Bounty(92)

“Uh, Tate was in the NFL?” I forced through a throat still clogged with the velvety cotton candy sweetness of his compliment.

“Blew out his knee early in his career. Became a cop. Then a bounty hunter, bar owner.”

“Interesting life path.”

“Best anyone can hope for. Either the contentment of knowin’ they’re right where they need to be, doin’ what they should be doin’ among the folk they should be with or takin’ a path that, least it could be is interesting, best it’s a goddamned kick in the ass.”

“That’s quite profound, Deke,” I told him the truth.

“It’s just real.”

“It should be a bumper sticker.”

I felt his body shake with laughter as he tucked me deeper under him.

“You feel like gettin’ up and writin’ that shit down?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” I answered.

I felt his words stir the top of my hair when he murmured, “Me either.”

Okay.

Wait.

I did not just wake up terrified and needing his arms around me to take away the shakes, him being close to make me feel safe.

Any friend would do that.

I just opened the door ready for bed and there we were, in bed together, cuddling and bantering.

Lacey would do that (including the cuddling). Bianca would too. Hell, we’d all three done that together on a variety of occasions when life got tough or we were just drunk and being crazy but doing it together.

A male friend who knew I had a thing for him?

No.

I felt at this point it was safe to say that Deke’s boundaries were getting really fucking blurry.

And perhaps at this point I needed to get a firmer understanding of them before I inadvertently stepped over a line I didn’t know was there.

“Deke?” I called.

“Quiet, gypsy, go to sleep.”

“But, um…”

I didn’t know how to broach it.

“Wood’s back to work at your place tomorrow. Max has cleared his day so he can work with us too. Three men, two laying, one cutting, we can get more of your ceiling in.”

I wanted a ceiling, like…bad. My ceiling was righteous, more of it would be enormously righteous.

But I wanted more to know what was happening with Deke.

“Honey,” I whispered.

He pulled me up and closer so my face was in his throat.

“Sleep, Jussy,” he whispered back. “You had a good day. Give you a good day tomorrow. Get a brief from Chace, from Decker. Get you a ceiling. That’s tomorrow. After that, we’ll worry about the next day.”

I didn’t know what he was saying.

But I still kinda knew what he was saying.

Or hoped I knew.

I also dreaded what else it could be.

The hope was that all this meant something had changed for Deke.

The dread was that he was just that guy who looked out for folks.

Heck, just that day Lauren told me it was him that took her to the hospital after her ordeal and she’d been told he hadn’t left until Tate came out to tell everyone she’d woken up and she was all good.

And Lexie had told me over mani-pedis that it was Deke Ty called when the dirty police chief showed to do a random inspection of the then-parolee Ty’s house in order to plant drugs and get his parole revoked. Deke had dropped everything so he could show, taking Lexie’s back, taking Ty’s.

It was clear he did that kind of thing.

That could be what he was doing for me.

Though, he could do it on the couch.

I knew he felt my tension when he asked gently, “Baby, what’d I say?”

“Sleep,” I answered.

“Yeah.”

“Can I say one thing?” I asked.

He hesitated and on a sigh allowed, “One thing.”

I got one thing in that moment; I wasn’t going to waste it.

So I didn’t.

“Dad would have really, really liked you.”

His arms tensed around me in a move that seemed involuntary, doing this so tight, I felt the breath squeezed out of me, before they loosened and he tilted his big body, giving me more of his weight and warmth.

But he said nothing.

I gave him that, the best gift I had to give, and I gave him more, deciding to take his advice.

Get through tomorrow.

Then worry about the next day.

So I said nothing as well and I was drifting, close to sleep when I heard him whisper, “And my ma would’ve fuckin’ loved you.”

My eyes shot open.

No longer close to sleep, I whispered back, “Deke.”

“Sleep.”

“Deke.”

“Jussy,” another powerful squeeze, “sleep.”

“God, you’re annoying,” I snapped at his throat.

“Justice.”

“Deke.”

He said no more.

I glared at his shadowed throat.