Page 4 of Ready, Willing and Abel (Dog Tags #6)

chapter

four

Abel

I stare at the chalkboard sign hanging above the order counter. Evan is over there getting something. I’m content with my coffee.

I can’t tell if this is a coffee shop or a bakery. I wasn’t paying too close attention when I came in. I got here before Evan, ordered my coffee, and I’ve just been sitting.

Not gonna lie, I was very pleased to get Evan’s text this morning. I hope my gift for Marley did the trick to solidify my apology for being such a dick to her.

Finally, my brother comes over to the table and sets down a couple of plates. “Marley threatened to poke me with something sharp if I didn’t get you one of these.” He pushes a plate to me. “They’re her favorite.”

“Does that mean she forgives me?” I ask.

“Yeah, and so do I. Even though I didn’t get a fucking gift basket,” Evan says.

“Do you need me to order you one?”

My brother chuckles. “No. I knew your heart was in the right place, even if your head was up your ass. And you went to a lot of trouble to make that basket special. I know it wasn’t one you ordered from a website. Those items were carefully curated. She loved it.”

“I’m glad. I was an ass and shouldn’t have interfered. I really want her to like me,” I say.

“Everyone likes you,” Evan says.

“No, everyone likes you. Everyone just wants to know me. There’s a difference.”

He takes a bite of whatever is on his plate, which looks like maybe a cinnamon roll and a honeybun had a baby. Then he taps his fork on my plate. “This is their creme br?lée donut. You should definitely try it. The women who work in here are wizards.”

My mind wanders back to my Cactus Girl. I’ve thought about asking about her in town, trying to find out her name, at least. I could probably look her up online. But it all feels like an invasion of privacy.

I take a bite of the donut, which somehow has a burnt sugar crust around it. “Wow,” I say after swallowing.

“Right?”

After we eat in silence for a few, I look at Evan. “You know why I did it, right? I just didn’t want anyone to be trying to take advantage of you.” I take a sip of my black coffee.

“I know. But you know, not everyone is out to scam our family. What Jim and Becky did to us was a one-off. And you’re older and wiser now and have put safety measures into place. Hell, mom and dad are set for life.”

“Maybe, but they nearly bankrupted our parents.” I shake my head. “I won’t ever let that happen again.”

“Bro, how much money do you have in the bank right now? Hell, even your wallet?”

I pull my wallet out, grab the money, and put it on the table. “I don’t know. Couple of hundred, I guess.”

Evan stares at me like I’m a moron, then picks up the stack. “Crazy fucker. This is seven hundred and fifty dollars. Who carries that around with them?”

“Your point?”

“My point is, you can relax. You’ve probably made enough money at this point that you could retire. Never make another movie again.”

“I think about that sometimes. A lot actually,” I say.

Evan’s brows raise. “Really? You tired of acting?”

“I don’t know. I’m tired of that life, you know? All the red carpets and invasion of privacy. Sometimes I just wanna be a normal guy.”

My Cactus Girl had made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Granted, she’d seen me in a weird and unusual situation. But she hadn’t asked for my autograph or anything. And as far as I know, she didn’t take pictures of me naked. At least none of them have shown up on the internet.

Is she really as special as she seems? Or do I just want to believe she is?

All of which is irrelevant, because someone like her wouldn’t be the least bit interested in a guy largely considered nothing more than a shallow, muscle-bound lug.

“You still writing?” Evan asks.

The question takes me by surprise, but at least it forces my thoughts away from a woman I have no business thinking about.

I blow out a breath. “Yes. But every time I mention it to my agent or manager, they put me off.”

“Why do you need them? You have enough contacts in the business. If you want to make a movie from one of your screenplays, do it. Cast yourself as the lead. Direct it. Fund it. You can do any and all of that, brother.”

I stare at him for a few breaths. “You’ve changed since meeting Marley. You’re more settled in your own skin. I like it.”

“She’s amazing,” he says.

“You practically have cartoon hearts in your eyes,” I say with a laugh.

“Love is worth it, man. She’s just everything.”

“And you’re gonna be a dad,” I say.

“I know. That’s crazy. Mom and Dad said they’d fly home the month she’s due. They’ve video chatted with us a few times and have asked if we need them earlier. But they waited a long time to explore Europe. They should get to enjoy it as long as possible.”

“Europe will still be there after the baby is born. They can always go back.”

“You really think our mother is going to leave a baby that she can hold?”

I laugh. “Fair point.”

Just then, my phone alerts go off. One after another. Sounds like a damn amber alert, but it’s whatever the fucking app Tish added to my phone. She can make it sound horrific noises from across the country if I’m not responding quickly enough to her.

“What the fuck is that?” Evan asks.

“My publicist.” I slide to answer. “What?”

“Where are you?” she asks.

“At a coffee shop with my brother. Or a bakery.”

“Sugar Bakers,” Evan whispers.

“Sugar Bakers,” I repeat.

“Still in that same tiny little town?”

“I know you’ve already tracked my phone, Tish. What do you want?”

“I take it you haven’t been online at all today.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No. It’s one of the reasons I pay you. So that I don’t have to go online.”

“Well, there’s a very interesting picture that’s circulating, and I need you to look at it and tell me if it’s real.”

“Shit,” I whisper. Maybe my Cactus Girl did take pictures of me.

Fuck.

“I just sent it.”

My phone vibrates in my hand. I pull it away from my ear to look.

“Oh fuck,” I say.

The image was clearly taken with a long-range lens, an expensive one too. It’s of me and Cactus Girl out in her field, and she’s on her knees in front of me. My head is tilted back, and it looks very much like she’s blowing me.

This picture is bad.

Yet, seeing it fills me with relief. This shot was taken by some professional muck-raker. Not by my Cactus Girl.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, all too aware that I should be panicking. But I’m not. Not even a little.

Not only does the picture mean that my Cactus Girl didn’t sell me out, but now I have to see her again.

“I’m boarding the plane now. I’ll be there in a few hours, sweet cheeks. I’ll take care of everything.”

Goddamn it!