Page 94 of Theirs to Hunt

She drops a bag of buns on the kitchen island, tosses a six-pack in the fridge, and says,

"So this is where your mystery dick lives."

"Girl, it's dicks. Plural," I correct.

"But you have got to see this before they get home."

I grab her hand and drag her off to start the grand tour.

"If we hustle, we can see it all before they walk in and ruin the surprise."

She whistles at the closet, raises an eyebrow at the kitchen, and flat-out laughs when she sees the backyard.

"Jesus. It’s a murder fairy tale back here."

"Right? I think they tried to blend Southern gothic with cartel compound."

We throw together the most half-assed cookout imaginable.

Cheap hot dogs. Prepackaged chips. Potato salad that's probably more mayonnaise than vegetable.

Bobbie brought an apron that saysSaving Pussies and Grilling Dogs, and I just about lose my shit.

By the time the guys show up, the air smells like smoke and sabotage.

Grayson arrives first, button-up open at the throat, sleeves rolled, the usual looks-like-danger-and-discipline thing going on.

Brooks trails behind him, shirtless and barefoot, ready to hit the pool in his board shorts.

Bobbie dabs at my chin and rolls her eyes at me.

Bitch. I wasn’ttechnicallydrooling.

But I smirk when I can return the favor, because her man isyum.

Devon shows up last. Sunglasses on. Hawaiian shirt open. Also in board shorts.

And seriously, how is a woman supposed to function?

I pick up a paper towel and hand it to her.

"You might want to wipe."

She growls and bats at me as I laugh and dart away, then turn to face our men.

There's a moment. Just one beat too long.

They all stand there, trying to read the fine print behind our eyes.

They pause when they see the setup.

Hesitantly, Brooks comments,

"We would've cooked, you know."

Bobbie shrugs.

"We didn’t want to distract you. Figured you already had enough going on."