Grant clicked his tongue, shooting a finger-gun at me with his free hand. “That’s the time.”
“I remember.”
“So, assuming you do…she live ’round here?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You think I’ll set you up with my only friend? Bless your heart, Grant.”
Carver laughed and Grant scowled at him. “Excuse me for trying to find someone to love me like you love this guy.”
“And how many women do you think I have as friends tolove you, exactly?” Grant paused, the smirk on his lips giving him away. “You’re probably a worse playboy than my husband was.”
“Wasis the key word, darlin’,” Grant drawled. “So, tell me—is she hot?”
I gave him a once-over, pursing my lips as I recalled the men Sophia brought home—
Tall.
Tatted.
Ego bigger than his truck.
Grant was the epitome of Sophia’s type—anyone that would make her parents more livid of her life decisions.
I took the bacon and pancakes from the takeout container and put it on a plate, then shrugged and lied as I said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re not her type.”
“Sounds like my kind of challenge.” Grant’s smirk lingered a bit too long, like he more than planned and hoped to make good on proving me wrong.
Both men started to speak in quieter tones, Carver tracing a line on his hand along the curve between his thumb and index finger as Grant nodded his head. Settling in on the barstool with my plate in my lap, I stretched to see if I could guess what was going there, then gave up.
“What are you getting done on your hand?” I asked, like he encouraged me to do.
Carver turned his head, smirking as broad as the sunlight streaming in through the windows as Grant went to work on fixing the butterfly. “Somethin’ for you.”
My brows shot up. “What could that be? My name on your knuckles?” I asked with a teasing tone as I raised a bite of pancake to my mouth.
“No, but that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to Grant and said something, and Grant bobbed his head in return, his focus trained on Carver’s forearm.
I rolled my eyes, even though the thought of him having my name tattooed on his body made my heart swell. “What is it going to be, then?”
Carver’s drawl was thick and heavy, like his heated gaze as he said, “A necklace would look sexy as hell on you, don’t you think?”
38
Carver
The Ring
The confusion on my wife’s face was too fuckin’ cute. She watched intently from her seat as Grant applied the stencil to my hand. The moment he pulled it off, her eyes went wide, and her hand shot up to her throat, almost like she was picturingmy hand there already. I threw a wink her way right as the gun whirred to life.
With Grant’s focus on my hand and the work he backed with immense pride, I watched my wife flush crimson as her eyes skirted over the black and blue ink wells. She nearly dropped her fork when her gaze fell back to the necklace that was already taking shape.
“Wanna get a closer look, sweetheart?”
Grant snickered at the endearment and I tucked my fingers in to flip him off. He laughed more and shook his head.
“No, I—” Lyra pulled her phone from her pocket. She lifted a finger my way, signaling she needed a minute as she answered her phone, then set her plate down before walking out to the front porch.
“Those walls won’t turn invisible no matter how hard you try to see through ’em,” Grant said, keeping his head down as he worked on my hand.
