Page 13 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TEN

ADALENE

“Here’s an apple cider.” I look at the steaming mug of glittery brown liquid and try not to scrunch my nose.

The cup remains suspended in the air a beat longer than polite, and Stetson huffs, slumping into the chair across from me, arm still extended.

“It has about three shots of whiskey in it, you snobby bitch.”

I smile sheepishly, aware enough to feel at least a little bit embarrassed. She raises her mug between us, Faith following suit, cheersing to who knows what. It’s the holidays, what more excuse do you need?

I take a tentative sip, blowing on the steam billowing off it, and groan as the tangy, spicy liquid coats my tongue. “It’s delicious, Stet.”

She shifts her body, settling farther into the chair, pulling a horse shaped pillow wearing a Santa hat into her lap. I snort at the image of Gus sitting next to such a pillow.

“Your house looks so cute!” Faith, the ever positive one among us, beams at the gold and red decorations glittering on the exposed beams of the house, every doorway, around all the windows, and the giant, real Christmas tree in the corner.

“Where’d you get a real Christmas tree in Texas? That had to have cost a fortune.” I take another sip of the liquid, this one hotter than the last, and I fail at my attempt not to cough.

“Gus got it for me. I’ve never had one.” The words fill me with an tide of sadness, and I turn slightly weepy eyes back at Stetson. She’s already scowling, waving her hand in the air to wipe away any pity we might feel for her. “Drink you dumb idiots. It’s just a tree.”

It is, but not. And I catch a glimpse of Gus in the entryway, his eyes soft and yearning as he looks at Stetson across the room, and I know he knows it too. He’d do anything for her, and I envy that. Not them specifically, just the love they have.

Faith sniffles, the sound so quiet I’d have missed it if I wasn’t sitting right next to her. I peek at her from the corner of my eye to see her looking at Gus, looking at Stetson, and I’d bet money that she’s feeling the same way I do.

It’s a once in a lifetime kind of love, the one Gus and Stetson share.

He clears his throat, dragging Stetson’s attention to where he stands, and her scowl melts into a soft smile. “Found this guy wandering outside, dressed like a rich bitch in his fancy truck and acting like he owns the place.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, my eyes zero in on the swirling cup in my hands.

Fuck, why’s he here?

Well, I know why he’s here. Ever since he bought land from Stetson earlier this year, he’s struck up a strange, but very boyish friendship with Gus that can be described as none-other than a bromance. It’s disgusting really, and Stetson spares me as few of the details as possible, per my request.

The whole thing just confuses my already muddled mind and heart.

At first I was pretty sure Gus wanted to kill Mateo, and I don’t think Mateo cared for Gus in return.

And then something flipped, like they reached some kind of understanding.

From there it’s only spiraled, which I know is reasonable— and favorable considering he owns property at the corner of their property and sees them whenever he comes to check on it.

But still. It puts Mateo front and center in my life at the most inconvenient times.

Like now. We’re friends, and as friends, we’ve spent the last ten years or more out of each other's lives than in it. But recently, things have changed, and even if a part of me craves this kind of shift, I know it’ll never end up as anything positive.

More likely, it’ll end up destroying our friendship, and my heart in the process.

“Mateo, come in!” Stetson doesn’t rise from her spot on the couch, and when I look up, I find she’s boring holes into the top of my head.

I see the questions in her eyes, but I just shoot her a large smile, and take another scalding sip of my cider.

She notices my discomfort, her eyes narrowing, and looks between the growing shadow in the entryway and my now overheated face.

“What?” She mouths the word and I smile wider, shaking my head. “Did something happen?” I shake my head harder and she slumps back, giving up for now.

How can I explain my one-not-nightstand that looked very much like a hookup, but was only a dry humping and a nap that Mateo walked in on, and then awkwardly sat in my living room for hours in silence before leaving and not speaking to me for three months since?

Well I guess I could say it just like that. But that will lead to more questions—questions I still don’t want to answer.

“You’re a dick,” Mateo states dryly, striding into the room, setting an amber bottle on the counter.

I choke on the last sip of my drink, my mouth now raw from the boiling liquid, but I hardly notice. The way Mateo said “ dick” has my blood boiling for an entirely different reason. What would it sound like used in a sentence like “look at how prettily you take my dick.”

My face burns, and with the way Stetson’s smirking at me, she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I’ve pushed her so many times, I always hold my breath in anticipation of her repaying the favor.

I’d hate it, but also admire her for it.

It’s like this line she’s always afraid to cross—afraid I’ll leave her.

Not tonight apparently though. “Say it again, Mateo. I think we can make Dale the same shade of red as my tree decorations if you say it in a different sentence, like—” I jolt up, my cup clattering in my hands.

All eyes turn to face me as I walk to the kitchen on shaky legs, avoiding every single pair. Except Mateo’s, which no matter how hard I fight, are like magnets for my own. Instead of finding anger, or even amusement, I only see confusion.

I’m normally the one making the sexual jokes, so to be so bothered by such a seemingly innocent one would be confusing. But my feelings towards Mateo are nothing but confusing anymore.

Faith, bless her, starts babbling about her latest squabble with her parents, effectively pulling all the attention from my burning face. Well, all except for Mateo’s scrutinizing stare.

“Are you still so embarrassed by our last encounter that even my presence makes you blush now?” His voice is a soft whisper, sending a wave of unwanted chills to race across my skin, and my nipples to pebble against my bra.

Fuck him, and his fucking assumptions, his fucking know it all attitude, and his completely confusing interest in my personal life all of a sudden. “Nope, I was embarrassed for you actually.”

I grab the bottle on the other side of him now, brushing my chest on his arm for effect. He freezes and I ignore every cell in my body that threatens to do the same.

“Do tell. I’m dying to know why I should be embarrassed.” His voice is dry and bored, but I know from his coiled stance, he’s anything but.

“Oh, we were just—” I pause, struggling to get the cap off the new bottle of whiskey, and Mateo sighs, grabbing it from me and twisting it off without an ounce of exertion.

Something about it pisses me off more, fueling my next words.

“We were talking about all of the people we’ve kissed and who were the best.”

I fill my glass, pouring well over two shots worth, the bottle glugging the only sounds between us. We both remember that kiss— my first kiss —but to this day we’ve never acknowledged it.

He hisses, yanking the bottle away from me as the whiskey sloshes precariously close to the top of my glass. I frown; I hate being told what to do, or how much to drink.

“Anywho, I was telling them Jared was my best kiss.” I tip the cup to my lips, and my eyes to his, and take a long, burning sip. He watches me, his eyes dark but unwavering, and I take a second gulp, a third, before I relent in our little competition, dropping the glass with a gasp.

Fire pools in my stomach, thrumming through my veins with a heat that could burn a person from the inside out. And if I’m being really honest with myself, I don’t know if it’s from the whiskey or the dark eyes that still have not wavered from my face.

“Care to join the rest of us or would you like to get a room?” Stetson’s voice severs the mounting tension, and Mateo looks away first, a look of disgust crossing his features before melting once more into neutrality.

Its a punch in the fucking gut.

I turn, leaving him standing in the kitchen, and return to my chair, praying I don’t look as beat down as I feel.

Stetson and Faith eye me, smiles on their faces, and brows raised at my nearly overflowing cup of whiskey.

Gus, the fucking nuisance, snorts and leans forward to tap his cup against mine.

“What’s even in that cup, old man?” I tease, sitting back to take another, smaller, more careful sip. If I keep it up I won’t remember my own name for a week.

“Apple cider.” His mouth is hidden behind the cup, but I hear the smile all the same.

“Without the whiskey I’m guessing?” He doesn’t drink much, and although I don’t know why, I don’t sense that it’s a sore spot for him.

“Nah, same as my little filly.”

I make a gagging motion with my finger and tongue and Stetson scowls. “I told you not to call me that.”

“When?” Gus snorts, pulling her into his lap.

“Ugh, nevermind. Everyone, I have an announcement.” My cup pauses midair, and I suck in a deep breath.

Which is a mistake because Mateo drifts past me right at that moment, and I get a large inhale of his woodsy, cinnamon smell.

Which only reminds me of good whiskey and Christmas—my favorite holiday—and home.

And he’s the furthest thing I want associated with my happiest memories.

I watch Gus squeeze Stetson’s waist, and before the words even leave her lips, I know.