Page 31 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

TEX

Bojangles is a goddamn North Carolina institution. So when Mandy suggests the drive-thru, I give him a look like he just suggested we get gas station sushi.

“Line’s a mile long,” I say, pointing to the parking lot gridlock. “C’mon, we’ll be in and out faster if we go inside.”

He shrugs, pulling into a spot. I hop out and head in while Mandy struggles with his exit. I can hear him mutter and curse from across the lot. Inside, it smells like fried heaven and sweet tea. Comfort food at its finest.

We’re standing in line when I glance down to see a kid, barely out of toddlerhood, peeking at us from behind his mom’s leg. His eyes lock on Mandy’s face, all wide and curious.

“Mom,” the kid says, not even whispering. “What’s wrong with his face?”

Oof. Beside me, Mandy stiffens like a board.

The mom bends down quickly and murmurs something I don’t catch, probably the usual 'don’t stare, that’s rude' kind of thing. She looks over at us with that mix of pity and panic I hate.

Mandy does what he always does, smiles like it doesn’t matter, and offers the kid his hand. “Hey there, little man.”

The kid vanishes like a magician’s trick, and his mom mutters an apology. Mandy nods politely, but I know that look. The quiet one. The one that says this shit still hurts.

Fuck, should’ve got drive thru.

I slide my hand into his and squeeze. And right there, in front of God and the fine patrons of Bojangles, I kiss him on the mouth. Not soft. Not shy. Wet with lots of tongue.

Mandy looks stunned when I pull back. “Let them talk about that instead,” I murmur.

The tension in him loosens, just a little. And that’s all I ever want—to be the one who makes it a little easier to breathe.

We're digging into our food—spicy chicken for him, sausage biscuit for me—when I catch him watching me with that fond little half-smile of his. It makes my chest go tight in the best way.

“I ever tell you about the time I got handcuffed to a porta-potty?” I ask, wiping my mouth.

Mandy raises a brow. “That doesn’t sound like a good story.”

“It wasn’t. It was legendary .” I take a sip of tea and lean back. “We were doing this bullshit field training op in Georgia. Hot as Satan’s gooch, bugs the size of housecats, and the only thing colder than our rations was our First Sergeant’s heart.”

Mandy’s already laughing.

“So this guy in my unit—Wilkes, real class clown—decides I’ve been getting too much attention from the ladies during downtime.

His words, not mine. They just liked my pretty face, but whatever.

So he waits until I go in to take a piss, then zip-ties a pair of flex cuffs through the door latch and my bootlaces.

I’m stuck. Pants down. Can’t even reach the latch. ”

Mandy chokes on his soda.

“Took two hours before anyone noticed I was missing. By then, someone had tagged the porta-potty with Tex Hearts Himself in red Sharpie. My Sergeant wasn’t even mad.

He said it was the funniest damn thing he’d seen all month.

” I take a sip of tea and watch Mandy’s smile broaden.

“It didn’t stop him from writing me up, though.

I had to write an essay on bathroom etiquette, followed by a demonstration in front of my unit. Fucking humiliating.”

Mandy’s doubled over now, laughing so hard people are looking. His whole body shakes, and I swear, seeing him lose it like this is better than any prank I’ve ever pulled.

“God,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Of course, you got locked inside a toilet. You attract chaos like a magnet.”

“I attract attention, ” I correct. “There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh. And how much attention did your ass get that day?”

I wink. “Enough to earn the nickname ‘Shithouse Tex’ for the rest of the op in Georgia.”

Mandy groans, covering his face. “That’s awful.”

“Awfully memorable. ”

His laughter soothes the sting of that kid’s words and the mom’s awkward apology.

We finish lunch and head back to his place, and I’m putting some of my stuff in a drawer because… I don’t know, I guess I’m here more than I’m not these days. Feels right.

While I’m poking around, I find a box shoved behind some jeans.

“What’s this?”

He leans in from the doorway. “Oh. That? It’s a drone. The Bitches gave it to me after a surgery. Said it was to keep me entertained while I healed. I forgot I had it.”

I open the box like it’s Christmas. “You never used this?”

Mandy eyes me warily. “That face scares me.”

I smirk. “Good. I have a plan.”

Much to Mandy’s dismay, my plan involves a covert mission under the cover of darkness.

Operation Piss Your Pants

We wait until well after dark. Mandy parks Coop down the road from McCormick and Stiles’ place, hidden behind a thick row of pines. It takes Mandy a full minute to peel himself out of the Mini, mumbling about how his knees are gonna lock up and I’m gonna owe him a massage. Noted.

We creep through the backyard, staying low, the drone already buzzing softly in my hands. Mandy follows behind me, carrying the extra battery and looking like he regrets all his life choices.

“Just keep up,” I whisper. “We’re almost there.”

He grunts. “If we get arrested?—”

“We’re not gonna get arrested. This is recon. Very advanced, very professional recon.”

We cut around the back hedges. McCormick and Stiles’ bedroom window comes into view. Lights off. Perfect.

I lift the drone. “Showtime.”

The little machine rises, blinking red and blue. I guide it right to the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Mandy stifles a laugh. “You are such a dick.”

We hear movement inside. Then—crackling leaves behind us.

I spin around. Two shadows come through the trees. One taller than me, stalking quietly. The other stomping over plants and hedges, crushing them under his boots in a most unstealth like way.

West stops when he sees us. Brandt’s holding a duffel. Their faces are smeared with black paint, and they’re dressed in night camo.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

They share a puzzled look with each other. West says, “You first.”

Mandy sighs. “We’re tapping a drone against their window to freak them out.”

Brandt grins. “We brought Roman candles.”

I blink. “You were gonna firebomb them?”

“No,” West says. “Just a few loud pops. Harmless.”

I tilt my head. “You came uninvited to someone’s house at night to make loud explosions, and I’m the dick?”

Brandt shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Mandy crosses his arms. “So we doing this together, or…?”

West opens the duffel. “Together.”

We reposition. West and Brandt move to the far side, lining up the fireworks. I adjust the drone and give it one last tap-tap-tap against the window. Inside, a light flips on.

Mandy hisses, “Now.”

West lights the fuse. A Roman candle screams into the sky. Another one pops off sideways into the yard.

The back door swings open. McCormick bursts out, barefoot, looking pissed and half-awake. Stiles follows, shirtless, holding a mug with the BALLS logo.

“What the hell—” McCormick ducks as another candle fires off.

Brandt yells from the bushes, “Nice boxers!”

I stifle a laugh at the black underwear covered in hot pink lips and XO’s

Stiles looks around, looking calm and unflappable. “Are we being punked?”

I kill the drone and pull Mandy into a jog toward the trees. West and Brandt follow, hauling ass.

We regroup behind the fence, out of breath.

Mandy looks at me, his dark brow popping high. “This your idea of team-building?”

I grin. “Absolutely.”

Behind the fence, we crouch in the shadows. The drone sits in the grass like a sleeping cat, its lights dimmed. Brandt’s wheezing from laughter. West just looks mildly annoyed that his Roman candle misfired.

We hear the creak of the back door again.

McCormick steps out, flashlight in one hand, baseball bat in the other. Stiles is right behind him, still shirtless, still sipping from his mug like this is just another Tuesday.

“You see anything?” McCormick hisses, swinging the flashlight across the yard.

“Yeah,” Stiles says dryly. “I see a bunch of idiots behind the fence.”

We freeze.

“West,” Stiles calls. “You crash my date night with your bullshit again and I swear I’ll replace your protein powder with laxatives.”

I stand up slowly, hands raised. “In my defense, the drone did most of the work.”

Stiles walks out into the yard, completely unbothered by the chaos. “Tex? You let them pull you into this? You know we have cameras, right? Like... actual security footage?”

Until this moment, I thought Mandy loved me. The I’ve-got-your-back protect-you-with-my-life kind of love. But then he says, “It was all his idea!” and my heart shatters with the realization that he would sell me out in a heartbeat.

West mutters, “I told you he’d have cameras.”

Brandt stands too. “We brought fireworks. Figured it was festive.”

McCormick lowers the flashlight and sighs. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot the damn thing out of the sky.”

“With what,” Brandt laughs, “your baseball bat?”

McCormick gestures for us to come out from behind the fence. “You all done?”

We file into the yard, slightly sheepish, slightly proud. This is the most fun I’ve had since… I don’t even know when.

Mandy nods. “Yeah. It was fun. Stupid. But fun.”

McCormick eyes the four of us like he’s reevaluating every friendship he’s ever had. “What exactly was the mission called?”

“Operation Piss Your Pants,” I say without shame at the same time West says “Operation Star Spangled Streaker.”

He just shakes his head. “You’re all children.”

“Children with excellent coordination,” Brandt says.

Stiles sips from his mug. “I can’t believe you named your operation.”

West shrugs like it’s obvious. “Of course. Everything needs a codename.”

“Yours sounds like it ends with someone getting arrested,” I mutter.

“Yours sounds like a bladder control problem,” West fires back.

McCormick looks between us like he’s counting the seconds until he’s free of our nonsense. “I’m going back inside before one of you tries to trademark this.”

Stiles shakes his head and follows. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

McCormick grunts. “I’m not. But I’m mildly concerned.”

We’re still grinning as the porch light flips off behind them and just before the door clicks shut, McCormick calls out, “Save me a candle!”

Mandy leans into me, voice low. “You know, technically… this means our prank won.”

“Obviously,” I say. “Ours had air support.”

West flicks a lighter and grins like he’s ten. “Fireworks were just a distraction. I was gonna draw a dick on the driveway in chalk next.”

Brandt sighs. “That’s why I don’t let you plan things unsupervised.”

“You helped me buy the chalk.”

“I didn’t know what it was for!”

I elbow Mandy lightly. “We’re not even the craziest ones here.”

Mandy huffs a laugh, then bumps my shoulder with his. “That’s… somehow comforting.”

“Come on,” West says. “We’ve still got a few left. Let’s drive by Riggs and Rhett’s place.”

Brandt rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re definitely trying to get us arrested tonight.”

We watch them go and head back to our car. “You hungry?” I ask Mandy.

“I could eat. Wings?”

“I know a place,” I tease with a wink. “They serve excellent chocolate cake.” I reach for the radio, but Mandy bats my hand away.

He groans. “Last time you picked the music, we listened to an entire playlist called Tragic Sluts with Guitars .”

“Because it slaps,” I say, dead serious.

Mandy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Fine. But I’m vetoing anything with a banjo.”

We end up listening to ‘Wrecking Ball’ on loop the entire drive, and I’m positive Mandy regrets giving in.

I look over at him. His scars catch the dashboard light, soft and pale against his skin. But it’s not what I see.

I see the guy who keeps showing up. For himself. For me. For this messy, beautiful life we’re building.

And I can’t help but think Operation Found My Person is very much in progress.