This was because his expression changed. In a there-and-gone I nevertheless caught, there was a hint of surprise and a definite softening of his features that was so beautiful, words had not been invented to describe its beauty.
“I wish, Cady’s a prude,” Lonnie shared jovially.
In a contradiction that I no longer found surprising, although Lonnie went ballistic if Maria even looked at another guy, Lonnie openly flirted . . . with me.
Only me.
It was a friends thing, teasing and sometimes sweet.
But even if I was used to it, I thought it was weird.
And I wasn’t a prude. It was just, if Lonnie was around, he made it impossible for me to find any action.
“Right,” Tony muttered, losing interest in us and turning his attention to the tap in order to pour himself his beer.
I pushed off Lonnie, this effort making more beer slosh on my hand (which was good, less of it I’d have to pretend to drink), and turned to him.
“Your real woman wants a Jell-O shot,” I informed him.
“The bitch’s got legs, she can get herself one.”
This was not my favorite side of Lonnie, how he could be around other dudes. He was sweet as pie when it was just Maria (she told me, but I believed her because he was that way to her, and me, a lot of the time when I was around).
It was just when he had to be a man, this being when he thought there was someone who might size him up (and this being another man).
Like being sweet to your girlfriend made your dick shrink.
“Probably get yourself some if you got her one,” I stated, mostly in an effort to make it known to someone who was within hearing distance that I was not a prude.
Lonnie grinned at me and it reminded me why Maria put up with him.
He wasn’t as handsome and cool as this new guy, but he was all kinds of cute with his messy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes.
“I’ll get myself some even if I don’t get her one,” he retorted.
He was probably right. I spent a lot of time with them, got toasted at their place, passed out on their couch so I wouldn’t have to drive home. I’d heard it.
Often.
“Whatever,” I said to him and his grin got bigger. I turned from him back toward Tony to see he’d filled his beer because he was lifting it to very fine looking lips and taking a sip as he gazed off in a different direction. “I’m Cady,” I announced boldly.
Just his eyes slid to me, and I felt another spasm because that was cool and hot.
He took his sip, swallowed it and lowered his beer. “Tony.”
I shot him a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
He looked to my mouth and another expression chased across his face before he blanked it.
And I liked that one too.
“Best be gettin’ Maria that shot,” Lonnie chimed in.
“I don’t want her to sleep with me when I get home,” I quipped at the same time I tried to make a point.
Lonnie looked to Tony. “I wish on that too. Totally watch that. Sell tickets.”
I felt the heat flame in my cheeks again, and in front of this guy, this tall, dark stranger with beautiful eyes and a way about him that was interesting and crazy appealing, I was fed up with Lonnie’s shit.
“Don’t be a dick,” I snapped.
This was not a good move.
Lonnie’s good nature flew out the window as he narrowed angry eyes at me and asked in a soft, disturbing voice, “What did you just say?”
I had a choice to make and had to make a split second decision.
Rub up against Lonnie in a not-good way and face consequences that could range from relatively benign (a freeze out or a verbal setting down) to him screaming his head off and even lunging, but only to give the thrill of danger.
He’d never hurt me physically, but he didn’t mind threatening it.
My other choice was to have a backbone, just to have one for once with the added incentive of saving face in front of the gorgeous Tony.
I might never see Tony again (which would suck but I’d never seen him before, and even if evidence was suggesting he was part of the crew Lonnie was guiding us to, not seeing him again was still a possibility).
I practically lived with Lonnie and Maria (because my pad was crap and I hated being there, but I loved being with them . . . or I used to, this was sadly and weirdly fading).
Before I could make the decision that would make me look like a weak loser in front of Tony, Tony waded in.
“She said don’t be a dick. And I’ll add to that, don’t be a fuckin’ dick.”
Lonnie’s gaze flew to Tony.
Even if I felt a weird warmth steal over me that Tony had taken my back, I took a mini-step away.
Then I watched with a goodly amount of interest as Lonnie sent Tony a scowl that lasted all of half a second before he backed down.
God.
I couldn’t believe it.
Lonnie was scared of this guy.
Though, I could see why.
He was a couple of inches taller, and although Lonnie was relatively built, he was on the lean side. This guy wasn’t a powerhouse, but there didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat on him, his shoulders were broad, his forearms brawny and veined, and his thighs were thick.
But in that moment when it came to my attention, it came speeding to my attention that it was more.
This was not a guy you messed with. He said that with his gait. He said it with the alert manner he held his body. He said it with the intensity of his gaze.
In a faceoff with him, you backed down or he’d mess you up.
He didn’t need to act like a man in front of a man.
He was just a man.
And now I had to make another decision and this decision was how I was going to help my friend save face in this tense situation.
I did this by declaring, “Anyway, Maria’s not my type seeing as she doesn’t have a penis.”
Lonnie looked to me and Tony looked to his boots.
Lonnie’s attention went back to Tony and I felt him relax at the same time I noticed Tony was grinning at his boots.
It wasn’t even aimed at me, and since this grin appeared genuine, it was still one of the most amazing things I’d ever seen.
“Now I’m going to move away from the testosterone before I start growing a beard,” I announced, and immediately, even though it took me from Tony’s sphere, I did just that.
I did it walking away from them, away from Maria and into the house.
I could pretend I needed to use the john and take that time to get my head together (and pour out a little more of my beer, not to mention, have an excuse for “forgetting” the Jell-O shots).
When I got to the bathroom, I used it because I was there (and wished I didn’t have to because our new “friends” who lived at this house weren’t fond of cleaning).
I then walked to the sink to wash my hands and pour out some beer.
While there, I looked in the mirror.
Auburn hair my mom gave me.
Freckles on my nose.
Green eyes I got from my grandmother, Dad’s mom.
The hair was thick and could be unruly, but since I’d spent hours and hours over years and years learning how to tame it, I thought it was pretty awesome.
The freckles across my nose, although not prominent and fading the older I got, kinda stunk.
I wasn’t short, as such, though I hit a shade under average height. And I’d always been curvy.
I could actually take or leave anything (except the hair, I’d miss my hair).
But I’d fall to my knees in gratitude in front of God for giving me my eyes.
They weren’t a hazy green, a yellow green, a brownish green, a bluish green.
They were green.
A shock of emerald so pure, they were like jewels in my face (ringed, I’ll admit, with a thin line of smoky blue but that only served to make the green stand out more).
I loved my eyes. I’d spent hours of my life praying to God that, if He let me give my eyes to my children, I’d be a good girl until the day I died (I often went back on this but did it knowing God was forgiving and I was never that bad).
But looking at my eyes in that mirror in that house with that man outside, I thought, just one of my kids, I’d let them have Tony’s eyes if he was the man who helped me make that kid.
And truthfully, it wouldn’t suck if we had a passel of kids and they all got Tony’s eyes.