Page 48 of Live Love Lasso

She hops out of the truck, dropping to a knee as the dogs flood her, licking her face while she baby-talks them.

Oz swans out of the truck with both hands on his hips. “Well, look at this, Furyon Zayle, consorting with the enemy and having dalliances with beautiful vampires? She’s a criminal, you know.” He winks at me.

I grab a handful of chicken feed and toss it at him. “I’ve never even been charged!”

“Doubt you ever will be,” Furyon says, pinching my ass. “Unless you’ve truly pulled the wool over my eyes. I’m pretty good, though, so I doubt it.”

Oz giggles. “Humble, too.”

Bluebell extricates herself from the dogs, walking over and waving at my outfit. “Well, it looks like what I thought happened to you last night is exactly what happened to you last night.” She looks up at Furyon. “We’re taking her out tonight, though. You can’t have her.”

He chuckles. “I’m workin’ tonight. Got plans with Echo. Should I warn y’all to behave, or is Lemon gonna be The Gossip’s headline this next edition too?”

Oz daintily steps around the clucking chickens, keeping one eye on them as he joins us. “I can’t guarantee anything, but our only plans are a skyball game, possibly some bull riding, maybe a few drinky drinks.” He eyes Furyon. “Do we return her here, or back to her place? What’s the living sitch?”

Furyon snorts and looks between us. “Pretty sure that’s up to Lemon and ain’t none of your business. So, when your good times are done, take her wherever she wants to go or call me and I’ll come get ‘er.”

“Mmkay.” Oz barely restrains a smile as he looks at me, eyes drifting down my figure. “Lemon, are there very short shorts under that shirt?”

Bluebell joins me and grabs the neckline, pulling it out and looking straight down.

I scoff and slap the side of her boob. “Get outta there.”

She shakes her head. “Confirming complete absence of underthings.”

My friends beam at me. I’m pretty sure I’m going to hear all of their thoughts as soon as we get together.

I wrap my arms around myself, chicken feed bucket dangling from my fingertips. “Where do I need to meet you and what time?”

Oz grins. “I’ll pick you up at noon ‘cause the skyball game’s at two, and obviously we’ll be tailgating beforehand. There’s usually a rodeo afterward, so if we’re feeling up for that, we can do it. Then, of course, we’ll likely end up at one of the bars. Gonna be a good time, but don’t wear those sparkly boots unless you want to get them covered in dust.”

I roll my eyes, grumbling. Everyone hates on my boots, and I love them.

“I happen to have a particular affinity for those boots,” Furyon says. “Let’s keep ‘em in good shape. You can leave ‘em here if you want, Miss Knox.”

I bite my lip to avoid a smile. The idea of leaving things at his house feels so good.

Are we really doing this?

I think we are…

Furyon

Hours later, Lemon’s gone, but I can’t stop smilin’. Not even being in my truck on the way to talk to the ophiotaurii can get me down.

A rap at the back window has me glancing over my shoulder.

Sheriff Rygold glares at me through the dusty panes. “Pull over, Furyon. Wanna have a quick chat before we do this.”

Nodding, I stop the truck in the middle of the red dirt road. I hop out and hang my forearms over the truck bed, looking at the sheriff. “What’s up, Bish?”

The giant gargoyle rests against the opposite side of the truck bed, crouched in an uncomfortable-looking position with his wings draped over the side of the truck. He rests his forearms over both knees. “The Sidewinders club leadership is battling over who’s gonna take the prez’s place now that Rezeth kicked the bucket. We might have to tackle this cautiously.”

I cock my head to the side. “Meaning what?”

He jerks his head toward the road ahead of the truck. “Let’s start with Siral, their vice prez. If we don’t make headway, you need to get Kohdiy alone somewhere. He’s not technically in the leadership ranks, but he’s big as fuck and stronger than Siral. My money’s on that boy to take over. I suspect he’s just bidin’ his time with no plans to follow their club hierarchy.”

I point at a healing wound that trails down his cheek and neck and into his jean shirt. “Didn’t Kohdiy give you that last time you had to knock heads at their compound?”