Page 15 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

MANDY

I answer the door expecting sequins, chaos, or some inappropriate slogan on a T-shirt. What I don’t expect is Tex standing there in a tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and a black skinny tie with his hair pulled half-back, eyes sharp and lined just enough to make him look criminal.

Also, he doesn’t smell like refried beans or deep fryer oil, for once.

The suit is the deepest darkest purple, almost black, and the light over my door catches the fabric and highlights a faint shimmer.

I should’ve known he couldn’t hang up the glitter completely.

My mouth opens, then shuts.

Tex smirks. “Is that drool, Big Guy? Because if it is, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“You clean up,” I say, voice rougher than I intended, “alarmingly well.”

He does a little spin. “Thank you. It’s called showering. It’s rare, but I dabble.”

I grab my jacket off the back of the chair, still trying to process the transformation. “I was sure you were gonna show up in sequined shorts and a tie made of tacos.”

“Oh, I considered it,” he says brightly, “but I figured I’d save that look for our wedding.”

I cough and nearly trip over my own feet.

He catches my elbow like he didn’t just say the most insane thing in the universe. “Easy there, cowboy.”

Tex’s fingers stay on my elbow a second too long—steadying me, grounding me—and my whole body goes hot under his touch.

“Easy there, cowboy,” he says again, softer this time. Like it means more than just don’t fall.

I swallow hard, fighting for my usual calm. “You—You can’t just say shit like that,” I manage, but my voice cracks in the middle.

He grins like he absolutely can. “Why not? You don’t think I’d make a beautiful bride?”

“You’d be a disaster in white,” I mutter, reaching to open the passenger door for him. “Sequins everywhere. Rhinestones glued to the priest. Probably a mariachi band instead of a DJ.”

Tex claps his hands like I’ve given him ideas. “Oh my God, a mariachi band is genius. Wait, can we get a taco truck at the reception? Nacho would cater for free if I promised to stop stealing all the pineapple salsa.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “There is no wedding. That was a joke. You said it was a joke, remember?”

He drops into the passenger seat with the smug ease of someone who knows exactly what kind of chaos he’s causing. “Was it? Weird. I felt pretty serious about it.”

I shut the door before I say something stupid. Like me too. Or like you’d be the death of me, but I’d still say yes.

By the time I’m behind the wheel, Tex is adjusting the air vents and humming some godawful pop remix like nothing happened.

The silence between us is full of a hundred unsaid things.

He strokes the dash softly, obscenely . “Missed you, Coop,” he purrs.

I wish he’d stroke me like that.

Tex drums his fingers on his knee, humming along to the radio.

I don’t have the heart to change it. Not when he looks like that , all polished and bright, not a single smear of fryer grease in sight.

His hair’s tied with some sparkly thing holding it in place, and he smells like citrus and cinnamon.

I don’t know what to do with him like this.

Or maybe I just don’t know what to do with me .

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “You didn’t have to dress up this much,” I mutter, mostly to keep myself from blurting something embarrassing.

“I wanted to,” he says. No teasing this time. Just that soft, quiet honesty he slips in sometimes when I least expect it. “It’s a big night for you.”

My jaw tightens. “It’s just a dinner.”

“It’s a big deal ,” he counters. “You were in that place for a year. You clawed your way back to standing, to walking, to everything else. You volunteered after. That’s not nothing, Mandy.”

I glance at him, and he’s looking out the window now, showing off his classically beautiful profile, but his words linger in my chest, heavy and warm.

“Besides,” he adds, looking back at me. “It’s our first date. Thanks for asking, by the way. Thought I’d have to twist your arm.”

My mouth opens, then closes again. There’s no clever comeback waiting on my tongue, no sarcastic quip to deflect the way my heart jumps at the word date .

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t the biggest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

He’s seriously throwing me off my game tonight, not that that’s hard to do.

I don’t even have game. We’re already pulling into the parking lot before I can reconsider ditching this whole night and turning around.

The VA building is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

Banners strung across the front steps, balloons bobbing near the entrance.

People in suits and dresses stream inside, smiling, hugging, and clapping each other on the back like this is just another Saturday.

Tex adjusts his collar and glances at me. “You okay?”

No. Not even close. But I nod anyway.

He doesn’t press. Just reaches over and lays his hand on my arm, light and steady. “We’ll go in, eat free food, clap politely when someone tells a long story, and I’ll make you laugh at least twice before dessert. That’s the deal.”

I finally turn to him. “You’re really calling this a date?”

His grin is slow and sure. “Damn right. You clean up almost as well as I do.”

I shake my head, smiling in spite of myself. “Fine. But you’re buying dessert.”

“Oh, I brought dessert,” he says, eyes dancing. “It’s wearing a shimmery suit and waterproof eyeliner.”

I laugh, the sound unexpected and rough in my throat. And when he climbs out of the car and holds out his hand for me like it’s a natural thing to do, I take his hand.

As we reach the top of the steps, Tex nudges me with his elbow. “So,” he says, voice light but teasing, “what’s your safeword?”

I jerk my head around, blinking. “My what ?”

Tex grins, mischievous and full of teeth. “You know. In case you get overwhelmed and need to bail. Social anxiety protocol. We need a safeword.”

Pausing with my hand on the door handle, I squint at him. “Pretty sure that’s not what safewords are for.”

Tex shrugs. “Dual purpose. I like to be efficient.”

I think for a second. “Fine. If I say meatloaf , it means I need fresh air.”

Tex makes a face. “Ugh, really? Meatloaf? That’s your panic word?”

“It’s fitting,” I deadpan. “Heavy, weirdly shaped, no one wants to deal with it.”

The sound of his laughter is bright and effortless. “You are so dramatic. I was thinking something cooler. Like ‘unicorn stampede’ or ‘tactical glitter.’”

My eyebrow arches way high. “Tactical glitter?”

Tex nods solemnly. “It blinds your enemies and makes a statement. It has strong syllables and emotional resonance.”

“Emotional resonance?” I mutter, trying not to laugh.

“Very important in a safeword,” he says solemnly. “You need something with weight, you know? Gravitas. You can’t just yell out ‘apple’ and expect anyone to take you seriously. Now tactical glitter? That’s a phrase with presence. Those words kick down the door and demand you stop.”

I’m already regretting this. “Fine,” I groan, “Tactical glitter it is.”

He beams and threads his arm through mine. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. If you go down in flames, I’ll throw glitter on the wreckage.”

I huff a breath through my nose, the corner of my mouth lifting. “You’re the worst.”

“Best worst you’ll ever have,” Tex says cheerfully as we walk through the doors together.

My throat works against the lump forming. The scars on my face prickle under the overhead lights, and the fabric of my suit is setting my skin on fire. Or maybe that’s just my nerves.

I don’t care how good Tex looks; I should never have let him talk me into this thing.

“In case I forget to tell you later, I had a great time tonight,” he whispers.

Tex’s soft voice cuts through the noise, and it lands right in the center of my chest.

I blink hard, staring straight ahead, like if I just keep walking, I might outrun the heat crawling up my neck. I tug at my collar, but the damn suit won’t loosen its grip.

Of course, he looks perfect, flawless, even. Hair curled just enough to look like he didn’t try, lips glossed with something sweet-smelling, and that suit hugging his narrow frame like it was made for him. And here I am, sweating through my shirt and wishing I could crawl out of my own skin.

His words echo again: I had a great time tonight.

We haven’t even made it inside yet.

When will I ever start to feel like I’m enough for this man?

I risk a glance at him. He’s smiling, but there’s something gentle in his eyes. Like he sees that I’m barely holding it together, and he’s trying to steady me without drawing too much attention.

“You say that like we’re already leaving,” I mutter, voice lower than I meant it to be.

“I say it in case you decide to pull a fire alarm and bolt,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “Figured I’d get my thank-you in early.”

Despite myself, a breath escapes—half laugh, half wonder. My nerves still buzz under my skin, but his presence dulls the edge.

“Tex,” I say quietly, trying to make him understand without saying too much, “I don’t do well at stuff like this.”

“I know,” he answers immediately. “You’re doing it anyway. With me.”

“I don’t wanna ruin it for you. I feel like you’re expecting to have a good time.”

He stops in front of me, pausing to straighten my tie, and gives me a dazzling smile. “As long as I’m with you, Big Guy, I’m going to have a good time. Trust me.”

His fingers work the knot of my tie with more care than necessary, knuckles grazing my throat, and I forget how to breathe for a second.

That smile—God, that smile—could power cities. It's blinding and mischievous and entirely for me.

I swallow hard. “You say that now…”

Tex leans in, voice dropping to a murmur only I can hear. “You could sit in a corner all night, growling at strangers, and I’d still call this the best night of my month.”