“Those aren’t normal.”

“Yeah, they are.” He met my gaze. “You renovated the back end of Manny’s, then added on to the front porch and did that whole other section just for smokers. He gestured to the picnic table area. “Plus you have lights all over the trees now. Suki moved back there. She’s not going to be returning to the front.” He patted my leg with his free hand. “The only place that’s not looking like a five-star pub is your house.”

Dammit. He was right.

I hated to admit it, but I’d started to become a little self-conscious of my own truck in the parking lot. It wasn’t mixing with the BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes, or even the Jettas. There were a whole bunch of a lot shinier and pricier vehicles too.

“The crews come in,” I countered.

“Not for long. Bren’s friends asked if I could buy the place next to the bar and turn it into a spot they could hang at, like your back room.”

“They can be here because Manny’s is still a diner too. You don’t have that.”

“I know. That’s why I said no, but they’re looking. That’s what I’m saying. They’re looking for a new spot.”

Well, cripes. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. I felt a heaviness cloud my mind, so I took another drink of the bourbon. Some of those richy people were looking at us, but I was so far beyond giving a shit.

I didn’t care that I’d shot someone.

I didn’t care that I’d been in the middle of a shoot-out.

I didn’t care that I was losing my old clientele.

I didn’t care that I’d stopped smoking.

I didn’t care… There were too many goddamn things I kept trying to deny I cared about, because if I didn’t, I didn’t know what I’d do. Until I could face the list of problems in my life, I’d resorted to my white-trash trailer-park ways.

A few of those real-housewives women turned their noses up at me, and I was real tempted to itch my nose. With my middle finger.

“They’re looking at me, Heather.”

I swore under my breath. “They’re not, and you know it.”

“No, they are.” He leaned forward, finishing his beer and putting the empty bottle on the railing. He looked back at me, and that’s when I saw he still had blood all over him. “I haven’t cleaned up yet.”

He had waited for me to shower.

I melted inside, despite a whole layer of pissed-off feelings that I knew were for him.

“I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds,” I admitted, the bourbon loosening my tongue.

That burned too. I didn’t admit things. I didn’t share stuff. And if I did, it was a big deal.

He reached over and took my hand, lacing our fingers in my lap. “I know.”

Except to Channing. He was the one I let in.

“Because you are,” he added. His hand tightened, momentarily, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He brought my hand with his, and I had to sit up as he pressed a kiss to my knuckle. “Maybe you shouldn’t have to be.”

“What?”

But he didn’t answer.

Without looking at me, he reached back, scooped me up and pulled me onto his lap. Settling back, he cradled me in his arms, burying his head in my hair. “God, I love you.” It came out in a whisper, and I closed my eyes, folding my other hand over his in my lap now.

I could’ve sat there forever.

A smattering of laughter pulled me out of my brief reverie. The same ladies were whispering together. They were holding up hands to cover their mouths, even.

Fuck them.

I stood, my bourbon in hand, and strode over.

I didn’t stomp. I didn’t storm. I didn’t even walk. I strolled—slow, sensual, and I knew full well my tits were on display. Those women had their husbands at another table, and as soon as I started forward, a hush fell over their group.

This wasn’t Business 101, but it was Humanity 101.

My head held high, I stopped right in front of their table. My jean shorts slipped low on my hips. There was a good amount of toned flesh showing. I knew because I felt the breeze. Maybe the bourbon hadn’t completely taken me over, but raising the bottle to my lips, I smiled at them.

Their class was two years older than me.

Their bank accounts probably surpassed mine, but in no way were they classier.

“Hi, ladies.” I took a long drink, tipping the bottle up and letting my throat stretch back. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I kept that cool smile on my face as I leaned forward. I put the bottle on their table, resting my hands so they could see down my shirt—just enough to make them uncomfortable, make their husbands excited. As their gazes went there, they straightened, and their mouths tightened.

“How’s the evening for you?” I drawled. “Having fun? Having a few drinks?” I nodded to their wine glasses. “Enjoying Suki’s gourmet show?”

The gravel crunched behind me, but I didn’t look to see who it was. I already knew Channing was there. Their eyes moved past me, and they couldn’t hide the desire that sparked. One coughed, glanced at her husband, and looked at her lap. Ooh, look. She needed to readjust her napkin. It wasn’t in the right spot. A second’s cheeks burned red. She stared a second too long, then did the same, glancing over to her husband. But the other two, they couldn’t tear their gazes away from him.

I knew how they felt.

Feeling my own lust ignited, I gave the women a knowing look. “I bet between the sticks up your asses and the long hours your men keep with their jobs or mistresses, you guys are actually envying me right now.” I straightened, ignoring the gasps from two of them, and the clenched jaws from the other two. “I can totally see that.”

“Heather,” Channing murmured behind me. He stepped up close, and I felt his hand on my hip.

I ignored him too. My gaze lingered on the last lady, the one who’d seemed perpetually pissed off at me. “It’s not me you’re actually mad at. You’re mad at yourself. You hate your life, and seeing me, wanting what I have, you can’t keep lying to yourself. The truth is bubbling up inside, just like mine is right now. Yeah, I’m coming over like a bitch, but you’re the one looking down your hoity-toity noses at me. You don’t even know me.” My hand flexed on the table. “You don’t know what I did today. You don’t know where I came from, where I’m going. You don’t know anything about me, but you think you do.” My eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so high up that I can’t yank you down. You’re dead fucking wrong. I can.”

“Okay.” Channing’s arm came around my waist.

“Get her out of here.” Brandon’s voice twisted on a snarl from behind us.

“Already on it,” Channing grunted, carrying me back to my house.

My take-down monologue was done, but I was all about embracing my roots.

As Channing carried me past my house to his truck, I had the last laugh.

I held up my hands, both middle fingers extended, and my last view was my brother, his hand rubbing his forehead.

I didn’t care.

That was the theme for the day.

As Channing deposited me in his truck and rounded to the driver’s seat, I slumped down. “Where’s my bourbon?”

“Hopefully coming out of you in a few minutes.” He kicked it in gear and backed out.