Oh, fuck me, Colton Crawford is calling. Colton Crawford has my number.
“Hey,” I manage, forcing my voice into something that sounds almost normal.
“I hope you don’t mind me callin’, but Christian asked me to let you know Callan’s driving him to your sister’s.”
“Now?”
“Is that okay? I can call them and ask them to head back to Cal’s place, but Christian’s pretty set on seeing you.”
“No, it’s fine.” My heart kicks against my ribs. “Is he okay?”
“Shit went sideways with Travis tonight. He’ll tell you the details, I’m sure, but he came to Cal’s and we had a few drinks. Mostly him—the guy needed it. But he kept saying he wanted his girl.”
Swoon.
“How bad was it?”
“Let’s just say it couldn’t have gone any worse.”
I swallow hard, already pushing the blankets off my legs. “Jesus. Okay… I’ll wait for him. Thanks for calling.”
“No problem. I’ll see you soon, Piper.”
We hang up, and I race downstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs as I pace the living room. Every second feels like an eternity as I wait, checking the window every few steps like that’ll make him appear faster.
When the knock finally comes, I practically sprint across the room. I yank the door open, and my cowboy storms in without a word, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me against him like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he lets go.
He buries his face in the curve of my neck, and I feel him take this deep, shuddering breath like he’s trying to pull me into his lungs.
“Easy there, big guy. She needs to breathe to live,” Callan drawls from the porch.
I catch his eye over Christian’s shoulder, and he widens them slightly, a silentJesus Christ, it’s been a night.
“Are you okay?” I whisper into Christian’s chest.
“Yes and no,” he mutters.
“If you thought my nephew was a walking sack of shit before…” Callan says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, “Well, he just outdid himself. Royally.”
“What’s with all the noise?” Violet appears at the top of the stairs, her blonde hair a messy halo around her face, eyes still heavy with sleep. She stops dead when she spots Callan, her face transforming from sleepy irritation to pure murder. “Please tell me this is just some horrible nightmare, and I’m not actually seeing you in my house at midnight.”
“Cute jammies, Lettie.” Callan smirks, cocking his head and dragging his gaze across her striped shorts and tank top. “Didn’t peg you for a candy-cane-print kinda girl.”
“Eat me, Crawford.”
He whistles low under his breath, biting back a grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart. Though honestly, somebody probably should, considering you’re always so goddamn pissy.”
She takes a step down, barefoot, barely dressed, and full of fire, like she might lunge at him any second. It could be fists or teeth—hell, it could be both.
“God, you’re such a smug, arrogant, emotionally stunted?—”
“—urge you hate yourself for having?” he finishes for her. “Don’t worry, Lettie. I like women who don’t look like they want to stab me mid-orgasm.”
“Yeah, well, you’d have to actually get her there first for that to be a problem.”
“Never had a single complaint. But if you’re curious, I’d be real happy to show you exactly why.”
“Not even if you were the last dick in Rosewood.”
