Was I that shitty of a boyfriend? Was I as fucking pathetic as she’s making me feel? Why didn’t she ever show off our love like that? Why didn’t she ever say that shit about me? Over a decade of being together on and off, and not once did she consider maybe I was really it for her?

I give my scruff covered face another hard scrub and continue to stare at the screen of numbers waiting for my attention.

There’s a small knock on my open office door.  When my eyes land on Blake’s his entire demeanor shifts.  “You okay?”

Thought I was. Thought I was done giving another thought to Carol Ann and her newfound life. Thought I had moved on…Felt like I had. Why do I suddenly feel I haven’t?

The lack of an immediate answer sends my brother into the room. He shuts the door behind him and braces his back against it. “You wanna talk about it?”

No. Because there shouldn’t be anything to talk about it.

Resting my arms on my desk, I toss him a nod. “What do you need?”

“Runt-”

“We’re at work,” I remind him promptly.

“Ford,” he rolls his eyes, “what’s botherin’ you? You’ve been off all morning.” My mouth twitches to reply when he commands, “Don’t you dare try to lie and say otherwise.”

I clasp my hands tightly together. “What do you need, Blake, or did you just come by to see how long you could irritate me before I threatened to fire you for the day?”

He grows a cocky grin. “Record to date is twenty-five minutes. Goal is to get under twenty by Christmas.”

If only he knew he was already there…

“Blake.”

“Wanted to discuss the sales reports for the month. Have you looked at them yet?”

I grab a glimpse of my computer screen. “Not…quite. Still…reviewing.”

His eyebrows lift. “Is that right? Ford ‘Always Prompt and Always Perfect’ when it comes to his company isn’t finished with a task yet?”

The accusation annoys almost as deep as it cuts.

His point is unfortunately valid. I’m always on top of everything. Runt’s Brewery is always a priority. Always at the top of the list. Always has been. Well, at least it was before Ollie. Now if she needs me, for whatever reason my first instinct is to go to her and protect her instead. I never had that with Carol Ann. Maybe that’s why she never displayed our love like some sort of gift from God. I never gave her a reason to.

“Ford,” Blake interrupts my whirling mind once more. “You sure you’re alright?”

I shake my head. “Just…having a hard day concentrating in the office. I’m fine. It’ll pass.”

“Do you need to get out?” He shoves his hands into his dress pockets. “Take a long lunch?”

The idea of space between me and the stress that has been raining down on me today seems to be the best thing I’ve heard yet. Almost instantly, another great idea comes to mind. “Yeah. I’m gonna meet Ollie and enjoy a really long lunch. Probably work from the apartment afterwards.”

Blake gets a teasing gleam in his eyes. “A really long lunch, huh? Which one of you is on the menu?”

Her. And possibly more of her than I’ve had. Not that I’m in some big rush. We’ve been taking it slow and it’s honestly been nice. As much as I want my dick touched, sucked, and covered in all things Ollie, the gradual progression means more to me. In between Carol Ann’s comings and goings, I never spent more than a night with a woman. Never understood the point. I needed to get off, and she needed to get gone when it was over before the real woman I cared about moseyed back home. Now? Now it matters to remember what makes Ollie moan and grind her body against mine. Now it matters to know when she wants to meet me in the middle for a kiss versus when she wants me to be completely in control. Now it matters to know the spot on the side of her neck that always makes her whisper my name like it’s a goddamn oblation to a higher power.

I stifle down the urge to groan, casually adjust my dick under my desk, and demand, “Get out of my office, Blake.”

“Before you fire me?”

“Before I send out a memo making it mandatory to wear ties every day.”

He gags at the idea. “I’d fire myself.”

Only Oliver has an appreciation for ties in our family. The rest of us just tolerate them.

Blake prepares to leave yet stops the moment his hand hits the knob. “You know, Runt, if you ever wanna talk, I really will listen. I mean, I know that’s kinda your thing, but I’m here if you need me to be. No bullshit.”

The brotherly like offer lifts a small bit of the weight resting on my shoulders. “Thanks.”

He shoots me a smile and exits.

Once I’m alone again, I slide my phone over to send my girlfriend a text.

Me: Did you decide to work from home or go in?

Her immediate reply raises my spirits.

Ollie: Home. Princess Pinky is a bad influence.

I laugh louder out loud than intended.

Me: Mind if swing by? Work beside you?

Ollie: You bringing lunch?

Me: Whatever you want.

Ollie: Grilled cheese. I’ll make us dinner tonight.

While I wish she would just let me take care of her, part of me is starting to adore the side that insists on taking care of me for every chance I’m given to do it for her. I love the traditional notions of being the man who takes care of the woman he cares about, but with the same thought, it’s finally nice to have a woman who wants to take care of me, even if I don’t need it.

“And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing?” Ollie questions, licking the cheese off her thumb. “Like nothing?”

“Nope.”

She shakes her head. “You can’t feed her that.”

“I just did.”

“Don’t do it anymore.

With a playful yet defiant look in my eyes, I lean down and give Princess Pinky another piece of my sandwich.

“Quit!” Ollie squeaks between giggles.

Loving the sounds of her laughter as much as the bright expression on her face, I repeat the action again, this time receiving a swat to the arm. “Hey! Don’t hit me in front of the child. Is that really what you wanna teach her?”

Her expression morphs into one of shock. “You’re worried about violence when you’re feeding her bacon! That’s like the ultimate violence!”

“I’m not beating her with it.”

And it’s not like Ollie is beating me. Her hits hurt even less than being popped with one of my Mama’s nice couch pillows, which are basically air.

“You are feeding her pig and she is a pig! That’s cannibalism!”

“It’s…not…”

“It so is!”

I casually shrug.

“Cannibalism is like the worst violence ever. Totally trumps mommy hitting daddy in the arm at the dinner table.”

“You’re acting like it’s this wild thing for hogs to eat their own kind.” I reach for a napkin. “It’s not. Hogs eat anything. And I mean anything…Some murderers will dispose of a body by feeding it to the hogs, making your initial joke about whether or not to feed a hog a person, ironically funny.”

The mortifying expression she’s wearing conjures up the urge to chuckle again.

After a beat, she lowers her voice, “Do you need an alibi?”

An uncontrollable wave of laughter flows through me once more successfully washing away any trails of the foul mood from earlier. “Are you offering?”

“No.” Her quick denial is proceeded with her own snicker. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you that much yet.”

My laughter begins to die down. “Good to know.”

Princess Pinky interrupts with a familiar squeak to let us know she needs to go outside. Ollie starts to stand, but I insist she sit while I take a turn to let our hog out onto the patio.  Now there’s one ‘man’ chore Ollie never fights with me to do. Taking out the hog shit to the dumpster. Come to think of it, taking anything out to the dumpster…She hates it. Her absolute least favorite chore and the little thing I make sure I do every night before I leave and every morning if it needs it. I don’t even live here, and I’m taking out the trash on a regular basis. I’m not complaining. If anything, I’m grateful for every little way she lets me be the man in her life she’s never had before.

My body leans against the frame facing Ollie. “Everything go okay at the doctor?”

“Yeah.” She gives me a short shrug. “Typical lady doctor bullshit. Everything looks good, are you still having less sex than the average person, and oh here’s your refill on your birth control you probably don’t really need since you’re not doing the activity that makes it relevant anyway.”

Torn in different directions about the phrasing of her last sentence, I choose to comment on the portion I feel matters most. “Good to know you’re on the pill.”

Ollie lifts her eyebrows in curiosity.

“Just means when we start doing the activity that makes its use relevant, we have one more preventative measure for non-hog children coming into our lives before we’re ready.” She snickers, but I add, “And just so we’re on the same page, Ollie, whenever we decide to…start…you’ll be getting your money’s worth out of that prescription Darlin’.”

Her thighs noticeably squeeze together. I offer her a smirk, wink, and turn around to check on Princess Pinky.

I may be in no rush, but that doesn’t mean once we’re there I’m not going to enjoy every fucking minute of it. Aside from not having had large amounts of sex, let alone much of it at all, in the past couple of years, I crave Ollie in new ways. I want her taste dancing on my tongue. I want her body vibrating beneath me. I want her skin burning against mine. And it’s not an obligation. It’s not because we’ve been together for so long or because she’s one of the only things I’ve known. No. It’s an unusual, raw, primal need to claim her. I want her covered in all of me, the same way I want to be covered in all of her. Never had that with Carol Ann…Hm. Maybe that’s what finding a soul mate is like?

Once we’re back inside, the two of us settle on the couch and our hog heads for her post poop nap.

Ollie’s laptop and sketch books are scattered across the coffee table, but she hastily gathers them together before I can catch a glimpse of anything.  “And what are you avoiding working on?”

I place my laptop down on the opposite end from hers. “What?”

“Well that’s why you’re here. Lunch and getting handsy in the middle of the work day aside, you’re avoiding dealing with something or someone at the office. So, which is it?”

Her intuitive nature furrows my eyebrows. “Am I that transparent?”

“Maybe I just know you that well now.” She winks.

The idea grows a grin. “Maybe…”

“So, what is it? Accounting? Marketing? Your building have a weird smell?”

I turn my attention to her. “What?”

“Your office isn’t far from the brewery, right? Just like a building over. Maybe you brewed a gross batch and it filled your office with a horrible stench.”

“You know nothing about the brewing, do you?”

“Not a clue.” We exchange a chuckle seconds before she points to my screen. “However, I do know that’s an adorable logo, but the label you guys have on your bottles is hideous.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “Hideous?”

She immediately cringes. “Shit, I should’ve phrased that better.”

“No, Ollie, I want you to be honest with me. Even if you’re worried it might hurt to hear, though you didn’t seem too concerned with that until after, the fact.” Her smile at my teasing eases the mood. “Honesty is something I appreciate. Promise you’ll always give me that.”

Ollie’s eyes soften. “Promise.”

My body leans over just enough to let our mouths briefly touch. She instantly sighs, the same way she always does, as if she was worried they’d never be back together again. When I pull back, I place one kiss on her cheek, before encouraging, “Now tell me what’s wrong with the label. It tested really well with our research audience.”

“Yeah, they lied,” she mumbles off, reaching for her sketch pad and pencil. “Funny, thing about research with certain things. It very rarely captures the mass market the way they pretend it does.” Her hand begins freely sketching. “What I’ve learned about giving the people what they want is being part of the people and actually watching. Go out and see what they grab first or most. Watch what they watch. Really listen to what they love about something then take that data back to work with. When it’s narrowed research, you often get narrowed results. Sometimes the best way to really understand a situation is to be silent, smack dab in the middle of it.”

The advice settles in the back of my mind.

What if she has a point? Sure, we deal in two completely different types of businesses, but we’re both in the people pleasing department. What if she’s on to something?

“Okay, this is a rough sketch,” she pulls my attention down to her lap where she’s drawn a new label, “but if you actually wanted, I could create it for you on my comp. It wouldn’t take me much time once I was satisfied on paper. Now, remember this is just an example.” Ollie’s hand moves out of the way revealing the words ‘Runt’s Beer’ in a rope like font with a pair of cowboy boots, which has a cowboy hat hung on top of them, wedged between the words. “I went the cowboy theme here, but you could easily put a pig in the middle. It could work too…but I like this idea better. It’s why I sketched it first.” My mouth cracks open in surprise, yet she continues to explain, “Demonstrate the name of your product with something you can relate to. When it’s easier for you to relate to it or you are more passionate about it, you naturally give it more attention and energy.  You’re a cowboy or cowboy like. You’ve at the very least got those types of ties, so build that into your brand. The rope name and the image in the middle cultivate a more relatable feeling and people will respond.”

Unsure if I’m more taken back by her words or how quickly she got it out on paper, I simply sit in silence.

“I mean I could totally be wrong,” Ollie backs down as expected. “I primarily deal with gamers. Beer and alcohol could be completely different, but when B&B hired me, redesigning their logo and branding was the first thing I did and I think it helped. Sometimes I sketch new designs or rearrange the layout for covers of the games we’re producing.”

How the hell can she not see how fucking brilliant that makes her? “You only get more incredible every day, you know that?”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to work for free.”

The teasing comeback makes us both chuckle. “Seriously, Ollie. You really have some amazing talent.”

“Thanks.”

“Mind if I um…take this sketch to the marketing department. See what they think?”

“Sure.” She tears out the piece of paper and hands it to me. “Remind them this is a rough sketch. I mean rough. Rough. Rough. Rough.”

“Why are you barking at me?”

My joke gets an elbow to the side, but rewards me with the smile I’m glad I ditched the office for.

“Was I right?” She sweetly asks. “Was something in marketing bothering you?”

I hesitate to reply. “There was a long meeting about what we can do better in our pursuit of expanding.”

“But that’s not what was bothering you…”

My eyes cut away for a brief moment.

“Openness should be two ways here, Farm Boy.”

The nickname brings my eyes back.

“What’s on your mind?”

For a moment, I allow myself to get swept away by her dark brown stare. There’s an endless acceptance to it. It’s the type some people search their whole lives for, but never find. Yet here I am. Having it offered to me every time I walk through the door. Why the hell did I let Carol Ann’s bullshit bother me so much? I’m much better off. Clearly.

“Ford…”

I clear my throat, rest my arms on my legs, and fold my hands together. “It’s stupid. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Ollie slides her body closer to mine and drops her warm touch onto my forearm. In a playful tone, she threatens, “Don’t make me seduce it out of you.”

My bottom lip instantly slides between my teeth.

Her eyes widen at my reaction.

Slow.... Fuck. We’re supposed to be taking this slow…

All of a sudden, she glides her hand across my crotch. The touch is enough to have my stirring cock bump its agreement with using sexual tactics to get me to talk.

There’s a hint of surprise in her tone. “Didn’t actually think I was sexy enough to pull off that tease.”

“Fuck Darlin’, you have no idea…” I thoughtlessly retort.

Excitement floods her expression and she repeats the graze, this time with a little more force.

A groan grumbles behind my gritted teeth.

“Talk to me first,” her fingers curl around the hardness, “and I’ll touch you second.”

I shake my head in an attempt to brush the conversation away.

No. Fuck no. The conversation would be the epitome of a mood killer. Talking with your new girlfriend about your ex and how hurt you were by her flashy new life is already on the ‘never should fucking do’ lineup, but then when you factor in it’s her ex too? Makes it third on the master cock block list.

She gives me a small tug over my jeans causing me to growl, “Can we please just let it go, baby? Can we focus on…” I drop my hand on top of hers to help her repeat the action, “this, instead?”

Her hand leaves the situation all together. “Ford.”

My attempt to not let out a frustrated sigh, fails. Miserably. “I saw some posts from Carol Ann and Daryl on Facebook. Seeing her fucking worship and praise him for every little thing he does or makes her feel, made me wonder if I was a shitty boyfriend all those years. Momentary self-doubt. It’s not important. Like I said, it was stupid.”

Especially since I gave Ollie such a hard time letting Daryl’s dipshit behaviors affect how she viewed herself. Guess sometimes it’s easier to say shit than do it.

“Well, having dated you both,” the lightness in her tone brings ease to my mind, “I would have to say she’s crazy.”

A smile instantly flashes on my face.

“Lock her up and make sure she doesn’t escape the padded walls sort of crazy.”

The smile threatens to get wider.

“I may be a bit bias now, given how everything with him panned out and wanting to see you naked,” her face begins to flush in a way that has become my indicator for knowing how turned on she is, “but she has to be a new level of crazy to have not seen how incredible you are. Endlessly supportive. How you’re not pounding down the door with the typical roses and chocolate, but with your own style of whiskey and pizza. You make the effort for the one you’re with Ford and even if it’s not being shouted from the roof tops like Tarzan on a sugar high, doesn’t mean it’s not appreciated. At least in my case…”

“Which is the only case that matters as far as I’m concerned,” I state swiftly.

Without another word I lean down and drop my lips back where they belong. As soon as her pleased sigh has seeped free, I gently tug her closer to me by the nape of her neck, and part her lips with mine. Our tongues tangle and tear apart any insecurities I could possibly still have lingering. Ollie’s soft moans spur my dick to continue its demand for attention against the zipper of my jeans. Her hand gradually glides back to where it was only moments before, except this time with less caution. The change in timid behavior lifts the hunger pumping through my veins to an uncharted level. I growl and push my tongue harder, anxious to feel more.

Abruptly, she yanks herself away, leaving me to grumble mid kiss at the disconnect. Rather than object or instruct how to handle what happens, I let her guide the two of us, something I believe she needs to become more comfortable with.

I want her to feel alright with wanting me. I want her to come after me when she wants. I don’t want this to ever feel like a chore or obligation. Been there. Fuck that.

Ollie gives my chest a gentle push backwards. Once my back is resting against the couch, she lets her hands roam across my chest. My abs. The top of my jeans. At the feeling of her hand sliding underneath my plaid shirt, my cock threatens to come undone. I violently bite my bottom lip to give the pain censor a good kick and prevent the embarrassment of a life time. Her small fingers toy with my belt buckle as if completely unaware of the effect she’s having on me. Which wouldn’t completely surprise me. She’s so adorably oblivious of her own power over me. I used to think being this…submissive and starving for a woman’s touch was pathetic as a man. If only I had known this beautiful woman was just waiting to prove me wrong…

The moment my cock is free from the denim prison it had been condemned to for too long, a deep breath leaves my lips.  In one blinding swift motion, Ollie’s lips are back on mine while her hand is giving my dick its full attention. She doesn’t bother with shy strokes or feeble jerks. Her hand pumps with unabashed fervor. My body oscillates between being ruled by her feverish tongue and enslaved by the powerful jerks commanding an immediate orgasm. Groan after groan echoes in my chest yet the faint sounds only seem to cause Ollie’s touch to become greedier. Mindlessly, my fingers dig into her back, desperate to keep her as close to me as possible. Her entire body begins to bump against mine, mimicking the riding action I’ve envisioned her doing on my lap since the day we met.  The seemingly ceaseless cycle of being satisfied by her sounds, her tongue, and her touch shoves me to dangle over the edge. 

This time, I’m the one to unexpectedly pull away, and brace my forehead against her. Through labored breaths, I somehow confess, “I’m gonna come, Darlin’…”

Ollie hums her approval and takes me all the way over. My entire body shakes and seizes as sharp bursts cover her hand mercilessly. A growl meets a groan, creating an animalistic noise I’ve never heard myself make before. To my surprise, the sound is well received by the way she pounces my lips once more.

Holy hell. Why do I feel like this is all just the tip of the iceberg…

Camilla sighs from her favorite spot on my desk. “Why aren’t more women in video games curvier?”

I glance away from the creation on my screen. “What?”

She points to my open sketchbook.

“She’s not for a video game.”

“What’s she for?”

After a small hesitation, I correct, “Okay she’s not for a video game yet.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that’s the notebook I free sketch in. Everything from superheroes to what I had for dinner to what I someday hope to see in a game.”

Camilla tilts her head and gives the design another look.

The warrior woman with an oversized pair of boobs, thunder thighs, flat stomach, no waist and flowing hair looks like every gamer’s wet dream. She’s got an M-16 strapped to her back, a bandolier across her tits, and a katana in each hand. Her obnoxiously high boots in an even more ridiculously tight outfit, tie in the very critical elements I am used to reading about women hating and men adoring. For the sake of my sanity, I gave her chocolate brown skin. Camilla isn’t alone in her wish for diversity in games.

“Don’t you have anything more…”Camilla waves a hand at the design. “Womanly pleasing. I know there are women gamers. We exist.”

With a smirk, I turn back a few sketches, and show her the shirtless design of a cowboy holding a shot gun. “Like him?”

“God yes,” she whispers at the drawing. “Is he real? Can you make him real? Can we get you one of those magic pencils, so whatever you draw pops up in real life?” 

I catch my laugh in the palm of my hand.

He’s not completely real, but he definitely has elements of Ford, my supportive, inspirational hunk of a boyfriend. Gah, calling him my boyfriend even seems like a dream come true. And that’s what he insists I refer to him as. He wants all claims on me he can get…Camilla thinks it’s cute. However, she is heavily against us taking things slow. I actually like it. In its own way it’s a huge relief. I’m not a virgin, but my sexual skills are probably closer than I care to admit to anyone outside of myself. Taking things slow means, we’re given time for us to build things up. Find a groove that works for us. There’s time for me to make sure he’s satisfied in other departments before I bomb miserably during our first round in the sheets. So far? We’ve spent the last week discovering the forgotten joys of hand jobs and finger bangs.  No complaints. On either end.

All of a sudden, Bart’s voice rings in my office, “Ollie, you got a minute?”

“Of course.” I turn in my chair to face my boss. “Always.”

“I’m just wondering if-” he unexpectedly cuts himself off and looks around me. “What’s that?”

“Women’s legs,” Camilla teases giving her bare calves a graze. “Surely, you’ve see those before Bart.”

His blonde eyebrows furrow as he hits her with displeased scowl.

Thankfully, we work in a casual place. Camilla is allowed to make lewd and usually inappropriate jokes because her work ethic, commitment, and impeccable ability to debug the shit out of every game given to her are something to be envied. It seems like if you’re skills are sharp enough in your department, they’re willing to overlook other things like your foul mouth or need to doodle Christmas trees on the yearly contract form.

He moves around and I scoot my chair out of his way. “This. What game is this for? I don’t remember anyone pitching a western…Westerns are…outdated…even if the sketch is,” the word seems to get lost on his lips, “outstanding. Look at those eyes. He’s got the whole ‘save the damsel’ shit in his eyes.”

Ford definitely has a similar mentality sometimes…

“What’s this for?” Bart continues to question, panic quickly rising in his tone. “Is this contract work for another company? Are you considering leaving? Do we not pay you enough? Were you displeased with your spring bonus?”

“She gets a bonus?!” Camilla scoffs. “What the hell?”

He gives her a pointed look. “Did we or did we not send you, all expenses paid, to Cancun for a conference and then to Vegas for a team building trip?”

“Not all,” she mumbles quietly.

“No. You’re right. We refused to give you more than a thousand dollars to gamble with.”

“Cheap bastards.”

Bart tosses a hand in the air. “Camilla!”

Her snicker is followed with her sliding off my desk. “I’m going. I’m going. I’m sure I have something to work on or at the very least something to avoid working on.”

She saunters out of my office with a smirk plastered on her face.

Sometimes I wonder if she pushes the limits too far just to see what will happen.

“Ollie,” Bart’s voice shakes with concern. “This artwork-”

“Just free sketches,” I swiftly reply before he begins to hyperventilate. “I’d never leave you guys. You know I love it here.”

“We want you here,” he instantly reassures. “Your artwork is unparalleled. We’d do just about anything to keep you.”

The flattery makes me smile warmly.

Ford keeps saying that too about my skills. He even asked me to make him two logos to test for their beer sampling at the local festival going on downtown in a couple of weeks. The designs didn’t take long, but because I switched to perfectionist zone, nothing else received any attention from me, including my horny boyfriend and our always hungry pig.

“Let me ask you something,” Bart begins, eyes now back on the drawing. “When you free sketch like this do you have a…specific game type or story in mind?”

“Sometimes…”

“What about for this one?”

“I was thinking a first-person shooter. Gritty small-town setting. Not a western, more modern. Basically, it’s a man wandering around this place fighting zombies or mutants or just some sort of infected while searching for his wife.”

“Like a rescue mission?”

“Like rescue meets…zombie apocalypse.”

Bart cocks a grin. “Those are always your favorite to design.”

“They’re popular…”

He chuckles a little under his breath, gives the character one more look, and then says, “Why don’t you spend the rest of the week coming up with a solid story line? The beginning, the middle, and the definitive end. Create a few of these ‘infected’ on paper as well as the woman he’s trying to rescue. And then next week when Buddy gets back from his ski trip we can go to dinner to discuss the details. Potentially adopting the project and allowing you to do more than just the sketches. Sound good?”

Disbelief plummets my jaw to the floor.

Certain I misheard him, I remain silent and wait for Ashton Kutcher to jump out of the desk drawer to shout ‘Punked’, before announcing the stupid prank shows inevitable return. It hasn’t yet, my money is on the notion it will. Revamping everything seems very popular.

“Sound good?” Bart repeats with a firmer tone.

“Okay…” I quietly concur.

“Great!” He claps his hands together. “Now, the reason I actually came in was to ask you if you had revisited the grim reaper designs for Dragon’s Doctrine. You still have time, but you’re often ahead of schedule and I was curious to the adjustments.”

“I am and I already sent it to Constantine.”

He shakes his head. “Should’ve guessed.”

“Probably…”

Bart starts to speak when Camilla’s voice shouts, “Son of a bitch!”

“How many times do I have to remind her about language?”

“About as many times as you have to remind Demetri not to eat other people’s snacks.”

“Demetri, your ass is toast when I find you!” her voice distantly threatens.

He lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head again, and announces, “Time to do the part of being a boss I hate.”

“Calling Meredith to deal with it?”

Bart gives me a small guilty nod on his way out of my office.

Once he’s gone, I grab my cell phone, dialing the first person I can’t wait to tell.

The phone rings a single time before Ford’s smooth voice states, “And how is the most beautiful woman in my life?”

I helplessly swoon at the unprecedented compliment.

He does this shit all the time. Constantly. He’s the best fucking thing for my ego I didn’t realize was so neglected and so greedy.

“I’m…good. I’m really good.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a short shuffling on the other end followed with complete cease of movement. The clear indication all of his attention is now on my words makes my smile expand wider. “Why’s that?”

“Because I have you.”

The light chuckle I’m given embraces me as tightly as his arms usually do. “Baby, when you start conversations this way they usually end up with me doing something I don’t typically enjoy…”

Twice! That only happened twice and how was I supposed to know he would hate the video game themed concert! I thought hearing classic video game sounds recreated by an orchestra would be amazing…And it was. Well. For one of us.

“What do you need, Ollie?”

“Nothing,” I reassure with mirth lingering in my voice. “Just called to tell you my boss saw one of my sketches that resembles you-”

“Me? You sketched me?”

“You know I sketch you.”

“But like a video character?”

“Yeah…”

“What type?” He begins to interrogate, intrigue clear as day. “Am I something respectable like a WWII pilot or pilot of a spaceship?”

“Why do I get the feeling you might’ve wanted to be a pilot as a kid?”

“Maybe…” Ford chuckles a little. “Anyway, what’d you draw?

“You as a cowboy.”

“Not the most original, but I bet I still look pretty good.”

“Your modesty isn’t going unnoticed.” After we exchange another round of snickers, I continue, “As I was saying, my boss stumbled across the free sketch, assumed it was for a game, and then offered to make it a part of one when he found out it wasn’t.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve got a week to sketch a few more, come up with a more concrete concept, but yeah! Basically, if him and his partner like what I pitch, I will get to be more hands on and help develop a game I came up with.”

His smile is apparent even over the phone. “Have I not been telling you how incredible you are?”

“You have.”

“Do you believe me now?”

“Just a little…”

Ford laughs again, loud, but still full of life. “What do you say we go and celebrate tonight?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want.”

“Does that include going to see Trouble in Toon Time?”

He groans his displeasure. “Yes…”

“Really?”

“Really. But if that’s what we’re going to see, we’re going to the theater that does food and beer, so I can drink my way through it.”

“Stop it…You don’t hate animated movies nearly as much as you pretend.”

“And you don’t hate westerns nearly as much you pretend.”

True. It has become so true…Funniest thing about our movie watching is we have found the perfect compromise. Fievel Goes West. Best of both worlds and is becoming our go to movie when there’s nothing else on.

“So…do we need to call a sitter?” I tease.

“She’ll be fine,” he reassures. “Maybe a little jealous we’re out all evening.”

“We’ll give her a non-bacon treat as a peace offering. Wanna bring something on your way or grab something together after the movie?”

“After the movie is good. I actually have to work the full day.”

“Oh.”

“I know,” Ford sighs. “I was hoping to be out of here early, but you know how that goes.”

“You run a company, Ford. They don’t typically like you to play hookie every day.”

“Not hookie. Just…an altered schedule.” My snickering causes him to snap, “Hey! I show up earlier now than I used too. The least I should be able to do is leave sooner. Keep things balanced.”

“Uh-huh,” I mock. “You should take that up with the boss…Oh wait...That’s you.”

He lightly laughs.

“You coming by right when you get off or going by your apartment first?”

“Straight over. I look decent enough for a children’s movie.”

“Animated.”

“More children than adults in the movie, Ollie, classifies it as a kid’s movie.” A voice says something in the background, which prompts him to end our call. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, Farm Boy.”

“Bye, Darlin’.”

The minute the call ends my face expands into another beam bright enough to blind anyone who looks my way.

“And what did the boss man want?” Camilla’s voice questions from the doorway.

I turn her direction to see her eating a cup of yogurt.

With my smile still wide I proceed to usher her in, thrilled to be telling the other most important person in my life the good news.

At first I thought it was crazy to be this enthralled and invested in another person, but the truth is, life is so much better when there’s someone to share it with. Someone who supports and takes joy in your joy. Coming from a family of loners, of very independent and withdrawn people, it feels very unnatural to be this way, yet the more time I spend with Ford, the more I’m falling in love with it…and him.

Just as I prepare to squeeze conditioner into the palm of my hand, there’s a loud unexpected crash. I jump, sending the bottle tumbling to floor of the tub and the intended conditioner for my hair all over the wall.

This is ridiculous! I should be able to leave Princess Pinky out while I take a quick shower. She’s a pig, not an actual toddler even if their behaviors at times are eerily similar.

I quickly rinse off my hand, cut the water off, and grab my towel. Mumbling under my breath empty threats, I swing open my bathroom door to see Ford on his knees by the edge of my bed.

A deep sigh of relief is immediate. When I told him I’d leave the door unlocked for him to just let himself in, I didn’t think he would scare the shit out of me in the process. “It’s you making all that noise? Not Princess Pinky.”

His attention snaps up but his jaw drops.

Confused as to the change in expression, I ask, “What? What’s wrong?”

Ford’s eyes slowly dip down my body and the answer swiftly becomes apparent.

This is the closest to naked he’s ever seen me. While we’ve been actively groping one another like we suddenly see with our hands instead of our eyes, I’ve managed to skirt around having to be completely exposed. He’s seen both halves, just at different times. Never all at once. And never in the very bright light of my bedroom, which now feels as bright as a Broadway spotlight.

The moment my fingers start tugging to close the towel more, he unpleasantly snaps, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to…conceal myself. What are you doing?”

“Trying to get our hog from underneath the bed where she’s enjoying the celebration cupcake I stopped to buy you.”

Ford’s thoughtfulness causes me to coo. “Aw…”

His unhappy expression doesn’t waiver. “Why are you tryin’ to hide your beautiful body from me, Ollie?”

My lips unconsciously press together.

“I’ve already seen you naked.”

“In half.”

It’s his turn to look flummoxed. “What?”

“You’ve seen me naked in halves. Never the whole thing. Never all…at one time…”

Ford frowns at the response. “Why not?”

I don’t answer.

He adjusts his arm on the edge of my bed yet remains on his knees. With no room for argument in his delivery, he commands, “Come over here.”

The combination of his tone and his powerful stare create an unexpected wetness between my thighs. Heat begins to blaze its way from the tips of my toes to my already steaming face. A familiar longing festers between my thighs, and my body’s desire to have it filled is what causes me to drift his direction.

Once I’m in front of him, body nervously braced against the bed for support, he slides his hands slowly up my damp legs.  My eyes struggle to stay open against the simple pleasure of his touch. As soon as he reaches the edge of my towel he gives it a sharp tug banishing it from my body. It hits the floor with a thud and my heart bolts to my throat.

Naked. I am completely naked in front of him. He can see everything. God, the lights are probably showcasing my stretch marks, the hairs I missed shaving, the-

Ford’s tongue gives my bare pussy a light, lascivious lick.

The force of the gasp torn from me causes my knees to debilitate me.

He barely lifts his eyes during his suggestion, “You may wanna sit down for this.”

There’s no time given to process what’s happening. Ford lightly pushes me onto the edge of the bed, throws my legs over his shoulders, and lowers his mouth to start salaciously sucking on my pussy. His fingers dig into my hips, latching me against his ferociously active tongue that seems to be in no mood for mercy. My body falls backwards yet my hips continue to beg for more. All too happy to oblige, Ford’s feast increases in speed and urgency. I curl my fingers into the sheets while whimpers fall freely from parted lips. Ceaselessly, he caresses my clit, responding appropriately to every shake and shudder his restless mouth seems to uncover.  Each time he groans in approval of my wetness dripping onto his tongue, my pussy responds in a new-found desperation to keep him pleased by becoming wetter. The nonstop devotion to devouring me has my eyes screwed shut and obliterated my ability to focus on anything other than the orgasm racing to greet him. With no additional warning, I begin to come, his name chiming around the room like church bells. Ford’s face presses itself deeper between my legs, anxious to lap up every last drop of me as if he’s found the forbidden fruit of paradise.  My voice shakes along with my legs until my entire body reaches a level of depletion.

Ford’s hot, heavy breath on my sensitive pussy during his pull away causes an additional bow off the bed. When I finally remember how basic body functions work like breathing and blinking, I let my attention settle on his beaming face, which is still happily positioned between my thighs.

He wets his lips. “Ready to go again?”

“Again?” I squeak, shooting up to my elbows. “You’re not…tired?!”

His face tilts to the side. “Ollie it was only like six minutes.”

“That’s it?!”

A cocky chuckle escapes. “That’s it baby.”

I’ve never come so fast from having a guy go down on me. In my defense, there have only been two and neither seemed very interested in educational tips on getting me off. Apparently to them eating a girl out was just a box to check off on route to sex. Still. I think my boyfriend might have a magical tongue…

Ford plants a soft kiss on my inner thigh before repeating, “Ready to go again?”

My pussy tightens in approval for more. I give him a small smirk, bite my bottom lip, and nod.

This whole going slow thing is only increasing in benefits and doubling up orgasms for me. Whoever said after thirty hitting ‘the bases’ one by one was a waste of time, clearly never had the pleasure of Ford Shaw between their legs…

“You’re just wasting money at this point,” Ollie teases between laughs. “Pretty sure you could’ve gone down to Target and just bought me like three of those stuffed animals.”

I drop another ten down on the counter. “That’s not the same.”

“No. It’s cheaper.”

The game operator chuckles and puts three more baseballs in my bucket.

Winning the stupid neon green tiger is about more than giving my girlfriend something to sit in the corner of her bedroom floor. It’s about commemorating not only our first major holiday as a couple, but the fact we’re testing the logos she helped create. It’s about having something around to physically remind us this little outing. Of her willingness to withstand a large crowd just to be by my side during something that matters…Fine. It’s also a little bit about my pride. I know I can knock over those damn bottles. 

“Supportive Ollie.” I glance over my shoulder at her. “Be. Supportive.”

She snickers again, but surrenders her hands. “Fine. Fine.  You can do it, Farm Boy. Show those big bad bottles you really mean it.”

The operator tries not to laugh as I turn to face her. “I said supportive, not condescending.”

“I believe I may have taken a little from column A and a little from column B.”

“Do you want me to give Princess Pinky the animal when I win it?”

“If.”

“When.”

Ollie’s laughter shifts my smile wider.

This woman has somehow effortlessly managed to become the only constant in my life that always brings me joy. Even when we’re arguing, just the sound of her voice is enough to keep me grinning like a maniac. I will say having a heated discussion on who should pay for gas in my truck probably isn’t nearly as crucial as what other couples fight about. But there’s something else I love about her. Our arguments are usually very light. Aside from who should get to pay for an outing, things are pretty playful. Seeing one another’s sides to a situation isn’t even a challenge, which is interesting considering how completely different we are.

I turn back around, pick up the first ball, and wind it up with everything I’ve got before I send it flying. The ball lands in the middle tumbling over the five-bottle tower in one shot. Rather than let myself get relieved this might not be another round of embarrassment, I put all my energy into staying focused on another flawless hit as he resets the bottle. The moment he’s ready, I repeat the previous action once again executing a win. With one ball left and my eye very much so on the prize, I say a small prayer for help while he sets them up for the final throw. 

The operator gives me a taunting look. “Remember it has to be three in a row to win that prize…”

No shit. I came to that conclusion sixty bucks ago.

I let out a long, slow deep breath and line up my shot. The ball flies from my hands and tumbles over all five bottles.

Ollie squeals in delight behind me as I throw a victory punch in the air. “Yes!”

The operator gives an impressed nod. “First big winner of the day.”

He reaches down below to grab one of the stuffed animals still wrapped in its plastic protection. After he’s handed it over, we move slightly out of the way of other participants, and I tear off the cover.

With a proud smile, I state, “Happy 4th of July, Darlin’.”

She wraps her arms around it. “Happy 4th of July, Farm Boy.”

We engage in a brief kiss. Ha. We’ve learned our lesson about the consequences of a little too much tongue and a little too much heat out in public. Never thought I would be one of those people who would scan an area for all the private places he could finger his girlfriend without getting caught or one of those pervs who had to rub one out in the bathroom mid movie because he couldn’t wait to do anything about it any longer. Someway, somehow, Ollie has brought out the embarrassingly horny fifteen-year-old I was certain Carol Ann had murdered with a sledge hammer of sex rations years ago.

“Tell me I don’t have to carry this thing around for the rest of the night.”

I chuckle and drop an arm around her shoulder. “Embarrassed?”

“Not nearly as much as you should be for how much you spent to win it.”

Another laugh leaves me and I peck her with a kiss on the side of her head. “We can swing by my booth and drop it off with the team. Probably would be a good idea to check in anyway, since my big brother has the attention span of a Boxer puppy.”

Somedays it’s not an issue. But today of all days it will be. Having a booth at the annual Highland 4th of July Festival is a huge deal and a first for us to grab a space. We’ve never been given the opportunity to have such a vast population reached. We’ve never been given a chance to have people buy our product like this. While we can’t sell them by the cases or bottles, we can sell them in plastic cups like the other vendors. Selling here could be great profit, but more importantly, it could be great exposure. That’s what I am really hoping for.

We arrive in front of the busy white tented area. Our large table has two lines set up. On one side, Dani from marketing has free samples to giveaway for simply telling her which logo they like better while Jamie is selling cups from the keg. Seeing my team so engaged causes me to stand a little taller, however the lack of management immediately lowers my shoulders back down.

Rick places down another keg behind the booth. “Hey boss man. Checkin’ in?”

“Yeah.” I scan the area at the same time I ask, “Where’s Blake?”

He twists his lips to the side.

“It’s fine. Really. You can tell me.”

The hesitation continues.

“I’m not going to let Blake fire you.”

Rick’s eyebrows lift.

“Even if my dickhead brother swore up and down he would fire you even after I said you wouldn’t be, he won’t. Truth is he can’t. He doesn’t possess the power.”

We may run the business basically together, but in all actuality the rights, the taxes, the loan we took are all in my name. If shit ever goes up in flames, which it almost has in the past, it all engulfs me. He won’t get so much as a burn. Having this brewery and selling my beer was my dream. I think Blake’s still not entirely sure what his is.

“Oh,” Rick sighs. “He followed a white halter top that way.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I mumble under my breath, getting a small bump from Ollie.

When I look down at her she says, “Relax, Farm Boy. It’s a holiday. He probably just wants to assure he sees some extra fireworks tonight.”

Wouldn’t mind seeing a few extra myself…I swear when she comes Heaven lights up. It is the most beautiful, most invigorating thing I’ve ever fucking seen. I almost come instantly. Every. Time. Which is a major problem considering I’ve managed to become addicted to feasting on her pussy. That shit tastes sweeter than a watermelon on a 102 degree day.

“He needs to be here, so I can be out there with you. That was the agreement.”

It’s the whole reason I spent every night this week working late, missing time with my girl and my hog, prepping everything so all he had to do was sit around and smile charmingly.

“Excuse me,” a man with a slim, muscular build calls out.

Ollie allows herself to get distracted by Dani’s excitement over the stuffed creature at the same time I answer the stranger who has a sample cup in his hand. “Yes?”

“Is this your tent?”

“Yes.”

“Are you the owner of the company or a representative?”

“The owner.”

He allows for a smile to come across his face as he extends his free hand my direction. “I’m J.T. Reese. I work for Wilcox Whiskey.”

I shake at the same time I greet, “Ford Shaw. Pleasure to meet you.” Our hands fall their separate ways and I add, “Love your products. It’s basically the only alcohol my girlfriend likes to drink.”

“She’s got exquisite taste.”

“I do,” Ollie pops into the conversation. “Another reason Runt’s Beer is the only beer I will drink.”

Her sly yet not so sly way of advocating me brings a genuine grin to my face.

J.T. chuckles at the comment. “I don’t blame you. This is great beer. I was just curious. Do you sell this in stores?”

Reluctantly, I shake my head. “At this time, no. We only sell to bars and restaurants. While we would love to sell wholesale, we aren’t equipped do it.”

He hums. “But if you were, you would?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you mentioned bars and restaurants. Here in Highland?”

“Outskirts,” the answer feels somewhat shameful to say when speaking to someone from a global brand. “Small nearby town.”

This hum feels more judgmental than the last.

“But we are trying,” I emphasize promptly. “We have reached out to several of the local bars and restaurants in the downtown Highland area. Unfortunately, they just don’t have room to take a risk on a smaller brand.”

“You have to be willing to take a big risk sometimes to reap the benefits of a large reward,” his counter causes me to lift my eyebrows in surprise. “Would you be willing to meet with me in a more formal setting? Perhaps sit down and talk about Wilcox backing your company? We would want it to continue to be your brand. Your name. Your logo. which by the way the one with the boots is better than the bland basic name one. Makes more of a statement.”

Ollie squeaks a small sound of victory from beside me.

“We would look into financially investing in your expansion into stores as well as bars and restaurants. We would seek a small cut of the profits. Mr. Wilcox has a fondness for building up local businesses with individuals driven by passion of their product and not dollars they’re trying to stuff into their pockets.”

Swept away into complete awe, I barely push out, “I love my product.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I can tell. You learn to read people quickly in this business.” J.T. pulls out a business card and offers it to me. “On the back is the direct line to my work cell. It’ll bypass all the bullshit protocols set in place to slow down unwanted solicitation. When you have time this week, give me a call and we’ll set something up to look at your numbers, your ideas, and where you see your company going over the next five to ten years. Hopefully, we will work out something we both profit from.”

Holding my composure becomes even more difficult as he hands me the card. “That sounds…fantastic.”

J.T. nods and points, “Gonna pay for a beer and go check out that coconut shrimp food truck. Have you tried it yet?”

Ollie gags. “Don’t. They put something strange in that mix and no matter what they say, I swear it isn’t coconut.”

He laughs and I shake my head. “Just grab a beer. On the house.”

His compulsion to argue is obvious.

“Seriously. Enjoy it on me.”

J.T. nods his gratitude before scooting around the crowd for the other side.

With sheer disbelief plastered on my face, I peer down at my equally giddy girlfriend. “Did that…Did that really just happen?”

Ollie nods profusely. “Hell yeah it did! Holy shit, Ford!”

I try to downplay the situation, “It’s just a meeting…It’s probably not that big of a deal. He’s probably going to all the booths and-” She punches me in the arm with more force than ever before. “Ou!”

“Knock it off,” she commands sassily. “This is an amazing thing to happen to you, Ford. Act like it. Give yourself the same, ‘you’re incredible and the world knows it’ speech you would give to me.”

Her comeback causes me to smile again. “There’s not that much twang in my voice.”

“Oh you should hear yourself when you get really excited, Farm Boy. You sound like something out of one of your favorite westerns. It’s almost like an overacted Clint Eastwood is suddenly in my apartment.”

She snickers and I quickly wrap my arms around her, embracing her from behind. After dropping a couple kisses on her neck and cheek, I sigh, “What am I gonna do with you, Ollie Steele?”

The instinct to call her Ollie Shaw catches me by surprise.

All that time I spent with Carol Ann and not once did I want her to carry my last name or my child, yet a couple months with this one and I have to remind myself dropping down to one knee would be crazier than how we met.

Her touch on top of my arms soothes the anxiety of my runaway thoughts. “Feed me something greasy and take me to a good spot to watch the fireworks.”

Tugging her closer to me, I agree, “I can definitely do that. Can you wait a few more minutes, so I can chew out Blake?”

“Chew me out for what?” My brother innocently asks from over my shoulder. When a displeased look begins to shift onto my face he tries to turn the tables, “And what are you doing over here anyway? You’re supposed to be out there enjoying the festival!”

I prepare to snap, but Ollie stops me. “Yeah, Ford. Yell at Blake later and feed your hungry girlfriend now.”

“Yell at me for what?”

My eyes twitch him a glare, but I offer her a sweet smirk. “I love that idea.”

“But no coconut shrimp. I’m telling you. It’s not coconut, and I’m not certain it’s even really shrimp…”

We laugh, slip our fingers together, and head back into the lively crowd.

The remainder of the evening is spent stuffing our faces with various types of food and enjoying the fireworks they set off the moment the sky is dark enough to properly enjoy them. Afterwards we make our way back to her apartment, grateful we both live close enough to avoid the traffic nightmare we would be stuck in otherwise.

Once we’re there, I immediately busy myself with getting Princess Pinky fed while she ditches the sneakers I insisted she wear.

She hates shoes she can’t just slip her feet out of at the drop of a hat. It’s cute. As is her hatred of heels and virginity in the cowboy boots department. I plan to change that however. Someday.

The two of us meet in the living room on our way back to one another. We both lightly laugh at the gravitational pull we seem to have.

I love we’re never too far apart for too long. I love how my mind naturally sends me her direction and vice versa.  There’s an inexplicable comfort to it.

Casually, I ask, “Should I go ahead and get going?”

Ollie’s hands land on the edge of my polo where they give it a small tug. “You could stay…”

Her eyes fill with an unfamiliar gleam. I swallow the instinct to jump the gun and assume I know what she’s referring too. “For a couple hours?”

She pulls herself closer to me. “Or…longer.”

A groan seeps free and my arms wrap around her.  “Meaning?”

I watch her lips press together as if unsure she should express what she really wants.

But I need her too. I need to hear her say she wants the next step. I don’t wanna ruin a great thing. Hell, a fucking amazing thing…

With my eyes piercing hers, I state, “Ollie, if you want me, you’re going to have to say it.”

The nervous look she tends to get when we talk about sex appears.

It’s not like she’s afraid of discussing it or too prudish. I think having some bad past experiences with assholes has just left much of her self-confidence in ruins. Thankfully, I’m a patient man and don’t mind gently nudging her to be more comfortable with what’s happening between us.

“I promise I’ll only bite if you ask…”

She graces me with a smirk. “Do I really have to ask?”

“Do you really wanna be bitten?”

“A little…”

My dick darts upward prepared to have a vote on the topic in question.

Ollie crushes her hardened nipples against my chest as she closes the gap between us. “Stay the night with me, Ford. All night.”

The declaration grabs another groan yet I give her face a gentle stroke with my thumb. “You sure, baby? I’m in no rush if you’re not ready…”

I’m not in a rush. But I’m not exactly a fucking saint either.

Ollie slightly moves her face to suck the tip of my thumb into her mouth. She whirls her tongue fiercely around before dragging it out, gently scrapping it against her teeth. This time the groan that escapes is something a little louder. Definitely darker. Borderline purely primal.

My mouth hastily descends on hers to relocate my tongue to where my finger just was. The abrupt change of pace is rewarded with her nails cutting into my sides and a sweet sigh of surrender.  While the actions command every cell in my body to respond fast and harsh, I battle against it knowing Ollie needs our first time to be slow. She needs to be worshiped. She needs for the fears the previous fuck head left behind to be thoroughly erased. 

Still locked by our unwilling to detach lips, we stumble our way towards her bedroom, only eventually pulling apart to assure we don’t trip over Princess Pinky’s toys. As soon as we’re inside, the intensity of everything increases exponentially. Our hands start tugging to free each other’s bodies and our mouths cruelly consume every inch of skin they can find. With every brush of her lips across my flesh, the need to claim her grows to be more and more unbearable.

Finally naked and underneath me where she belongs, Ollie tangles her fingers in my hair, tugging me closer, clearly indicating she wants me inside. I keep our eyes pinned together at the same time I reach to her bedside drawer where the box of condoms is waiting.

It was my purchase and my suggestion. After she gave me a hand job in what was technically the middle of the work day, it seemed like a natural conversation to have the next morning. I swore it wasn’t my less than subtle way of stating we should be having sex and once she listened to my rather safe than stuck in the heat of the moment without one scenario, she believed me.

Wanting there to be no room for regret, I take my time to allow time for any possible objection. Ollie watches me lean upward to rip off the rapper and begin to slide it down my painfully hard dick. All of a sudden, she stretches out to help me secure it on. The intimate action combined with the feeling of her warm hand against my throbbing cock almost causes me to ruin what I’m certain will be the last of firsts for either of us.

I’m done. And by the time this night is over I’m going to make sure she is to.

There’s no further hesitation on my part.  Swiftly, I slide myself inside and watch her entire body bow off the bed to meet the first blow. The sight is so intoxicating, I don’t debate whether or not to repeat it. Ollie duplicates her previous response yet this time adds a breathless moan that sends my senses whirling. My hands anchor themselves onto the outside of her thighs while my dick begins a ruthless rocking, each thrust sharper than the last. She attempts to wiggle away from the continuous deep strokes, but I grip her tighter, anxious for her to commit to taking all of me the way I am devoted to taking all of her. I watch Ollie’s face contort, clearly not used to the amount of pleasure she’s enduring. Her pussy, which feels like it’s holding on for dear life, begins to contract at a more constant rate forcing me to grit my teeth to prevent succumbing to the bliss. She whimpers and her pussy echoes the cry. All of a sudden a warm, wet heat submerges my cock and attempts to falter my pumps. Ollie comes harshly, my name shouted like the only word she knows. For a moment, I let my head fall forward and get lost in the luscious sound of her heaving breath and satisfied screams. Her fingers curl around my biceps and my eyes lift back to hers where I watch the beautiful battle of whether to pull me in further or push me out completely is in action.

In a quiet whisper, I encourage, “Just take it, Darlin’…”

Ollie’s breath hitches, and I assume the sound is her agreement.

My body spreads hers a little wider, dick desperate to go as deep as it possibly can. To carve my name, my initials, my future into her core. Sweat slowly begins to christen her body and I instantly smirk at the sight. Unfortunately, I can tell it embarrasses her by the abrupt shift in her movements and the way she attempts to divert my attention elsewhere.

“I love seeing you like this…”

There’s a faint hum of uncertainty.

“Covered in me inside and out,” I growl out, hips grinding harder against her in the process. “You look perfect, Ollie.”

She gives her bottom lip a small bite before returning to freely enjoying the situation. With her guard now completely down, Ollie brazenly meets each push, pussy warning my dick of another orgasm on the brink. It doesn’t take long for us to tear away from our tantalizing slow pace into a slightly more savage one. The build up to bursting is shorter than predicted, but it’s also more intense. In a soul shaking tandem, we come undone while our moans clash together to create a concert of cries loud enough to piss off her neighbors. My body falls to cover hers and reconnect our lips that have been separated far too long.

She is why being engaged to someone else felt so wrong. She is why I’m happier than I’ve ever been. She is where I belong.

Ollie Steele is home, and it feels damn good to finally be here.

Holy shit I can’t believe I’m late to work! I’m never late. Ever. In six years. Not. Once. And of all the mornings I could possibly be late for, I pick the one where they want to discuss the game I’m helping develop the concept for?! Can we say fail?! I refuse to blame Ford for this even if it is kind of his fault. He shouldn’t be so damn good in bed. He also shouldn’t be allowed to have stamina and an unwavering dedication to making me come. How am I supposed to be expected to ever get anything else done again? Time factor aside, I am currently so sore, in so many spots, getting dressed this morning felt like I was being tortured by a foreign government for information. I wanted to give it up! I would’ve had I known what it was, that’s how tender my muscles are. All of my muscles. Oh. Items to add to the list of things Ford shouldn’t be allowed to have. Length and girth.

I try to slick back the missed curls, relieved I managed to not only look decent for the discussion, but to not wake Ford up in the process. Pretty sure he could’ve slept through a freight train crashing in my living room the way he was out. Sad thing is I was right there with him. However, due to Princess Pinky’s routine schedule he insisted we create for her, she prevented that from being a possibility by rudely tugging on my sheets. I guess I should really be grateful she did.

“Ollie!” Buddy warmly greets shoving his sunglasses into his black hair as he enters the small conference room. “You get a doughnut?”

Thankful he seems to have no clue I’m tardy, I simply shake my head, and say, “Not yet. Wanted to get through this without getting chocolate on my designs.”

Lie. Didn’t even know there were doughnuts, but now that I do, I really want one. I didn’t even have time to eat this morning. I had to brush my teeth in the car with a stick of gum and a tic-tac I found.

Bart strolls in close behind him. “Morning, Ollie! Have a good holiday?”

“I did.”

Probably the best fucking holiday I’ve ever had in my life.

“Catch those fireworks?” He sits down beside his partner across from me.

“I did.”

And then made some of my own….

Buddy smiles, tucks his leg underneath him, and leans both arms on the table. “So, let’s get straight to the point of this meeting.”

A wave of confusion engulfs me. “I was under the impression we were meeting to look at the artwork I had been toying with.”

“No.” Buddy shakes his head. “We don’t care about that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Of course we care about that,” Bart quickly corrects and gives him a gentle nudge.

“Huh?” Buddy darts his eyebrows down. It takes a split second before he realizes exactly what just came out of his mouth. “No! No! We absolutely care about that. We just know that’s handled, Ollie. Your artwork has never once disappointed or been unfulfilling for our games. That isn’t a question or task you of all people need to be babysat over.”

I place a hand over my now rapidly beating heart.

Downside of having two very lax bosses is often the accidental fear they ensue.

Bart folds his hands together and gives me a concerned stare. “We actually wanted to discuss with you your feelings about making this a multiplatform release.”

The question bulges my eyes.

“We haven’t done one in many years-”

“Since Sweet Bloody High actually,” Buddy interjects.

“But we think now would be a great time for it,” Bart quickly takes over again. “While we’ve been back and forth on the decision for a first person or third person shooter, I think we are settling on one that allows the player to choose.”

“We’ve also decided we want this to be our big Christmas release next year.”

Even more baffled now, I stutter out, “Y-y-y-you w-w-w-want what?”

“Yeah!” Buddy enthusiastically states. “This launch will be huge! This game will be huge. Do you have any idea how many requests we get to make more games for the console?”

“And you know why we don’t,” Bart tries to remind casually.

Their dynamic is always like this. It’s an interesting pair. Most of the time they need each other for balance, not only to keep the company running, but from the looks of it their friendship too.

“Yeah,” he attempts to calm back down, “but now we are and I’m really excited about it. Even if we only put one of these out every few years, it’s still something!”

Bart rolls his eyes. “Look Ollie, this is what we want and ultimately as the owners and your bosses we can do whatever it is we decide-”

“But we’re not giant dicks so we value your input.”

“You can’t say dick to our employees, Buddy.”

“I can,” he corrects, big brown eyes dancing mischievously. “And if memory serves me correct, I just did.”

Before an argument can ensue, I chime in, “I think it’s a great idea.”

“See,” Buddy fails to whisper.

“My only real concern is the time frame. If you want it released for next year’s holiday season-”

“Then it’s going to require twice as much effort.” Bart nods slowly. “Thankfully, with Death’s Doorstep in its final stages to be our release this holiday and Dragon’s Doctrine making prompt progress to be first release of next year, we should be able to give this game what it needs to reach our target date. That is if everyone is on board and is willing to work the extra time it may require.”

“We need everyone to give all the energy they have,” Buddy backs. “All focus. All hands and feet on deck. We’re going to be paying out the ass for this project, but we know if you all are willing to make it happen, it will be worth it tenfold.”

“You can’t phrase things like that,” Bart scolds again. “It’s very unprofessional.”

“Why are you up my ass about every little thing today?” Buddy snips at the same time he snaps his head. “Is this about yesterday?”

“We aren’t discussing that here,” he lowers his voice, “and please remember all I’m trying to do right now is encourage you to be professional.”

Buddy mocks, “Yeah, okay…”

“Ollie is our lead artist. She’s isn’t just some bottom of the barrel employee who would like suck your dick for a promotion. Treat her with respect.”

I try not to gasp at the comment.

Who blew him to get a better job?! Yup. Definitely asking Camilla about that one. If it’s juicy and it’s gossip she knows. Funny thing is she doesn’t go out of her way to dig up the dirt. She typically just ends up in the right place at the right time. She also doesn’t care for most of it. She only brings me the things she knows I will either laugh profusely over or threaten to vomit up my lunch about.

“Oh I can’t say dick, but you can?” Buddy bites.

“Let me just say, I don’t really care who says the word dick,” I try to nonchalantly begin, “but I am 110 percent on board with giving this project everything I have. I am humbled you are letting me be so involved from the artwork to the storyline to some of the more advanced ideas like how to handle marketing. I appreciate getting to be hands on for this experience and am prepared to devote all my time to it.”

Not exactly all my time, but most of it. Ford will understand. If anything he’ll support it. I know I’ll get busy, but we’ll make it work. I’m not worried about that. Actually, nowadays when it comes to Ford I worry very little. He’s proven his dedication to making our relationship stable despite whatever curves work or family throws our direction. I like to believe I’ve shown the same commitment. Plus, after last night, I damn sure have no desire to ever walk away. Or limp away. Or crawl away…Geez I’m still sore.

“Great!” They exclaim in unison.

“We will get some memos sent out and come up with a weekly meeting schedule. In the meantime, Dragon’s Doctrine has a few touch ups needed to the cover,” Bart informs.

“After that, please feel free to resume sketching for Cowboy’s Carnage.”

“Did we actually decide on that name?” Bart grunts. “It seems…violent.”

“It’s a violent video game!” Buddy snaps.

Not prepared to put in my two cents just yet on the name choice, I reach for my bag, and quietly dismiss myself.

I wonder what’s going on between them. They’re always a tad push and shove, but not like this. Not like something is wrong. Not like something happened and they aren’t sure how to deal with it.

After grabbing a doughnut from the employee lounge, I flop into my office chair, relieved to be alone to reflect on the unexpected decisions dumped upon me.

Almost immediately, Camilla appears in the door way with a very suspicious stare.

“What?”

She slowly begins to grin.

“What? Is there chocolate on my nose” The lack of retort prompts me to continue asking, “Is it somewhere else? Do I have a pencil in my bun again?”

“You have a visitor.”

“What?”

Ford appears over her shoulder with short wave in the air.

My jaw hits the ground leaving me speechless.

What the hell is he doing here?!

“You left your phone at the apartment,” he answers, strolling in behind my best friend who looks like a school girl dying to poke the situation.

“And would that be your apartment or hers?” Camilla questions as she positions herself on her favorite spot on my desk.

He offers her a wide smile. “Hers.”

“Guess now I can rip up your application to become a nun.”

Her joke receives a sharp glare from me.

Ford chuckles, “Burn it. That’s never going to be an option.”

“Ford!”

“What about after you?” Camilla challenges.

“Camilla!”

“There will be no after me. I’m it.”

The words burn my face, but swell my heart.

He is it. I used to think people who said that kind of shit were high or in serious denial on how life actually works. Now? Now I’ve realized it’s just not something that happens to everyone, but I’m glad as hell it’s happened to me…Or from the sound of it. Us.

“Big words from a big…built…cowboy…” She drags the words out while admiring his measurements, which are being displayed perfectly in a white t-shirt and fitted pair of jeans. “I’m willing to listen to your testimony over dinner this evening.”

Ford replies, “Absolutely.”

“Ford….”

“On you of course,” my best friend adds.

“Of course.”

“I’m not cheap to entertain.”

“And I’m not afraid of the price.”

“Excuse me!” I state a little louder. “Are either of you aware I’m in the room?”

“Just not sushi. Not a fan. The amount of meat to rice ratio irritates me.” Ford drops his attention down to me. “And Darlin’ I’m always aware when you’re in the room. I know when a chunk of my heart isn’t around.”

Camilla swoons, and I have to stop myself from doing the same.

He tips my chin slightly upward and plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips. When he pulls back he informs, “I just thought I’d drop off your cell in case you needed it.”

“I think you stopped by just for a kiss,” Camilla comments.

Ford gives her a wink. “Bonus.”

I blush at the same time his eyes fall back to mine.

“Won’t take up any more of your time. I know you’ve got work to do and I’ve got a brother to scold, so I’m gonna go. See you tonight?”

Taking the offered phone, I nod. “Apparently for dinner with my best friend.”

“I like steak.”

My eyes roll yet he smirks. “Appreciate a woman with a fondness for red meat.”

“Red, white, brown, yellow, pretty much anything that looks cut well and tastes good.”

“Camilla!”

He laughs again, and I cover my face with my palm to hide my increasing embarrassment.

Not at all how I wanted them to meet. Definitely not what I wanted her to say. They both needed to be prepared for what they were getting into, him more than her. Why is it so much with him is so unpredictable?  And why is it a bad thing to love it so much?

“Oh, and Ollie?” His voice darts my eyes up to see him stopped in the door frame. “Never and I mean never leave without waking me up to properly kiss you goodbye again.”

The words deepen the redness in my face, yet I somehow manage to nod my understanding of his demand.

I did kiss him goodbye. But it wasn’t proper. Since he didn’t stop snoring it’s safe to assume he probably didn’t even know it happened.

Once he’s completely outside of my vision, my best friend spins my chair around to face her ecstatic face. “Marry him.”

If she only knew how much I want to…Never thought I would ever be the type of woman men would put up with longer than the seven minutes they need to get off in bed. Damn sure never imagined someday I might actually find one who lasts for hours and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Which he does. His very specific word choices, including the ones he just gave Camilla, prove it. We may not be walking down the aisle tomorrow but I know it’s in our future. Without a single doubt.

I close the lid to the grill just as Ollie strolls out onto her patio. Seeing her wrapped up in my old gray stained sweatshirt and a pair of loose black shorts stirs my cock without my consent.

Could be because we’ve been spending less time in the sheets these past few weeks and more time side by side working on our computers, or it could be because there is nothing sexier than seeing the woman I love most in the world covered in me. Thinking a little bit of both.

Ollie plops down in the patio chair and pulls her feet to her chest. “Sorry, I didn’t come out here first. I had to shower.”

“Had to?”

“Yeah, I was enjoying an ice cream cone on the way home from work-”

“And you didn’t bring me one?”

“I didn’t know you were already here.”

“But you didn’t ask.”

She glowers and I lightly chuckle before having a sip of my beer.

“Anyway, a stupid bike rider swerved in front of me, I hit my breaks, smashed the cone, and spent the remainder of the drive sticky as well as swearing like a starving sailor.”

The description drags out more laughter.

“Smells good though,” she motions her hand towards my grill, “whatever you’re cookin’, good lookin’.”

I smirk at the same time I place the bottle down on the nearby table. “Just slow roasting vegetables at the moment. Wanted to wait until you were home before actually putting the meat on.”

About a month ago, I tossed the piece of shit grill she had, and brought over the one from my apartment. Aside from the fact hers was dingy and outdated, I liked having something here to remind her of me. Something here I contribute to. It was really just the beginning. I’ve got laundry in her washroom, aftershave along with deodorant in the bathroom, and three coffee mugs I’ve gotten over the last two Christmas’ from employees.

“And what are you grilling tonight?” Excitement instantly appears in her eyes. “Tell me it’s the cheesy beer chicken.”

I lean against the railing. “We can’t have that every week, Ollie.”

“Since when are you a quitter?”

After we exchange a small laugh, I answer, “We’re having steak.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “Good news or bad news?”

“What?”

“Well, when you decide we’re having grilled steak there’s always some sort of news involved.”

“Not true.”

“Princess Pinky threw up in my favorite flats. We had steak and twice baked mashed potatoes. Blake was too hung over to work without supervision, we canceled our weekend away, and you made steak and garlic red potatoes that night.”

My mouth lowers to argue yet she raises a finger to inform me she’s not finished.

“I gave you a key to my apartment-”

“We had pizza that night!”

“Because we spent all afternoon and most of the night having sex and the only thing still open that didn’t require us to leave the house was pizza. But the following night we had steak and baked potatoes. And why is it we always have steak and potatoes?”

“We have other sides.”

“We do,” she says slowly, “but there’s always some sort of potato. Is that a farm boy thing?”

Her attempt to make light of the situation in case I am indeed delivering bad news is appreciated.

“It’s not bad news.”

“Then it’s good news.”

“It’s actually great news. We have our final meeting with Wilcox scheduled for next month. While everything is a done deal at this point, we will finalize the paperwork to make it official as well as release a press statement.”

“That’s amazing!”

I smile at her genuine joy.

It’s been quite a journey to get here. After initially meeting J.T. an unforeseen long progress began. Over the past three months it’s been what has felt like one long road paved with paperwork and painfully long meetings. As thrilled as I am to be taken under the wing of a much larger company, it has been beyond stressful. The decisions. The indecisions. The people besides myself I have to consider. Wilcox’s team has done the best they can to make the grueling quest of information they need before they can make an offer as smooth as possible, but it has still been a transition filled with many late work nights and even earlier than normal mornings. Thankfully, Ollie’s had her own work projects to keep her equally as occupied, which helped the guilt I was feeling stay at a low minimum. She’s never complained about any of it even when it means a couple days without going at it because we’re both too tired to do more than cuddle to sleep. I think it helps we’re both willing to make the most of the time we’re given together. Our walks with Princess Pinky. Our dinners. The five minutes we get to just breathe each other in before one of us is snoring. I love how she doesn’t use our lack of time together like a weapon to exploit jewelry or shoes or an expensive vacation to Cancun. I love how she’s not that person. I love how she’s not at all like Carol Ann.

“My family wants to do a huge celebration that weekend…”

Her eyes widen much like I expected.

“You and Princess Pinky should be there.” I lift the lid to give the corn and mushrooms a brief glance. “I want you there.”

Ollie winds her arms tightly around her legs at the same time she rests her chin on her knees. “Like your whole family?”

Once it’s closed and I’m leaning against the railing again, I nod. “My whole family.”

She winces.

“You’ve practically already met everyone.”

“I haven’t met Oliver.”

My attention briefly darts away.

I know my brother isn’t going to snake her away, but it doesn’t mean I’m in a hurry to risk it. As much as I love Ollie and I know she’s the only road for me, sometimes I’m not sure she feels the same way. The tiny sliver of fear may or may not be what keeps me from putting her in the direct line with someone who probably understands more about her gaming rambles. I’m constantly clueless.

With a teasing look, she asks, “Are you afraid he’s gonna try to whisk me away, Farm Boy?”

My arms fold across my chest. “Can’t whisk someone away who doesn’t wanna go, Darlin’.”

“Exactly.”

Her words relax my tense shoulders.

“So…everyone will be there? All your brothers? All their wives? All your nephews?”

“And my parents,” I add matter of factly, “who are pissed they haven’t met you yet.”

“They’re pissed at me?”

“Well more at me for not hog tying you and just dragging you home.”

She snickers, and I take the opportunity to find peace in the sound.

“They’re offended. They feel like you’re avoiding them.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“What if they hate me, Ford?!” She snaps irrationally loud. “What if they demand you break up with me immediately and resume dating someone who better suits you? Someone who knows the difference in Holstein and New York cows.”

“Jersey.”

My correction is met with a look of horror.

I have clearly missed the point…

“Ford-”

“Ollie, stop,” I swiftly command. “They’re going to love you exactly like I do.”

Her bottom lip slips between her teeth and my cock begins to stir again from my eyes focusing on the area I haven’t spent much time with lately.

After giving my stiffening situation an adjustment, I correct, “Okay, not exactly like I do, but that’s a good thing. If my parents wanted to see you naked we would have a different batch of problems.”

She laughs again as she shakes her head.

“I swear it’s not as bad as you’re thinking. They really are going to love you.”

Ollie gives me a small shrug. “Fine…I’ll…meet your parents.”

Moving a little closer I tease, “Could you say it like it’s not an invitation to Death Row?”

The giggle she offers me lets me know she’s just nervous, which I can deal with. That I can help her work through.

I attempt to give her a sweet smile, knowing the last thing on my agenda I needed to discuss.

She catches the change immediately. “Oh God, what else do you have to tell me? Did someone die?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

My hesitation is proceeded with a small squeeze to the back of my neck. “My lease is up next month as well. And I was wondering…since I…practically live here most of the time already, what you thought of me just moving in all together.”

Shock floods her face causing my throat to close.

Fuck. This was a bad suggestion. What was I thinking?

I allow for a few moments of silence to pass and busy myself with removing the veggies from the grill.

“You want to live with me?”

The question catches my attention between actions. “Of course, baby. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, her feet falling to the ground. “Maybe you like your space? Maybe you like the fact you don’t have to come home to me every night?”

“Baby, I do come here every night I’m not too tired to make the drive. Where you are is where I wanna be. And eventually, I would love for us to spend more time out at my house too, but for now our time here is enough.”

All of a sudden a smile crawls onto her face. “I’d like that.”

Taken off guard, I question, “Yeah?”

“I mean, I’m not really an outdoors fan…bugs love me and sneakers hate me, but I like the idea of being welcomed in your home, Ford. Since the beginning of our relationship we’ve always been here. It would be fun to…balance that out, ya know?”

Pride pumps through my veins at the same time I put the plate on the table. “Absolutely.”

“Maybe we start with the weekend of your celebration?”

“You wanna spend the whole weekend out at my house?”

She nods slowly.

“Think you can handle that?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” I begin to cross my way over to her when she swiftly adds, “Oh! And I want a key that weekend. That way if you have to work late and can’t make it back to our apartment, I can make you dinner at your house or bring you dinner.”

Now in front of her, I let my eyes soften along with my smile. “You said our apartment. Does that mean I can move in?”

Ollie grins. “Yeah, but you’ve got to learn to put the toothpaste cap back on.”

I chuckle as I lean down closer for a kiss. “I’ll work on that.”

She tugs me by my shirt to her lips and all the city sounds disappear. Our tongues collide and crash with avidity. The feeling of having been separated too long becomes overwhelming. My hands mindlessly roam down her chest eliciting a distinctive moan of approval.

When my hand grazes her thigh, she drifts them further apart to allow better access. “Don’t you have meat to cook?”

Ignoring her comment, I slip a finger around the edge of her shorts to find her pussy already soaking. Our foreheads knock together and I state, “No, I have to take care of this. You always come first, Ollie.” I give her bottom lip a nip at the same time two of my fingers thrust inside. “Always.”

She arches forward and grips my biceps for leverage. With my eyes caressing all the curves I wish my hands could I continue to slide my fingers to the hilt before easing them back out only to repeat the process. Her pussy greedily clenches as if trying to cage them in place.

“Feet over the arms,” I command.

Without question, Ollie makes the adjustment, offering me complete access to the only thing I love the taste of more than my own beer. I keep my pushes steady, but when she begins to lift up in anticipation, my speed slightly increases. Ollie struggles to keep her screams from filling the city and the sight almost seduces my dick into coming on the spot. As her movements become frantic, clit now under the ruthless reign of my thumb, I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, only wanting her soft whimpers to flood the air.

Her fingers paw at my shirt in hopes of support. “Ford, I’m gonna come…”

My actions increase in ferocity and as warned, Ollie deliciously detonates. She tosses her body forward and her head back. Her pussy quivers with such force my knees have to lean against the chair for support. The sound of my name whispered in repetition rips away the meal plan I had before and promptly replaces them with feasting on something else.

I slowly drag my fingers out, loving the way her body shakes during the process. Afterwards, I give them a hard suck, and insist, “You now. Dinner later.”

There’s no argument.

With a crooked smirk, I turn to shut off the grill and put away the cooked food when I notice it’s gone. “Shit…”

Ollie’s concern is immediate. “What? What’s wrong?”

I spin around on my heels, lean to the side to get a glimpse into our living room where Princess Pinky is finishing the last of our sides.

A defeated sigh escapes me as I toss my head at our gluttonous pet.

She catches a view of the sight and her hands fly to her face to catch the giggles.

I shake my head, allowing my grin to grow to much wider proportions.

This is now officially home sweet home…Girlfriend. Hog. Good food and great reasons to laugh. Even if life never gets any better than this, I’ll still die a very happy man.

“What the hell?!” Ford screams viciously. “What. In the. Actual. Hell?!”

“You have to be the worst gamer in the history of gaming,” I mutter while adjusting the shape of the head I’m drawing.

He drops the controller onto the couch beside him. “How can you say that to me? I would never say something like that to you.”

My head snaps up with a sarcastic look attached. “You said something like that to me last week.”

“I did not.”

“You did too! When we were playing beer pong with Blake and that pair of fake boobs he was trying to impress. You turned to me and said and I quote, ‘Baby you are the worst at beer pong’.”

Which I probably am. I’m not coordinated enough to play normal sports let alone one that requires me to have to drink at a frequent rate. Oh! And guzzle down a drink I don’t even care for, though Ford’s beer is truly amazing. I never complain when he brings some home for us.

Ford’s face cringes. “Shit, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you were drunk, so I chalked it up to mostly that and punished you by making you sleep on this very couch.”

He didn’t object, but the next morning was filled with groveling, pancakes, and aspirin.

“Speaking of this couch, what do you say we get rid of it, and replace it with mine? It’s much more comfortable.”

I give him a teasing smirk. “Well, you’re the one who is going to have to sleep on it when you’re an asshole so…”

He laughs and gives me a gentle bump.

Afterwards I state, “If I’m going to be honest, it’s probably not all your fault you suck at this game.”

“Thank you?”

With a short sigh, I drop my sketchbook onto the coffee table, and reach for my gaming laptop. “When games are made for both the PC and the console, some of the great game play, along with the graphics gets dumbed down. Often those who suck on the console are better on the PC. Not to mention this game looks much more incredible on the computer, even if it was made several years ago. Let me show you.”

Ford shakes his head. “You have too many computers.”

Once my password is typed in, I cut him a sharp glare. “Excuse me?”

“Too. Many.”

My glower deepens.

“You have one desktop at home, one at the office, one laptop for work, one for gaming, and one for personal use, which I guess is shopping? I don’t know. But I do know, that’s three too many.”

A dramatic hand lands on my chest. “That’s like trying to tell you you have too many cows or chickens, Farm Boy.”

“No…” He says between chuckles. “Completely different.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. You would’ve lived in the flip phone era forever if given the chance.”

“They were just simpler!”

“Your lack of technology love is frightening…”

Yet adorable. As much as my life revolves around what I can create on paper, as much as what I can make come to life on screen, I appreciate Ford’s appeal to be away from it. To look around at what’s happening in the real world. I love how he demands we leave cell phones at home when we take Princess Pinky for a walk or how he drove us down to the lake a couple weekends ago and made us leave them in the car. I love how his life doesn’t revolve around the beeping of a message or the obnoxious scrolling of a newsfeed. I love how we balance one another out. I need those things and he needs to enjoy the ability to stay home to engage in things like alien shooting tournaments.

It only takes a minute more before the game is pulled up on the screen. Sweet Bloody High’s intro begins to play and the shock on Ford’s face is intoxicating. His surprise spliced with his pride of knowing those were my art designs has my thighs floating together in an attempt to stop the inevitable desire of wanting him between my legs. Having someone so thrilled over my achievements, especially ones I don’t even consider worth mentioning any more, is a huge turn on. Hell, just having someone be supportive of me on the level he is, is one of the biggest turn ons I’ve experienced.

I clear my throat in the process of cooling down my heated thoughts. “Anyway, so as you can see, the game is the same, but the graphics are much sharper on the computer. The game play is as well. You might actually survive longer than a horde on easy.”

He gives me a playful smile. “That’s twice you’ve basically told me I’m a shitty player, baby.”

“You are a shitty player, Farm Boy. But I love you anyway.”

The casualness of the comment brightens his beam even more.

It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve said it. We exchanged those the night after our first time together. It wasn’t forced or predicted. We were falling into bed and they just fell out of us. It was the first time I’ve ever said those words to someone I was dating. Surprisingly enough it wasn’t as scary as I was imagining. Like everything else with Ford, it was easy. Natural.

Ford tosses his head at the sketch pad. “What are you working on now?”

“Boss infected. I prefer to work backwards when it comes to design. Highest level, ugliest monsters, and then each one a little less terrifying.”

He nods, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Care to explain why that one looks like Carol Ann?”

I pretend to give him an innocent look. “Hm?”

His chuckle is followed by a swift pulling of me into his lap. “Let me get this right. One of your boss monsters looks like Carol Ann, meaning another probably looks like Daryl.”

My arms twirl around his neck, but I remain silent.

“And the hero looks like me…Which must mean the woman he’s saving looks like you.”

“No.”

“What?”

I give the edge of his hair on the back of his neck a gentle stroke, knowing how turned on he gets from the soft touch. “I am not something that belongs in a video game, Ford. Heroes are hot and strong and burly to give those obviously not the ability to feel that way for the hunk of gameplay they are submersed in, while the female characters are the embodiment of what the average male wants to see naked. So…larger than average boobs-”

“Which you have-”

“Perky-”

“Yours are perfect.”

“Flat stomach-”

“Prefer the way yours curves.”

“Exaggerated hips, thighs, and ass to be the traditional coke bottle figure but in a flattering way.”

His frown deepens. “But I think you look better naked than that does.”

I ignore his comment. “She’ll also probably be in something tight. Most likely long hair and blue eyes. I’ve yet to design her, but there’s a formula to fill out in the traditional third person, RPG games.”

Ford’s fingers begin to slide up the sides of my thighs. “Why don’t you create something untraditional?” When they cup my ass, I helplessly moan. “I have no doubt many would enjoy the change.”

I smirk, trying not to get caught up in the divine feeling of his fingers sliding under my sleep shorts. “It’s about insuring they see a hefty profit from their product. The best way to do that is to pay attention to what people love that’s on the market and are constantly praising…Which isn’t women who look like me.”

He grunts and leans forward to graze his lips along my collarbone. “Their. Loss.”

Agreed. But in all honesty, before Ford helped open my eyes to see that, not sure I would’ve been so inclined to.

The feeling of his teeth nipping at my skin grabs another heavy moan. I rock eagerly against his cock at the same time I suggest, “Quickie?”

His tongue slowly drags itself towards my hardened nipple. Ford gives it a tug between his teeth before replying, “Is that my only choice?”

After he repeats the action on the other side, I whimper, “Yes…”

With a hempy smile he lets his eyes meet mine. “Yes that’s my only choice, or yes do that again?”

I offer him the same expression. “Yes…”

Almost immediately his chuckle transforms into a deep groan when I grind myself on top of his cock again. Ford leans over to the end table, ruffles around in the drawer, and pulls out a condom, reminding me once more why I’m grateful he insisted on leaving some in various locations around the apartment. He swiftly unbuckles his jeans and unzips them. The moment his cock is free through the small opening of his boxers, my hand curls around it, captivated by the stiffness as much as the pre-cum covering the tip.

He grumbles in ecstasy and lets his head hit the back of the couch.

My face lights up in delight.

I love I can do this to him. I love how one touch from me and he melts to a million pieces…

It takes a moment for Ford to gather his senses again, but once he has, he tears the wrapper open. The moment it hits the tip of his dick, I promptly take over the process of rolling it on. Another heavy groan reverberates around the room, and I take pleasure in his enjoyment of the action.

I like to assist because it gives me a sense of power. Just as much control over his cock as he has. I love the way he tries not to shudder through it. I love watching his face build in anticipation of what we’re so close to.

After it’s securely on, Ford yanks my shorts to the side and slips himself in.

My head tips backwards while I roll my hips forward, anxious to have him deeper. A possessive groan greets me seconds before his hand wraps around the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. Our teeth gnash together in the desperation of our tongues’ hasty reunion. Despite the insatiable hunger to taste one another other, our mouths drift apart to catch our breath as my body begins to vigorously bounce. Ford instinctively cups my ass to assist in the process and my pussy clamps on tighter in gratitude. I allow my hands to latch themselves onto his shoulders while I succumb to the enraptured feeling pounding through my system. Each time he thrusts, grazing the orgasm he knows belongs only to him, my pussy quivers, ready to hand it over with little argument. My body repeatedly tenses exerting all efforts to stop from crumbling too soon. To hold onto the euphoria for just a minute more. Ford battles against the request with even more feverish pumps. The combination of his dick diving mercilessly deeper and the edge of my shorts frantically brushing against my sensitive clit send me hurling over the edge long before I’m prepared. I drop my head onto his shoulder and ride the wave of the orgasm rolling through me.

“Damn Ollie,” Ford’s strained voice praises, hands mimicking the fight for staying in control. The continuous whimpers of my satisfaction quickly become his undoing. “I’m coming…”

His protected cock swells and my pussy copies the action, begging to be joined in the heavenly whirlwind.  The two of us spiral together until we are nothing more than a sated mess of tangled limbs and gracious groans.

How the hell did I get this lucky? How on earth did I, of all people, become the valued prize of the heroic cowboy? I know life isn’t a video game, but his earlier comparison has my mind now wondering. What will be the big boss battle that tries to tear us apart? And just how hard is he willing to fight? How much is he willing to risk? The real question is…how much am I?

“You’re over cookin’ the corn,” Mama fusses at me. “The grill can handle it without your assistance.”

I pull my attention away from where Oliver and Ollie are engaged in an in-depth conversation I know I have no interest in, but feel I should be over there at least attempting.

When my eyes meet Mama’s she snickers, “Will you quit your huffin’ already? She’s not over there plottin’ the best way to trade you in for him.”

The idea furrows my eyebrows. “Why would you even say that?”

She laughs again at my expense, rotates the corn, and states, “Because it’s too much fun not to.”

“Mama.”

“Runt,” Pop joins in at the same time he offers me a cold beer. “That woman over there loves you. Nothin’, and I mean nothin’, is going to change that.”

With a heavy sigh, I take the beer, and give the situation one more glare.

I know he’s right, but something feels off about this weekend. It shouldn’t yet it does. We’ve had an amazing time so far. A little too amazing. The kind of amazing that only happens right before God throws you a curveball you don’t appreciate. Yesterday she came in earlier than anticipated.  We had just finished the press photos and needless to say we celebrated privately in my office. Twice. Afterwards we toured the facility, let Princess Pinky enjoy some fun in the mud, and then engaged in a bubble bath all our own. Family time started first this morning with a walk around my parent’s personal property and hasn’t let up since. Ollie’s constant wheezing from being overexerted has kept us all laughing in good spirits. She snickers, pokes fun at herself, and just keeps going. My whole family has been nothing but welcoming to her. Approval at its finest by the comments on marrying her they keep making. This is what deepens the anxiety in my gut. Things with Ollie have always been easy. Easier than either of us could’ve ever imagined. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. Every couple has to fight through something…at some point. It’s how you know you want to be in the relationship together.

“Runt.” Pop flicks me in the ear.

“Ou!” I wince and give him a roiled look.

“That’s what you get for not listenin’,” he chuckles. “Now open your beer and stop worrying about that woman.”

“She’s fine,” Mama repeats, now removing the corn. “She wouldn’t keep shooting you naughty smirks over here if she wasn’t.”

I groan and guiltily grip the back of my neck.

“That’s right Ford Bradley, I know a dirty look when I see one.” She turns around and offers me the container. “I’ve been giving them longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Mama.”

“And damn good at ‘em too,” Pop says, his free hand grabbing her ass.

“Pop!” Blake snaps as he approaches the situation. “Tell me I didn’t just see that!”

“You did,” our father states proudly. “Complain about it and you’ll see it again.”

“You take that,” I instruct to my brother, “and I’m going to rescue my girlfriend.”

“You mean run interference?”

Blake’s comment catches a glare from me.

“Oliver is laying it on pretty thick over there. Think I heard him mention something about having her come over and touch his joy stick?”

Pop gives him a hard hit to the stomach with the back of his hand. “Behave.”

Nope. Not funny. Not even remotely funny. Doesn’t matter if I’ve had her, what matters is I keep her. And nothing and no one is going to get in my way of that.

I arrive at the picnic table my parents bought specifically for outdoor gatherings like this. The two of them toss their head back in unison over something hilarious, and I have to stifle down my desire to growl in jealousy.

“What’s uh…what’s so funny?” I casually ask and use the edge of the table to take the top off my beer.

Ollie tries to calm her laughter as she peers up at me, big brown eyes filled with mirth.

As much I am grateful to see it, a tiny portion of me hates how I wasn’t the one to put it there. It’s wild. I was never this jealous over Carol Ann. Not once. She had men lined up around the corner, in her back pocket all the time, not to mention ‘go to’ guys she would drop by to see the minute we broke up, and I never gave a damn. I used to think it was because I knew eventually she would wander back home to me like she always did, but now? Now I know it’s because I never loved her the way I do Ollie. If at all.

“We were just talking about looting in Hyrda,” she begins. “Your brother’s one of those people I hate in the game.” Her giggling begins again deepening my concern. “He’s a total loot stalker. Always waiting for someone’s deed to collapse, so he can steal their shit.”

“They’ve got good shit,” Oliver argues.

I drop down on the seat beside her and drape my free arm around her shoulder.

“It’s fucked up to take someone’s horses.”

“That’s…community services.”

The two of them partake in another round of laughs.

I have a sip of beer to wash away the building bitterness. “Why’s stealing funny?”

“It’s not stealing,” Oliver corrects. “The shit’s abandoned. Like I said, I’m just doing a service cleaning it up.”

Ollie snickers again. “You’re so full of shit. You just want the best horses you get the most money for.”

“And the fastest,” Oliver adds with a sly smirk. “If I’m going to travel, might as well make it quickly.”

Their shared laughter has me adjusting myself closer to her again.

Stupid. Ridiculous. Childish. And I can’t stop myself. Lord help me.

“You hate horses,” I try to join the conversation I’m obviously lost in.

“Real horses,” my brother agrees. “They’re big, smell like shit, and have an uppity attitude.”

“Then why would you want them in a game?”

“They serve me well there, not to mention they’re not real, Runt.” He turns his attention back to my girlfriend. “He doesn’t get it.”

“He doesn’t.”

My glower returns, but only momentarily.

Ollie gives my thigh a gentle rub and lovingly looks up at me. “But that’s okay. I teach him cool shit like how to snipe zoom with the mouse while he teaches me things like how to put a worm on a hook.”

“Which is completely different than how you assumed it would be after a Google search.”

“Not completely different. But I did actually learn how to do it from lessons with you.”

“And you still hate to do it.”

“They’re slimy,” she gags and shudders.

“I don’t like ‘em either,” Oliver admits.

Hearing how they have something else in common continues the building dread. 

Okay, so Ollie was right. Maybe I didn’t want them to meet because I was afraid of this exact scenario. Being the third wheel. Being the one PBS children would easily point out not being like the other. But I try! For her, I try to get into some of the games she not only helps design for but that she likes to fiddle with while I watch football or am cooking dinner. I try to play them when she’s cooking as a fun way to keep us connected. I will always make the effort for Ollie. She should know that. Hell, she’s gotta by this point or I really am a shitty boyfriend.

“I do like making out on the dock.”

Ollie’s confession curves my smile upward victoriously. “I like that too.”

Oliver shakes his head at the sight yet keeps his mouth shut, which is definitely for the better.

All of a sudden my seven nephews come flying to the table informing us in a jumble of mutters dinner is ready. The three of us relocate to the other two tables where the adults are settling and immediately grab seats to partake in the passing of the plates.  During dinner the conversation is littered with laughs, adolescent tales, and more sexual innuendoes than predicted. Between my parents and my brothers, the conversation never stays away from the gutter for too long. The ten of us shovel back ribs, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and asparagus, though Ollie avoids the vegetable swords as she jokingly calls them. For dessert, we gobble down cherry pie, vanilla ice cream, and Sienna’s famous cheesecake. After everyone has finished and the boys have returned to terrorizing each other, Pop insists we handle the dishes since the women handled so much of the cooking. When Mama promptly agrees, I notice the suspicious gleam in her eyes. Without warning, she along with my sisters-in-law, kidnap Ollie and claim they’re just slipping away to change before we all go dancing.

About an hour and a half later, Pop has the boys and Princess Pinky wrangled in front of the television watching as well as reenacting a western movie while my brothers and I are sitting around the front porch of my house waiting to get going. Wally’s Wild West doesn’t typically get crowded for another hour, but it’s nice to get there and have a round of beers before the wait gets insane.

“This is exactly why we never go out,” Eddie complains, putting out his cigarette. “It takes her half the fucking night to get ready, and I’m stuck talking to the airhead babysitter about some Shadowhunter’s thing she’s fired up over. I don’t even know what the fuck that is!”

“It’s a T.V. show dumbass,” Blake informs from where he’s sitting on the step across from me.

“Why the hell should I know that?” Eddie argues.

“Yeah. He’s not bangin’ his babysitter. He’s not required to know the most relevant television shows or Taylor Swift songs,” Big Foot pokes the situation. “Both of which I am sure as shit you know.”

“That’s what happens when you stick your dick in between a pair of legs that just graduated from high school,” Oliver adds with a wide grin. “At least you waited until she was officially a college freshman this time.”

“At least I’ve had sex since I was in college.”

“I’ve had sex!”

“With someone other than yourself.”

Big Foot chuckles as he rests his arm against the pillar. “And here we go…”

I shake my head and look up at him, their squabbling continuing. “You’re just gonna let ‘em go at it?”

He shrugs. “They’re fucking grown ass men, Runt. It’s not my place to step in anymore.”

Growing up? Always right in the middle. Like a mini Pop. Usually it only took a couple words in a loud volume to cease their fighting, even when we got older. In a way we all look up to Big Foot for the same advice and support Pop gives us. He may not be his junior in size, but he is in mind. Even the way he’s raising his boys is similar to how we were brought up. The rest of us might screw up future Shaw generations, but Big Foot gives my parents hope that their legacy and business will live on.

His eyes cut the two of them a side glance. “At least not until fists are thrown.”

Casually, I state, “I give it four minutes before that happens.”

“You are such a pain in the ass!” Oliver shouts, causing Blake to rise to his feet.

“You get on my last goddamn nerve,” Blake bites back now too close to Oliver’s face for my own comfort.

“Knock it off,” I command.

Before the situation can intensifier further, the front door to my two-story gray brick house, swings open, releasing Mama.

“If the two of you don’t quit hollerin’ like you were raised in the back barn instead of the house, I will make sure that’s exactly where you sleep when you come home tonight.”

Both of my brothers shut their mouths tight.

Doesn’t matter how old you are. When your mother basically tells you to shut the hell up, that’s exactly what you do.

“Now everyone have fun tonight,” she says on her way past me. “Stay out late. But drive safe. And if anyone needs a ride after midnight you better call Uber and pray they wanna drive out this far because my ass ain’t comin’.”

We all laugh loudly.

“You ready?” Sienna’s voice asks, drawing our attention back to the front door.

“Waitin’ on you,” Eddie tries his best not to snip.

She plops a hand onto her jean shorts covered hip. “Edward Shaw please do not ruin this night before it even gets started.”

He surrenders his hands, but looks down at me and mouths, “Don’t get married.”

I hide my chuckle behind my hand at the same time she pops him in the arm. While I’m expecting an argument to ensue, she gives her dark brown hair a ruffle, and coos, “Why don’t I remind you why you did…”

Her slow stroll backwards grabs a faint groan out of him. Like a dog desperate for a bone, he follows her, saying he’ll save us a table if they get there first.

“Who am I ridin’ with?” Blake questions promptly.

“Damn sure not me,” Oliver mutters.

“Of course not. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to understand the importance of a vehicle with more than two seats. You’ve never been invited to the back before.”

“You can ride with us,” Dawn chimes in, “but I swear we will leave you there to fend for yourself if your ass isn’t ready to go when we are.”

Big Foot gives a short chortle yet states, “You heard my wife. She makes the rules.”

“Pussy whipped,” Blake tisks.

His large hands pull her against him so her back is flushed to his front. “Every happily married man is pussy whipped to a healthy degree as you just witnessed thirty seconds ago. Unlike Eddie however, I completely understand when it’s time to be lead and when it’s time to…” Big Foot grabs her butt. “Take charge.”

She squeaks. “Let’s get goin’…I worry Mama is going to change her mind about watching the boys when she realizes Will and Wy’s bed time routine now consists of begging for a spoonful of peanut butter because Dad thinks it’s okay to treat the children the same way he does the dogs.”

Rather than argue he nudges her forward.

I stand to my feet and ask, “Where’s Ollie?”

“Here,” my girlfriend’s voice pipes up.

The moment my attention lands on her my body melts against the railing. Completely speechless, I allow my eyes to drink in the celestial sight of her curly hair dangling from underneath one of my cowboy hats, her plump chest squeezed into a tight white t-shirt, and her ass tucked into a pair of cut off blue jeans I know don’t belong to her.

“Damn,” Oliver comments under his breath, yet loud enough to still be heard.

My jealousy from earlier increases exponentially. With one toss of my head, I firmly command, “Go.”

He doesn’t hesitate to walk away.

As irresistible as Ollie looks right now I wouldn’t hesitate to put a hurt on him so bad calling it an ass whooping would’ve been selling it short.

Once Oliver’s a safe distance away, I turn back towards her, still floored by the look.

Ollie’s eyes try not to fill with nervousness from my lack of response. “Do I look okay? I’ve never been to a country bar before. Or…really many bars before.”

“You look like a dream come true, Darlin’,” I whisper out and close the distance between us. “But not the mother of my hog.”

She surrenders a small snicker at the same time her arms wrap around my neck. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” My hand tilts her chin up so our eyes can stay connected. “But I don’t want you to think for one goddamn minute you need to be anyone other than the woman I fell in love with and keep fallin’ in love with every day.”

Relief floods her expression. “You really do love me just the way I am, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

She grins sweetly. “Maybe a little more with these cowboy boots on?”

I give her a playful shrug. “Maybe a little…”

Ollie fakes offense, swats at my chest, and starts laughing again.

“Where’d you get those anyway?”

“Apparently Dawn and Sienna conspired this little ensemble for me when they heard I was finally coming out to dinner-”

“See-”

“And wanted me to have the whole ‘country experience’ down to the shorts and boots.”

I let my eyes graze over the outfit once more. “They really are the best sisters-in law a guy could ask for.” Ollie attempts to nudge me away, yet lets out a small whimper when I yank her against my growing cock. “What do you say we…are a little late?”

“Ford…”

I let my lips fall to the crook of her neck. “Keep sayin’ my name and we’ll be alotta late.”

Ollie’s girlish giggles melt away as we back up into the entryway of the house. With a small kick of my foot, the front door shuts, and we fumble around the corner into the living room. The two of us manage to stay tangled during our couch landing, but shortly after, she pulls back with a seductive smirk. While my plan was obviously to get her naked and those boots in the air, the look in her eyes lets me know she has something completely different in mind.

She adjusts her straddled position in my lap. “I know you wanted a quickie on the couch…”

I nod with a smile, loving the way her tiny fingers are now toying with the buttons on my shirt.

“But once these shorts come off, they aren’t coming back on.”

The joke successfully receives a laugh.

“Dawn basically had to hold me down while your mother and Sienna sewed them on.”

My hands firmly grip her ass to check for proof the shorts are tighter than they look.

“So I was thinking…” her words trail off as does her touch.

Entranced with every move she pulls, I follow it down to between her thighs where she gives my dick a good grab. My fingers flex in a preventative form and she moans in enjoyment of the coarse action. Carefully, Ollie crawls out of my lap, tits making sure to brush my body in the process. The moment she’s on her knees, hat tossed to the side, she wastes no time loosening my jeans and helping me shed them along with my boxers. I barely have time to catch my breath before her blazing mouth is bathing my cock. A raw rumble lurches from my lips at the same time my fingers wind themselves through her thick locks. I shut my eyes tightly. I make a strong attempt to steady my breathing. Ollie swallows me further, praising every inch of my dick with wet whirls determined to make me come on impact, regardless of all my efforts to do the opposite. I grip tighter as a precaution yet she interprets it as encouragement to slip me to the back of her throat. The tip of my cock begins to caress the unfamiliar territory with celerity.

I don’t need her to deep throat me for it to be a great blow job. It’s not a requirement she chokes on my dick for me to find satisfaction. I’m not that type of man. Never have been.

Prepared to remind her of the fact, I force my eyes open. However, the enticing vision I am being granted causes my balls to tighten in desperation to explode. Ollie’s beautiful head of bouncing curls is bobbing while her tight, round ass is not only peeking out from underneath her shorts, but slightly swaying side to side. Astounded with the visual stimulation on top of the physical one, my eyes fall closed again, this time clamping down as tight as they can go.

Knowing I’m not going to last much longer, I allow myself to completely submit to Ollie’s ceaseless efforts. An unusual intoxication fills my system from the licentious licks, long, lewd moans she’s leaking, and the loving efforts of trying to ‘conform’ with a lifestyle she never saw herself in.

I give Ollie’s hair one final, sharp pull to warn her of my breaking point. She sucks harder and it darts my eyes open to see her staring up at me with excitement. My balls clench to the point of pain and my cock erupts between her succulent lips. Ollie continues sucking, draining me of what feels like an endless orgasm. Groans wrestle with grumbles until my entire body gives way. The feeling of her tongue cleaning up every last drop left behind on my sensitive dick and balls sends shivers down my spine. When she finally releases me, I lifelessly slump down, and struggle for more air.

This weekend just keeps getting better and better…I pray to God I’m just being overly paranoid about something bad happening. Nothing can keep me from loving Ollie, but it doesn’t mean I want nor need that fact tested when things are this perfect.

“Swear he gives the Shaw name a bad reputation,” Oliver grumbles from his seat at the table directly across from us.

“Nah,” Big Foot argues from his middle position, Dawn settled on his lap the same way I am on Ford’s. “The whole town knows Blake’s the Shaw that chases skirts. Always has been.”

My eyes continue to stare at Blake, who has one hand in the back pocket of the woman he’s talking to at the bar, and the other stroking her cheek.

He’s charming. There’s no denying that. Just because I have the courtesy of seeing life behind the shameless efforts to sweep women off their feet and into his bed, doesn’t mean it’s not true. It simply means I’m smart enough to realize he’s giving them a show…often the show I think he feels they need as much as him.

“And you’re the grumpy one,” Big Foot continues, now amused with himself.

“I’m not grumpy,” Oliver grouses.

Dawn gives him a sympathetic look. “Bless your heart…You couldn’t even say that without being grumpy.”

We all chuckle, but it seems to infuriate him as opposed to ease. Oliver abruptly stands, sighs, and snaps, “I’m gonna go…away.”

“Aw come on, Oliver,” Big Foot tries to dial back his laugh. “It was in good fun.”

He waves us off and storms to the left, the direction of the bathrooms.

“You know, he seemed really fun when we were chatting this afternoon,” I interject, looking over at Big Foot. “He seems…different around all of you though. Is that normal?”

Big Foot shrugs. “Pretty much.”

“You probably made him feel comfortable,” Ford says, grip noticeably tightening. “You like the same shit. In our family, he’s the odd ball.”

“Is that bad?”

“We don’t think so, but I think part of him hates it.”

“He damn sure hates to be called odd ball.” Big Foot tips his beer at me. “Mama tried that from the time he was about two until Runt was born. It was hell. Partially because Blake, being an obnoxious shit even as a kid, rubbed it in his face.”

I shake my head in slight bafflement.

It’s strange to me. Despite as close as they all seem and appear to get along, there is clear division among them. I mean, to a degree it makes sense, I guess. Siblings fight. But in their family with the amount of closeness constantly displayed, I have trouble understanding the dynamics or why it exists more harshly at sometimes than others.

The song changes and Dawn demands, “We have to dance to this song, Big Foot! This was the first song we ever danced to!”

He gives her a crooked smile. “It wasn’t.”

“It was.”

“That’s the beer talkin’.”

She pauses, contemplates, then sweetly says, “Maybe it is…Maybe it isn’t…Either way, I wanna dance to this and if you wanna see me naked in the next thirty minutes you will whisk me off to that floor right now.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while Ford and I try to hide our snickers.

“Alright,” he puts his beer down, “but I’m warning you now, if my feet crush yours you can’t use that as an excuse for an extra foot rub.”

Dawn pecks him on the cheek, yet victoriously winks at me afterward.

He said extra! I caught that! Man, I would kill for one tonight when these boots get the fuck off of my poor feet. I think I’m going to take up flip-flops only for at least three months to balance this out. They make winter flip flops, don’t they?

My eyes drop down to Ford’s, which is when he kindly asks, “You wanna dance too?”

“We weren’t just going to sit here all night?”

The hope in my voice causes his already wide smile to stretch. “You don’t put on shorts that tight and boots that sexy not to show them off, Darlin’.”

Fair point.

I hesitate to confess, “I don’t…I don’t think I’m coordinated enough to dance out there.”

His head tilts at me sarcastically.

“What! They’re spinning and looping and clicking.” My overdramatic movements seem to revive his previous chuckles. “I don’t know how to do any of that. My legs and arms had a coup early on in my life. I never managed to take the control back.”

Ford’s laughter continues until my own helplessly joins his.

It’s amazing how his laughter is even more intoxicating than the liquor I’ve been drinking.

All of a sudden, a woman’s voice says, “Ford Shaw!”

We turn to view a petite brunette with her hair in low pig tails and chest displayed in a striking low, cream colored halter top with fringe at the scoop.

A wave of ‘Save a Horse’ jokes start tumbling around in my head forcing my lips to press tightly together in hopes of trapping them inside. The last thing I need is to get kicked out of their favorite hometown bar for being drunk and disorderly. And by drunk and disorderly, I really mean tipsy and trashy.

My boyfriend sits up a little straighter. “Chastity.”

I grit my teeth harder.

Her name can’t really be Chastity. You can’t look like the stripper name you are…That’s not fair! How am I not supposed to make jokes like that? Oh thank God Camilla isn’t here. She would and then I would laugh and then a bar fight would almost certainly ensue.

“You look amazing,” she gushes, hands sliding into the back pocket of her jeans. “All things considered.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his grunt. “Thanks.” Ford motions his hand towards her. “Chastity is Carol Ann’s older sister.”

Ah.

Chastity’s brown gaze falls on me. “And you are?”

“Ollie.” I offer my hand.

“My girlfriend,” Ford emphasizes as we shake.

“Good for you!” She squeaks when we’re through. “Glad you’re not just mopin’ and pinin’ after my sister like you usually do between your break ups.”

The choice phrasing rubs something in the back of my mind I’ve been trying to ignore. They do usually break up and make up. Despite the fact I know he’s done because he says it and acts like it, a small part of me worries there’s still something there. Fourteen years of back and forth isn’t just something most people can brush off. I know Ford’s not most people but still….

“Nope.” He clears his throat. “I moved on and am much happier than I’ve ever been.”

I give him a sweet smirk.

“Good!” She squeals. “’Bout time. My sister never deserved you anyway…”

There’s a hint of flirtation in her voice that’s hard to miss.

“Well you two have fun tonight. Saw you and figured I would give you a quick hi before bailin’.”

“Better places to be?” Ford asks politely.

“Karaoke bar back in Highland. Meeting some friends from work. Just stopped by here to check out the crowd.” She glances over her shoulder the direction of Blake who is still sweet talking the woman at the bar. “Better luck next week.”

“Enjoy your night,” I kindly say only to receive a forced smile in return.

Once she’s out of view, I tease, “I think she really liked me.”

He chuckles, disregards the comment, and commands, “Up you go, cowgirl in training. We’re headed to the dance floor.”

Ford ushers me out of his lap and drags me to where people seem to be having an outrageous amount of fun dancing to a cover band. The two of us take a position closer to the outskirts. Immediately, he starts moving his body encouraging me to do the same. Regardless of my repeated head shakes, I somehow begin my avid search for the beat.

Dancing has never been something I was good at. I guess I never really had to be. I never went to school dances, including Homecomings or Proms. I never went out to parties in college or nightclubs. Thankfully, Camilla realized early on I wasn’t that type of friend, and never tried to make me into it.

With a smile bigger than the state, Ford slips his fingers through my front belt loop loops, and tugs me closer to him. His hips lead mine while his hands assist from their settled position on my ass. We move and chuckle through the music, though Ford spends more time mindlessly singing along than bothering with instructions. Before I know it, I’m doing better than I was. However, as I should’ve predicted, he decides to mix it up with a couple spins in place and a couple spin outs I’m not coordinated enough to return from. My face continuously burns in embarrassment yet the fact he never stops trying, never stops grinning, never takes his eyes off mine, smothers the flames flawlessly. His loving actions are always quintessential.

By the time a slow song finally greets us, I’m breathless, and utterly grateful to be able to rest my flailing limbs.

Ford tips my chin up at the time his arm curls around me tighter. “My little geeky cowgirl…”

“Farm Boy…”

Our eyes dance together the same way we do. They stayed locked tight. Completely devoted to only each other. Inseparable.

His hand moves to stroke my cheek, and the feeling of his rough thumb against my soft skin sparks a familiar ache I’m not sure I want to go long without soothing.

He instantly recognizes the response. “You ready to go home?”

My heart swells at the term.

Home. My apartment. His house. Both are home now. Both are where we belong together. I’ve never had anything like this before. Sometimes it feels too damn good to be true.

Unable to speak, I nod my desire, which is rewarded with his lips on top of mine. The faint hint of beer invades my mouth courtesy of his eager tongue. With his hand keeping me sealed to him, he relentlessly ravishes every bit available and groans his hunger for more.

Ford abruptly abandons the kiss in such a manner I know it’s a way to maintain control. “Home.”

“Now.”

He groans a second time and darts the direction we came. On our way out the door, we swing by the bar where he informs Blake if he’s crashing in his guest room or on the couch to use the spare key. The threat of what will happen if he rings the doorbell instead brings a deep blush to my cheeks.

Farm Boy wants me…And he wants me all night long, with absolutely no interruptions.

The drive home is a steamy blur. Like fiends, our hands and lips wander every chance we get. Stop lights. Stop signs. Brief unexpected slowdowns. As soon as we hit the other side of the threshold to the house, Ford’s restraint shatters. His mouth drops to the crook of my neck and begins to consume like never before. My hands paw at the buttons of his shirt unable to get them open fast enough. Without a second thought, Ford yanks it open, the sound of buttons falling down the stairs like tiny applause of approval for moving everything along. I allow my fingers to trail over his chest’s definition on our trek to the top. Once he realizes we’ve made it this far, he leads us off to the right, his mouth now toying with my fingers.

Bright moonlight illuminates his entire bedroom. My attention is only granted a brief moment of observation of my second night in it before Ford is commanding it’s his again. The beautiful basic style of his dark wooded bed, matching nightstand and bookshelves, are all things still worth fawning over in my opinion. Our mouths collide once more except this time our hands savagely shed the boundaries preventing us from the closeness we truly want. In a fury of reckless kisses and greedy grabs, we tumble onto his bed, my impatience to feel him deep inside reaching excruciatingly painful levels.

Ford breaks away to reach for protection from the side of the bed he’s closest to, however, my hand flies to stop him. “Wait.”

His heavy deep breath is filled with frustration. “Baby, please don’t tell me you wanna stop.”

I give him a sarcastic expression at the same time my hand lands on his chest. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then I should-”

“We don’t need them.”

Ford’s uncertainty on how to respond pokes at the insecurity I have been feeling over the decision.

“I mean…I don’t think we do.”

He stays silent.

“I’ve been checked. You’ve been checked. I’m on the pill…”

His hand falls to my hip as he rolls over to face me.

“And if…something were to happen then…” my ramble gets away from me, “then I’m glad it would be with you.”

The green eyes I love more than life itself sometimes, begin to glow.

“Not that I’m saying, I want that now or tomorrow or-”

Ford’s mouth captures mine ending the conversation.

I’m not ready for kids at all. Raising Princess Pinky has been a handful and a half, but I do know someday I want them with Ford. I want the family life he grew up in. I want the closeness I never experienced with my own. I want all of Ford Shaw. Every. Last. Bit.

Our kiss deepens and he gently rolls me over onto my side. Ford’s body tenderly positions mine to be braced against his. He nudges my legs apart, tips our lips away from one another, and thrusts inside with such intensity, my pussy weeps for mercy. A breath is robbed from me, but Ford replaces the air with erotic rolls from his tongue to match the ones of his hips. His bare cock stretches me wide. Fills me with an unprecedented completeness. My muscles do everything they can to accommodate his size and praise its overdue return. I dig my nails into his forearm as all of my senses become overwhelmed with pleasure. Somehow I manage to pull my mouth away to catch a breath, which prompts Ford to pierce deeper. Each hard pump is sensuous and every heavy groan is gratifying. Our struggle to sustain oxygen turns into a sea of never ending panting.  The constant prurient penetration of my g-spot causes my body to betray me, like usual, long before I’m ready.

My head angles back towards his just in time to whisper, “I’m coming.”

Ford clamps his hand on the back of my neck while the other bruises the spot it’s claimed on my hips. My pussy viciously squeezes his cock, anxious to complete the first condom free experience it’s ever had. His straining body that is trying to resist climaxing becomes an erotic sight all its own.

The longing to have his orgasm overpower mine, I whisper, “Come for me, Ford.”

There’s no question. No extra guessing. He relinquishes all control, pounds twice more, and finally feeds the greedy monster he’s turned my pussy into.  Sweltering burst after burst surges inside and satisfied sighs are stripped from us both. Ford’s mouth nips its way towards mine, only stopping when they’re linked back together.

After a moment of our tongues lightly touching, he whispers, “I love you Ollie.”

“I love you too, Ford.”

Our lips mesh back together, and I allow myself to get lost once more in our life altering passion. Which is exactly what falling in love with Ford has been. It has ameliorated my life in every way. And as scary as I thought it would be, as scary as people make it sound, sometimes change can be incredible. Sometimes change can be easy. Sometimes change is exactly what you need.

The sound of cabinets being slammed causes me to groan in irritation. My eyes reluctantly open despite Ollie’s warm body nestled against me encouraging them to stay closed. For a moment, I gently stoke her shoulder blade, her arm, and the side of her face.

I never thought my whole life would be found in another person. I never imagined someone would give themselves to me the way she has. Hell, I never imagined I could.

After a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead, I slip out of her grasp, grab a pair of yard work shorts and head downstairs to remind my big brother to have some goddamn manners.

As I round the corner at the end of the stairs for my kitchen, I begin to scold, “Did you get so drunk you forgot the warning I gave you on my way out? I specifically said no-”

My voice instantly stops.

“Mornin’, Ford,” Carol Ann greets from where she’s sitting at my wooden table near the patio doors.

No…There’s no way this woman is sitting in my dining room. This is a dream. A bad one. A goddamn nightmare, but not real. Not at all. She may have the same perfectly sun kissed skin and the same smoldering light brown eyes….and she may have the always perfect make up and the dirty blonde hair I used to run my fingers through, but she’s just a hallucination. A very unwanted figment of my sleep deprived imagination.

I give my face a good scrub hoping to wake up.

“You’re not going to say mornin’ back? Where are your manners?”

Reluctantly, I let my attention drag itself back to the woman who walked out of my life six months ago.

Six months ago. It’s been six months. Not a phone call. Not a text. Not a fucking word. Six months…The best six months I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life. Six months I needed to move on to what I really wanted in life.

On a heavy sigh, I lean my body against the counter edge I’m closest too. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She blows the steam away from her coffee. “Really? No good mornin’?”

“No.”

“How about a ‘good to see you, Carol Ann’?”

But it’s neither of those things. It’s not a good morning with her here. It’s not good to see the face that couldn’t think twice about mine. It’s not good to be staring into eyes I could never truly trust. The only thing good right now is the fact the love of my life is passed the hell out from a night coming so many times she lost count.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I fold my arms across my chest. “And how the hell did you get in?”

“I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“What else could I possibly mean, Carol Ann?”

“I don’t know! You’re always the one talking in circles.”

“No. That was you. You were always the one who couldn’t say what she really wanted to say. You were the one who always made excuses and took our arguments in exhausting circles.”

“This is not a good way to start a Sunday, Ford!”

“You started this fight!”

“You did! Why can’t you just greet me like the gentleman you are supposed to be!”

I grit my teeth. “Why, Carol Ann? Why are you here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ollie’s voice croaks unexpectedly from behind me.

My head snaps around to see a look of betrayal I can’t handle.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Carol Ann growls back defensively.

Both women turn their attention to me, and I shake my head in an irate fashion.

I knew it. I knew life was going too well not to be disturbed.

“Ford,” Ollie quietly calls to me.

Innocently, I state, “I had no clue she was here.”

She tugs the shirt I had been wearing the night before closed tighter. “Then how the hell did she get in?”

“With my key.”

Carol Ann’s words land like a ton of bricks on my shoulder.

That she failed to leave behind. Took every fucking thing else. Gave away my goddamn hog yet somehow managed to remember to keep the key to my house. The one place she always seems to find herself back at….

“You still have a key?” The defeated sound in Ollie’s voice expands the knot in my throat.

“This is my home, hon,” Carol snaps nefariously. “Of course I do.”  I’m not given a chance to comment. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”

Ollie weakly sighs, “Leaving…”

Without waiting for anything else to be explained or declared, she bolts back the direction she came.

Instinctively, I yell, “Ollie wait!”

I give Carol Ann a frustrated glare and take off after Ollie. By the time I enter the bedroom she’s somehow already yanked on her jeans along with her bra.

“Ollie-”

“Why does she still have a key, Ford?”

“I-”

“Has she had one this entire time?” She pulls out a t-shirt from her bag. “Has she been using it?”

The accusation stuns me.

Ollie tugs the gray Nintendo shirt on and continues to attack, “Have I really just been the rebound girl this whole goddamn time?”

“N-”

“Just some…thing for you to sleep with until she was ready to use her key again?”

“No-”

 “Until she was ready to just let herself back into your life again? Until she came to her senses and realized how amazing you really are, which is something I knew after just five fucking minutes with you! It didn’t take me over a decade to appreciate that!”

Her mouth increases in speed barely giving me a moment to catch up.

“Was I your ego boost? Was I just your favorite toy in the city while she was waiting here at home? Was I some sick twisted reminder to you that you actually are a decent human being who deserved love? Did you ever even love me?”

Anger surpasses all rational responses, “Are you seriously fucking asking me that question? Are you honest to God standing in my goddamn bedroom knowing what that woman put me through and accusing me of cheating on you?”

Her own fury flares ferociously. “Are you honest to God standing in your goddamn bedroom telling me you magically forgot she had a key?”

“Yes!”

“How?!” Ollie shouts. “How is that fucking possible? Did she give you back the apartment key?”

“Yeah, it was on the counter top.”

“And at no point at seeing it did you ever stop and wonder about your house key? The place you actually loved and lived? Are you honestly telling me during all these months, you never once thought about the fact she had a fucking key?! That maybe you should get the locks changed! Or maybe Ford, just fucking maybe…you knew she had a key, you let her keep the key because you knew she would come back. That part of you wanted her to come crawling back. That part of you…hoped she would. So you could be together again. So you could have the perfect country life with cows and chickens and turkeys and eighteen babies like you always pictured you one day would!” Ollie snatches up her shoulder bag. “I’m going to get Princess Pinky.”

She storms by and I reach out for her. “Ollie-”

“Don’t Ford,” the tears sticking to her tone are unmistakable. “Just…don’t.”

Ollie vacates the room leaving me in a reeling mess.

Is she right? Did some tiny part of me expect for Carol Ann to come back here? To try to make things work? Did some teeny tiny part of me actually hope she would? Why? Because it’s so fucking familiar? Because we’ve done it for so long? Because it’s so…routine? Why didn’t I get my key back sooner? Why didn’t I change the locks?

Further frustrated with my own stupidity, I dart out of my room, down the stairs, prepared to run out after her except another surprise greets me at the door.

Mama’s look of unhappiness causes me to cringe. “Runt…why’s my future daughter in law a bawling mess?”

The chance to explain is ruined as quickly as it was before.

My mother’s eyes narrow and her plate filled hands start shaking. “The devil is alive…”

“Mama,” my voice tries to steady itself.

“Ford Bradley Shaw, there’s about to be dust in the wind if your ass doesn’t explain to me right the hell now why that insult to God’s green earth is standing next to your kitchen.”

I start to answer when her tangent continues.

“Did she stay here last night?”

My mouth twitches again.

“Did she interrupt this morning?”

“I-”

“Because I swear Runt I will-”

“Mama!” My voice booms.

It successfully snaps her out of the hate filled ramble.

When our eyes lock, I question, “With all due respect, why are you here?”

“Big Foot and Blake were placing bets on when you and Ollie would be out of bed based on an apparent ass kicking threat that was made along with a public display of affection that would make the average sinner look like a saint.”

“Who’s phrasing?”

“Mrs. Mueller. Apparently, she witnessed you two going at it in your truck at a stop light. Needless to say she wanted it known Jesus does not approve of your behavior.”

The memory kicks the corner of my lip upward until an undesired scoff shoves it back down.

Mama points a harsh finger at her. “You are trespassin’ and contrary to the boys’ belief, I shoot twice as well as their Pop. And I swear on my Daddy’s grave I will not miss you.”

Carol Ann’s gasp causes me to encourage my mother to exit. “Look, I need to talk to her. Can you…Can you go convince Ollie to stay? She went to get Princess Pinky.”

Mama hums her disapproval and shoves the plate at me. “I’m not a miracle worker, but we’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank me by recommending I dig an eight-foot grave for what the devil dragged in.”

“They bury people at six feet,” Carol Ann snips.

“Well aware sweetheart, and I plan to stomp you down the other two.”

“Please go,” I instruct.

Once Mama is successfully out the front door, Carol Ann sighs, “I don’t understand why she’s never liked me.”

Turning around I pin her with mocking expression. “Not at all?”

She folds her arms across her chest.

“Could be because you’ve been running out on me since when we were sixteen?” I take the same action with my arms. “Could be because I have wasted almost half my life chasing after you, waiting around on you, always…forgiving you. Maybe she doesn’t like how you didn’t appreciate me? Or maybe she hates your hair style. I don’t know.” With a shrug, I bite, “What the hell are you doing here, Carol Ann? This isn’t your home. It hasn’t been in a long time.”

“That’s not true, Ford.”

“Yes. It is.”

“No. This will always be home,” she meekly argues from her position across the room. “Come on, Ford. We both know, no one…and I mean no one will ever love me like you do.”

The words tug at strings they shouldn’t.

“Daryl was no different than any other guy I would date when I…just needed some space.”

“Space?” I growl. “When you needed some goddamn space?! You were constantly cheating on me, Carol Ann? How the hell did you need space?”

“I-”

“No,” my voice viciously bites. “I don’t fucking care. Whatever reason you’re here, whatever conclusion you think you’ve come too, I. Don’t. Care.”

Her face falls to bafflement.

“We’re done, Carol Ann. Permanently.” All of a sudden, an epiphany slaps me like a splash of cold water in the middle of dead sleep. “I think the only reason I didn’t take that key back from you was so I could look you dead in the eyes and tell you that. Truth is Carol Ann, a huge part of me hates you. Everything about you. How you treated me. How you cheated on me. How you constantly left me and wanted me to change because you never thought I was good enough for you.” A small smile slides onto my face. “The tiny part that doesn’t is thankful you did what you did because it brought me Ollie and she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

For the first time I can recall, tears seem to fill her eyes.

“You need to leave, and I need to go make things right.” I take a couple steps back towards the door and open it to usher her out.

Her jaw trembles as she snatches her purse off the long dark wood coffee table. “Ford-”

“Keep the key,” my arm braces itself against the frame, “to remember us by. The apartment is gone next week, and I’m having the locks changed here first thing tomorrow.”

Carol Ann stomps her high heel covered foot in objection. “For-”

“Goodbye, Carol Ann.”

She rushes off towards her car at the same time Ollie’s peels off the property.

Defeat swiftly overpowers the momentary pride I felt kicking. My hand gives the back of my hair a good ruffle as I let out a deep breath into the chilly morning air.

Unlike when Carol Ann would walk out of my life, I plan to put up a fight. Ollie may be upset, she may not want to talk to me or deal with me right now, but things are not over. I’m not giving up on her. I’ll never give up on her…Or us.

I swallow another shot of whiskey and offer Camilla the controller afterward.

She gives me a sarcastic expression. “Are you so drunk already you have forgotten what it is I do for a living?”

Unfortunately not.

As I pour another shot into the glass, she sighs, “Video games and booze. Adulting at its finest.”

I ignore the comment and toss it back. The brown liquor smoothly runs down my throat desperately trying to soothe my senses.

Worst. Day. Ever. Once upon a time I was convinced it was the morning after my birthday. The morning how pathetic my life truly was set in. Now I know it’s not. This is. Falling head over heels for someone only to realize you were the rebound. The side piece. The in between.

My train of thought causes me to reach for the bottle again except this time Camilla pops my hand. “Enough.  You’re not entering a Frat. You don’t need to drink it like a fish.”

But I do. I need to get so shit faced I completely forget what I woke up to this morning. So shit faced I can convince myself I imagined the past six months, rather than dwell on the truth I fell for someone who wasn’t ever really going to fall for me.

When I reach for the controller, she moves it away. “Ollie, we need to talk about what happened.”

“We don’t.”

“We do,” she pleads. “That’s what friends are for.”

“I thought you said friends were for good times and especially for the fuck him times.”

“They are.”

“Well this is one of the fuck him times. Now, like the wise woman once said, let there be booze or let there be games or preferably both!”

Camilla rolls her eyes. “She said cake, Ollie. Let them eat cake. Not let them get wasted and lay carnage to a high school full of zombies and super charged up math teachers.”

Einsteins, one of the stronger infected, but not quite boss zombies, bear a strong resemblance to my 10th grade Geometry teacher, Mr. Pace. Maybe Ford had a point. Maybe I do let my art reflect life or whatever the saying is.

His name roaming around my head forces me to groan and reach for the bottle again.

She repeats her previous action. “No.”

“Be a good friend!”

“You be a good friend and tell me what made you call me in a fit of tears and cancel my nail appointment.” She leans back against the arm rest. “I’ve been fairly patient with you all afternoon. I let you make me watch Kubo and the Two Strings-”

“It’s artistically brilliant!”

Even Ford fell in love with it…

“Which I gave you a pass on because of that and the fact even as a bug Mathew McConaughey makes my panties melt. And then I sat through Finding Dory-”

“Pixar animation-”

“Yeah. Yeah. Brilliant. But the movie is sad as shit and not the happiest especially when you’re drowning your sorrows in expensive whiskey and Skinny Popcorn.”

I glance at the empty bag and a memory of Ford and I fighting over it floods my mind.

My eyes instinctively shut. 

Why can’t I have thoughts that don’t revolve around him? Why is he so tightly wound around everything I do and love? When the fuck did I let myself get this…attached? I don’t attach to people! Life alone is my thing! I am independent! I was raised to be independent!

“Look, I have been patient, but Ollie you have to talk to me. You have to trust that as your friend I can do my part and be your friend.”

Her words lift my eyelids.

“What happened?”

An exasperated sigh escapes at the same time I let my back hit the couch. “His ex showed up at his house this morning.”

Camilla’s expression doesn’t change.

“She was…waiting for him downstairs.”

“In like a corset top and fish net stockings because so far this story is very uneventful.”

She could’ve been wearing one or butt ass naked for all I remember. Only image of her that sticks out in my mind? Her smug expression. The victory gleam in her eyes. It was as if she knew she had broken me not once, but twice and adored it. Geez, it was like having a sociopath make googly eyes at you because they realized you are their new favorite plaything.

“Ollie.”

I shake away the picture stained in my mind. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Then…what’s the big deal?”

“She was there, Camilla. Waiting for him in his house.”

“Little Fatal Attraction, but not picking up your feelings of being betrayed yet.”  She pauses briefly. “Who let her in?”

“She let herself in.”

The information upset finally receives a change of expression.

“She still has a key, Camilla. A fucking key! They’ve been broken up for six fucking months! Six goddamn months and she still has a key? That’s not cowardice! That’s not an accident! That’s a statement. A bold as shit fucking statement you still want her in your life! You still want her to come back! You still want her around and that I mean nothing to you!”

“First off,” Camilla lifts a finger, “I don’t know why I’m being yelled at. I don’t have a key to anyone’s apartment.”

Her attempt to calm me down fails.

“Second of all, that’s an awfully big assumption you’re making.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Is it really?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t just forget someone has the keys to your house. Especially not an ex. Not an ex you dated for like a million years specifically.”

She gives me another sarcastic stare. “A million years…specifically?”

“Yes.”

“You might be drunker than I thought.”

I bypass the comment and continue my rant, “The only reason you don’t get your key back is because you know at some point they’re going to use it. At some point you are going to want them to use it.” She attempts to speak when I cut her off again. “And let’s pretend he didn’t want her to use it. Let’s pretend I am completely wrong. He hadn’t changed the locks. Why not? So that the door to that relationship physically as well as metaphorically never closes?”

Camilla reluctantly nods seeing my point.

“Most importantly…how can you say you love me while holding out hope someone else comes back. Because not taking that key back, not changing those locks, were both examples of what someone does when they’re not quite ready to give up on that person yet.”

My word vomit finally ceases and Camilla reaches for the bottle, settling in my favor. Once my glass is filled, she pours herself one, and leans back into her position. I drink yet she silently stares. The look of contemplation creases my brow, but I patiently wait for her to agree with me because there is no room for an argument here. I’m right. Even if it hurts like hell, it doesn’t change the unequivocal facts.

“I see your point.” After a small sip, she says, “But let me offer you this piece of advice, Ollie. As someone who has had numerous failed relationships…all of which they were the problem, not me-”

“Obviously.”

She grins playfully, and I’m tempted to return the expression. “Can I just suggest you talk to him about it before assuming it’s all over? Before assuming what you’ve made up in your mind to be concrete evidence rather than heavy speculation?”

My face slightly softens.

“Here’s the most accurate comparison for relationships I’ve ever come across.  I learned it, shockingly, from a law student. Relationships eventually have a huge case that wants to go to court. One of you thinks you’re the victim, the other the wrongfully accused. You’re both so emotionally involved it makes it damn near impossible to exam the facts objectively. Of course you want to consult with your separate council, who is going to favor whatever it is you say, but the best solution is to have a true mediation with each other. Get your feelings out. Listen to how the other person interpreted it. Then decide if the case is worth continuing to battle like bastards or if maybe…it might be easier to settle shit. To…find a happy medium. And I will gladly be the first to say it, Ollie. The two of you have a remarkable meeting in the middle track record. Don’t ruin it now just because you’re afraid your heart is on the line. Have a little faith in Ford. He’s respectfully earned that.”

She’s right. He’s not like Daryl. He’s never been like him nor anyone else I’ve ever dated. He’s been amazing from the moment we started being friends and it has never wavered. His attention has never drifted. His intent to be with only me has always rang loudly. Maybe there’s a different reason he never got his key back. Maybe there’s a different reason he never changed the locks. Between the deepening pang in my chest and Camilla’s speech, I feel I at least owe it to myself to find out.

I reach my for sketch pad no longer in the mood to shoot AKs at zombies. “If Ford comes knocking on my door, I won’t turn him away. I’ll hear him out… But I can’t guarantee he will.”

Camilla surrenders her free hand. “That’s fair. But try to remember if he comes knocking on your door, Ollie, it means you are where he wants to be and whatever was between them is over.”

My eyes cut down to the mesh creation I have been scribbling. Seeing Ford’s face covering the page deepens the ache I have been trying to mollify all afternoon.

Suddenly, Princess Pinky nudges at my legs, wet nose sending chills across my skin. Our eyes meet and the sadness I swear is swirling around hers matches mine. I wanna tell her I miss him too. I wanna tell her I pray like hell I’m wrong and how maybe her father is just a moron who made a tiny mistake. I wanna tell her I overreacted. I wanna promise her everything will be back to normal tomorrow. But I can’t. And having my sweet, pink Princess as miserable as I am just amplifies the pain so much more.

Pop walks up onto the porch just as I finish replacing the locks on the front door. “I’m all done with the ones that lead to the patio.”

I try to force a smile on my face. “Thanks.”

“You done?”

Giving the new locks one last test with their keys, I nod. “Looks that way.”

“I meant with Ollie, Runt.”

My entire demeanor shifts.

She hasn’t answered a call or a text. I wanted to race over there last night, explain everything, but Mama, Sienna, and Dawn all urged me to wait. They all had different opinions on why, which only confused the shit out of me. Since the collective opinion was to wait, I impatiently did so. Texting got so out of control, Blake took my phone and used it as a hide and seek toy for our nephews. The rest of the day was shit. Everything about it. The weather was shit. Dinner was shit. Even my beer tasted like shit. My beer! I fucking make it! I know how it has an excellent taste!

“That a yes, Runt?”

I slump over and down onto the porch swing. “I don’t want it to be, Pop.”

“Then what’s stoppin’ ya?”

“She’s not answering my calls. Or my texts.”

“So?”

“So she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”

“Or…maybe she doesn’t want some bullshit technology apology.”

His words furrow my brow.

“You know you and your brothers amaze me with how stupid you are with all the so called ‘smart’ technology there is in the world. Sometimes, more often than not, Runt, women want a good old face to face, I’m sorry I did something that made you mad.” Pop leans against the pillar. “They don’t need memoirs in a text or for you to sing on their goddamn voicemail. They just want you to look them in the eyes, admit you are wrong, and that you wanna fight for what you have. While women are extremely complicated, Runt, their desire for basic apologies is not.”

I silently tap my thumbs together in thought.

He’s right. I should go over there. We should talk. We should figure out how the hell we get past this and we will get past this. Like I’ve said for quite some time now, giving Ollie up, just isn’t an option for me. Guess it’s time I do more than think. She needs me to prove it, and I’ll be damned if I don’t.

After leaving my house, I make one small pit stop, and head to our apartment.

It will be our apartment.  I’m not going to let Carol Ann destroy my future the way she helped destroy my past. I know it wasn’t all her fault. I stuck by her when she cheated. I forgave her. I never made the effort to do more or want more. For a while I hated myself for it. Now? Now I’m relieved I waited for the right woman to show her beautiful face in my life.

I give the closed door to our apartment a good solid knock.

Nothing.

I fight the urge to be discouraged and repeat the action a little harder.

Still nothing.

She’s in there. I know she’s in there. We both took the day off from work because we were going to spend last night at the house and then come back to town to start moving the last of my stuff from my old apartment over here.

Just as I lift my fist to knock again, Ollie swings the door open; sleep deprived face less than pleased to see me.

I take a moment and drink in her messy curls as well as my sweatshirt swallowing her. Seeing her like this first thing in the morning is something I don’t take for granted. I hated not seeing this sight right after a round of good morning sex. I hated this isn’t what I was staring at while having yogurt or bagels or waffles. I hated missing her. I don’t ever wanna miss her like that again. I only wanna be with her.

“Do you have any goddamn idea how early it is?”

“It’s a little after nine.”

“In the morning, Ford.”

I shake my head and adjust the box I have tucked under my arm. “Please don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“You call me Farm Boy.”

She helplessly sweetens her stare.

“I love that you call me that. I love that you gave me a nickname. I love that I meant enough to you that you continued calling me that.” With a deep sigh, I implore, “Can I please come in so we can talk?”

Ollie lets her bottom lip hide between her teeth.

“I don’t want a custody schedule for Princess Pinky…”

My comment tempts a smirk to grace her lips.

“I wanna be proud hog parents together.”

She keeps her vow of silence she’s apparently taken yet widens the door to allow me to come in. However, once I’m inside, she braces her back against it, maintaining her distance.

The box drops onto the kitchen counter at the same time I declare, “This is home, Ollie. You. Princess Pinky. The microwave with the popcorn button that doesn’t work. The shower nozzle with a mind of its own. That God forsaken couch-”

“You wanted to get rid of the couch.”

“We can keep it,” I quickly surrender and step towards her. “We can keep anything you want or get rid of everything as long as the important things remain. You. Me. And Princess Pinky.”

Her eyes fill with what appears to be relief, but it’s short lived. “About Carol Ann-”

“There’s nothing there.”

“Clearly there’s something there, Ford. She was at your house.”

“Maybe there was something there for her, but there damn sure wasn’t shit for me.” Now standing directly in front of her, I firmly state, “Things between Carol Ann and I ended long before she left me for Daryl. I used to think I was just too stubborn to move on, but then I realized it was more than that. I didn’t move on because the perfect woman for me hadn’t entered my life yet. She hadn’t shown me how incredible things could be. Hadn’t reminded me how incredible I could be.”

A faint redness graces her cheeks.

“I was wrong for not getting the key back. I was wrong for not changing those locks. I was wrong at the very least for not telling you I hadn’t before bringing you there.”

“Why didn’t you?” Ollie pushes.

“Truth is…I think I wanted Carol Ann to show up.”

She tenses.

“I wanted her to see how happy I was. How I had moved forward. How…this time my entire life wasn’t on hold for her.”

My confession seems to take her off guard.

“It was dumb, but I honestly think I needed her to see that so she understood how our chapter in life is permanently closed. Hell, to give me some additional closure. My life is with you now, baby. Only you.” Ollie starts to grin and I’m reluctant to take it away. “But you owe me an apology.”

Her eyebrows lift in befuddlement.

“You accused me of cheating on you. And what hurt more, Ollie, was you questioned my love for you. I won’t stand for that.” I lift my frame a little higher. “I’m not gonna stand here and pretend I’m perfect, but I’ve never once gave you reason to doubt I didn’t mean it when I said I loved you. Every day we have spent together I make sure you know that. Hearing you ask, even as hot as you were over the situation, broke my heart Darlin’.”

She slowly removes the gap between us. “I’m sorry, Farm Boy. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“But I was just so mad-”

“I don’t give a shit how angry I ever make you, Ollie. Never question my love for you again.” An argument appears in her eyes and I kill it before it can come to fruition. “I am in love with you, Ollie. And I don’t mean some bullshit, childhood relationship gone on way too long, kinda love. This is it for me. You. Us. I want to actually marry you someday. See you in the white dress. Kiss you in the chapel. Have kids. Have grandkids. Watch your fingers shake as you try to survive virtual reality alongside them. I love you more than I love my goddamn self. I wanna take care of you now. I wanna take care of you when you’re sick. I want you to let me do those things because you love and trust me the same way I do you. So I am going to say this one more time, Ollie Steele. Never question my love again.”

Her body shoots to the tips of her toes, her arms throw themselves heedlessly around my neck and her mouth covers mine. The surprise is short and instantly embraced. Our lips roughly part. Our tongues tumble tenderly. Our bodies press together and everything in life seems to line back up in the perfect order.

She pulls away and softly claims, “Never again.”

“Good.” I tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “Now….the brand new keys to our house are in the box along with my western collection.”

Ollie dramatically groans and tosses her head back. “I haven’t had enough sleep for that.”

“Then make up sex first, sleep next, cowboys and burgers afterwards.”

Her grin appears in all its glory tempting my knees to buckle from the weight of my gratitude from seeing it again. “This sounds an awful lot like how all this began…”

“And look how amazing it’s been.”

And how amazing it will continue to be. Sure, neither of us expected this to happen when she opened the door, but we’ve never regretted it. I can’t speak for her, but I know I never will. No matter what life throws at us or where it goes, landing on her door step, fighting over a hog, and giving the unexpected a shot will always be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Epilogue

Three years later…

I groan in discomfort from my spot on the porch swing.

No one should have to be pregnant in the summer time. That should be a law. It should be illegal to make someone suffer like this. How is it even possible for the human body to get this hot? I’m pretty sure I could roast hot dogs between my thighs and still risk burning them.

Ford rushes up the stairs with our toddler, our blue heeler puppy, and our hog on his tail. He crashes into the open space beside me with a heavy thud, completely breathless. Clint excitedly bumps into his leg and falls flat onto his butt. Unlike a normal two-year-old who might fake cry for more attention he bursts into a fit of laughter identical to his father’s.

I’m lucky and not just because I married an incredible man and into an incredible family, but because he gave me the most precious baby boy in the entire world. Much like the two of us, he’s rarely unhappy. Typically, as long as he has his dog on one side and his hog on the other, he is in heaven. Again. Much like his father.

I give the muddy entourage a shake of my head. “Did you all have fun?”

“We did,” Ford says, draping his arm around the back of the seat. “Now we think it would be a great idea for mommy to put on her swimsuit so we can go swimming with our cousins and have an ice cream party at Mimi and Papi’s.”

“Swimming!” Clint squeals seconds before Blue begins licking his cheek.

We chuckle together and afterward I give Ford a suspicious look. “This ice cream party is children only, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!” Our son screams now nuzzling Princess Pinky. “No bown upts amowed!”

His answer grows a familiar gleam in Ford’s beautiful eyes. The same striking green ones he gave to our son and most likely the little girl waiting to join us in a few months.  His genetics are impressively dominant. While Clint, named after his favorite cowboy star of course, has a head full of thick curly hair like me, his facial features are all Shaw as are his ceaselessly happy eyes. A little before our one-year anniversary, Ford asked me to marry him and I confessed I was probably pregnant. The entire exchange was unusual, but I’ve come to appreciate how it’s our thing. Nothing about us is conventional. Even now. Between my job downtown and his necessity to be closer to the expanding brewery we still managed to mix it up. We moved out of the apartment to have one more accommodating for an active tot and two pets, and more frequent visits from my parents who are thrilled to be grandparents. We still spend many nights there watching old westerns together or taking walks around the busy streets. Clint’s love of playing cowboys is equal to his love of drawing the cartoons he sees on T.V. Somehow our first born became the mesh up of us with a small spin neither of us saw coming. He has an obsession with wanting to build things. Needless to say both the apartment and the house have blocks stashed all around them. Eddie jokes he’s going to follow in his footsteps. I honestly don’t care what he wants to do as long as he ends up happy. Just like us.

“Farm Boy…” I lower my voice.

He gives my shoulder a subtle touch. “Yeah, Darlin’?”

“What are the grownups supposed to do while the kids are getting a sugar high?”

“Sugar high accompanied with more time in the yard, pizza for dinner, and a cowboy movie sleepover.”

“Bang! Bang!” Clint pretends to shoot both of the pets who to no surprise dramatically fall over.

It took many treats for both of them to learn that trick, but it’s absolutely his favorite.

“Uh-huh…”

His expression grows more devious.

“And we’re going to…”

“Well you and I are gonna make sure all computers are shut down. All cell phones are turned off and then…” He lets his gaze drop to my lips. “We’ll think of something…”

We are constantly working. The game I helped design launched spectacularly. Not only did it break their previous company records for console, but for pre-orders on the PC when I encouraged them to add an incentive of exclusive DLC. As much fun as I had, the responsibility was overwhelming and not what I wanted in the long run I realized. I’m content just drawing graphics. While I went against having my fingers in so many pies, I did take my husband and Camilla’s suggestion by trying to bring more diversity to the characters. So far, Bart and Buddy haven’t objected and sales don’t seem to loathe the change. Thankfully, they let me work from home more often than not, which allows for more time with Clint and requires him to spend less at preschool. Ford, on the other hand, struggles more often to balance working in the office and working from home. Runt’s Beer is now in state liquor stores, local bars, big and small, as well as a few chain restaurants around the country, requiring more of his presence at the brewery than it used to. With its convenient location close to the property, we do our best to accommodate him. Sometimes it’s obvious he hates the work load and hates how he can’t play all day with the two of us, but the sense of pride he receives from following his dreams and allowing his young son to see him do it eases the woe I like to believe.

The sound of trucks hitting gravel grabs all of our attention. Seeing his uncle’s vehicles pull onto the property prompts Clint to clap his hands for joy.

My eyes meet Ford’s and I can’t help but give into the predatory look.

He’s going to get his way. It doesn’t matter that I should actually take the time to catch up on work or return the emails I’ve been avoiding all day. He’s going to win because that’s what he does. He wins me over every time. It started with sharing the pig and hasn’t stopped since. Honestly? I hope it never does. Of course there’s compromise. We always make sure we’re both happy with whatever happens or with whatever gets decided, but it typically starts and ends with a Ford Shaw smile. I’ve come to realize…all the moments I love most in life usually do.

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Next book in the series:

“Must Love Jogs”, featuring Blake Shaw!

Thirty.

Single.

And apparently the most boring person on the planet.

Mable "Abby" Atkins does very little outside of rehearsing, but when a handsome, brown eyed stranger insists they get to know each other better she has a hard time resisting. However, she shouldn't be riding mechanical bulls or tagging along on his runs, and he shouldn't be captivated by her cello playing or appreciation for cappuccinos. Most importantly, they shouldn't be falling in love without even realizing it.

Is there space for fun to permanently reside or will she end up exactly where she started?

Thirty.

Single.

And the most boring woman on the planet. 

Curious about J.T. Reese and Wilcox Whiskey? Check out Private today!

Private (Private Series #1):

Mogul or Monster?

Billionaire Weston Wilcox hasn't been seen by the outside world in almost a decade. No face to face meetings. No interviews. No social media accounts. Despite his ghost demeanor he continues to financially flourish and make his fellow investors richer with every decision. Throughout the years many have sought to discover the man inside the mogul while others have spread legends painting him as a heartless monster consumed by greed. None of it matters to him. Weston's true identity is secured away in his estate of solitude, which consists of the only people in the entire world he believes he can trust. That is until he's asked to allow a guest access to the property under extreme circumstances. One he knows he shouldn't. It doesn't take long before his world is turned upside down, unexpected threats arise, and Weston's forced to ask himself what really should be kept private?

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