“Wanna come over to my house for lunch? I gotta talk to you about something.”
The line goes silent for a moment too long. I can practically hear him freaking out. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I blurt out. “Everything’s fine. It’s nothing bad. Just something came up that I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll be right over.” I hate the anxiety laced between his words, and when we hang up, I feel even more uneasy about telling him this.
A little less than a half an hour later, a black Chevy truck pulls up outside my house. The windows are tinted, not letting me see inside, and I’m more than a little surprised when I see Segan hop out of the driver’s seat. Every time I’ve seen him go anywhere, it’s been with a driver and his bodyguard. I assumed he didn’t drive himself anywhere.
Meeting him on the porch, I can’t help but grin as he steps up to me. Head to toe, he is the embodiment of country music. Tawny-colored boots tucked under a pair of dark Wrangler slim fits, a black Smoky Boy Whiskey t-shirt that hugs his biceps to perfection, and to finish off the entire fit, a white cowboy hat sits atop his head.
A toothpick hangs out of the corner of his mouth as it tilts into a smirk upon seeing me. Plucking it out, he removes his hat before leaning in and pressing a slow-building kiss on my lips. Segan licks into my mouth, tasting like mint and tobacco. He pulls away much too soon, returning the hat to his head and the toothpick between his teeth.
“Hey, Josie,” he drawls with a cocky grin, taking a step back and putting a little—unwanted—space between us.
If it were anybody else, I’d hate that nickname. It’s atrocious, and nobody has ever shortened my name to that. But Segan saying it? I can’t get enough.
“You hungry?” I ask, pulling open the screen door and stepping inside. “I made us some pasta salad.”
He walks past me, farther into the house, his scent alone making me want to say screw the food and talking, and instead rip his clothes off and have my filthy way with him.
“Sure, I could eat,” he replies, taking a seat on one of the bar stools at my counter, glancing around the space. “I like your place. Much nicer than the one you had in Utah.”
Looking around, I try to see it from his eyes. “Thanks,” I mutter. My house is nowhere near as large or as nice as Segan’s, but it’s good enough. The kitchen and living room are small, and it’s got two bedrooms that aren’t anything to write home about. But the yard is nice, and it’s got a wraparound porch that’s relaxing to sit on during a rainstorm. It’s also close to the shop, which is convenient.
After I dish up a bowl for each of us, we head back outside, sitting on the rocking chairs I have out back on the porch.
“So, what did you need to talk to me about?” Segan asks before shoving a huge forkful of pasta into his mouth.
I glance over at him before focusing my attention out into the yard. Specifically, on the bird that’s currently playing in the birdbath. “Dylan, the manager for the garage in Nevada, called me this morning. The shop was broken into and vandalized pretty badly last night.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s fucking awful.”
Turning my head to meet his concerned gaze, I continue. “I have to fly down there to deal with it all since I’m still the owner. Insurance has to be handled by me.”
Segan shoves another bite into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before responding. “When do you leave?”
“Tonight. I was able to get a red eye.”
He nods. “And how long will you be gone for?”
“It’s hard to say,” I reply honestly. “I’m hoping for only a few days, but depending on the police and insurance, it could be longer.”
“What about your shop here?”
“Ash will look after it while I’m gone.”
Segan’s face is hard to read right now as he nods to my response. “This is good,” he mutters, using his fork to point to the bowl of pasta salad.
“Uh, thanks.”Random subject change.“It was my mom’s recipe.”
A look of sympathy crosses through his eyes as he looks up to meet my gaze. It’s no secret to Segan how close I was to my mother. Her death rocked me to my core. It was sudden and completely unexpected, and she was the only person in my family aside from Lana that I ever felt was on my side. She never made me feel less than, and she always did her best to make sure I knew how much she loved me.
“Do you ever talk to your family?” The question surprises me. Segan has done his very best to not talk about back home since we’ve reconnected.
I shake my head, a feeling of melancholy washing over me. “No, not for several years.”
Segan blows out a breath, setting the bowl on the little table between our chairs. “Me neither.”
