My head bounced.
My hair swayed.
And for a split second, I was stuck on the thought that no one had ever done that to me before.
I didn’t like it.
But after all he’d done for me, that kiss, and in our current situation, I didn’t dislike it either.
What I did, after all he’d done for me, that kiss, and in our current situation, was understand it.
But my attention shifted to the multitude of women and one wild man whose collective gazes had sharpened on Mag’s arm around my hips, and not in good ways.
Right, maybe Lottie’s friends didn’t know he was an alpha-man commando who did stuff like that.
I never in my life thought I’d be in this place, but in order to handle a sudden and unexpected volatile situation, I was in this place.
That place being in a position to have to explain how an alpha-man commando operates.
“He’s protective,” I said. “He was there when I first saw all the damage. And you’ve invaded his space. It’s a commando thing.”
“Say what?” Lottie asked.
In answer, I curled my fingers around Mag’s wrist (which, incidentally, didn’t move) and shared, “You’ve invaded his territory. He’s claiming his territory and nonverbally sharing what he intends to protect. It’s not bad, as such. It’s instinctive.”
No one looked angry anymore, I was pleased to see.
Though how they’d morphed straight to highly amused, I didn’t get.
“She’s…” one of the blondes started. “She’s…” Her voice was trembling. “Giving us alpha lessons,” she finally got out.
When she did, promptly, all of them burst out laughing. And another of the blondes, hers platinum, had a giggle that sounded like tinkling bells (she also had very large breasts and was wearing a suede jacket top that had some lace at the waist, some glitter at the shoulder-padded shoulders, a ragged hem that fell to her stone-washed–jegging-covered hips, enough cleavage for seven women and looked like Calamity Jane met Wynonna Judd, but a Wynonna with platinum-blonde hair).
The lone African American lady, who, incidentally, had an enormous and highly attractive Afro, moved forward, tearing my attention away from the platinum blonde.
“This here, girl,” she began, “is the Rock Chicks.”
Oh…
Lottie’s friends.
Denver’s famed Rock Chicks.
In Mag’s living room.
Whoa.
“It’s a wonder I haven’t grown a beard, I’ve been inhaling so much testosterone for the last however many years,” the only brunette noted.
“Their men reinvented the idea of alpha,” the African American lady said. “Hers,” she pointed at another blonde, “took the book, doused it with gasoline, set it on fire, melted steel over the flame, fashioned a knife out of it and wrote the new definition by dipping the tip of that knife in ink then drawing a picture of himself.”
“That’s an, erm, colorful description,” I noted.
“I think the only time I’ve seen Luke hold a pen was when he signed our marriage certificate,” the blonde who had been indicated said. “Though, if he knew he could write with a knife dipped in ink, he’d probably do it more often. Including when he signed our marriage certificate.”
Everyone burst out laughing again.
Except Lottie.
She started speaking.
“Mag, Mo told me what went down and I not only did not call you a manwhore, I cannot believe you’d think I said that about you.”
Everyone stopped laughing and stared at Mag.
Oh boy.
I turned my head to look up at him to see he was still angry and still focused on Lottie.
“Yeah, then where did she get that shit?” he asked.
“It wasn’t Lottie, Danny,” I told him, and felt like an absolute heel when his eyes came down to me and I had to say what I had to say next. “Some of the girls at Smithie’s talked, and it was, well…me who used that term. Lottie just said you had a bad breakup and, and…you needed a woman in your life who would let you be you.”
He didn’t look any less angry, though it was a mixed bag that he didn’t seem angry at me.
“She came in here making assumptions,” he explained his continuing anger at Lottie.
“You are in nothing but shorts and I’m in your shirt,” I pointed out, though I didn’t tell him I was in his shirt and not back in my Computer Raiders outfit because I wanted him to see me in his shirt making breakfast, my body at odds with my mind as to what was the right thing for Mag in this situation.
My body winning out.
In a lot of ways.
“I’m not fifteen. You’re not fifteen. And she’s not my mom or yours,” he returned.
He had a point.
I looked to Lottie. “We slept in separate rooms. Boone gave me this shirt because I didn’t have anything to wear to bed. I was making Mag breakfast as a thank-you and it was me who kissed him. Um, the first time.”
“The first time,” the platinum blonde said through a tinkly giggle.
I saw Lottie cotton on precisely to why I was wearing his shirt making breakfast. I also caught her lips shifting like she was fighting a smile. All while I felt my cheeks heat at the memory of that kiss.
I hadn’t had the chance to process the mortification of possibly giving him a fat lip while trying to kiss him, nor how I felt that Mag gave me a do-over.
Okay, so that do-over was the best kiss of…my…life, so that was a plus.
But by kissing him, or letting him kiss me, I was not exactly saving him from the disaster my life seemed always to be, so that was a minus.
“I never made Lee breakfast to thank him for invading my life and commandeering my problems,” the lone redhead said.
“I made Hank breakfast, my stuffed French toast, but it wasn’t a thank-you for him invading my life and commandeering my problems,” yet a different blonde said. “Or was it?”
“Your French toast is everything,” the blonde with the hubby who would write with a knife declared. “You totally need to make it when we hit that Vrbo in Vail next weekend.”
“I’ll put the ingredients on the communal grocery list,” the other blonde decided.
And then I jumped, though I didn’t get very far in Mag’s hold.
This was because ZZ Top Guy spoke, and even though I sensed it was his regular voice, it was a boom.
“Learn fast” was what he said, and he said it to me.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“In the face of death, destruction, car bombs, grenades, shootouts, etcetera,” he rolled a beefy mitt in front of him to demonstrate “etcetera” went quite a long and apparently scary way, “conversation will degenerate to grocery lists or even more ridiculous shit. While you’re in the middle of your drama, stay sharp, and by that I mean, don’t focus on French toast no matter how good my Roxie’s stuffed French toast is. And it’s fuckin’ brilliant.”
This seemed bizarre, but good advice.
“I thought we were here to grab her and take her somewhere safe so she doesn’t have to deal with her drama,” yet another blonde remarked.
“You are not taking Evie anywhere,” Mag rumbled.