Page 30 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

The man scoffs, exasperated, and rolls his eyes. “You sound just like Pop and Abeulo,” he says as he makes his way to the fridge. Grabbing a soda, he pops the metal cap off with a skillful flick of the wrist. “C’mon. Break the cycle, open up about your feelings. Release the emotional constipation. I got my therapist hat on and everything, look.”

Tomás tips his leather hat, and the sides of Cyrus’ mouth tug upwards. He hates that it nearly breaks his tough older sibling façade. Between the two of them, Tomás had been the one to take after their mom. Just as stubborn, but charming whenever needed—ever eager to put a smile on someone’s face, even when they’re in the foulest of moods. It was a trait that seemed to disappear when she did.

Cyrus misses that about him.

“Cy, seriously,” Tomás presses. “Spill it.”

Cyrus exhales through his nose and downs the last of his whiskey. He starts to pace, runs a hand through his hair, attempting to find the right words. Then, he slams his hands against the counter and looks at his brother like he’s about to say something devastating. “I had a client today. She just left my place this morning and I feel crazy, Tommy. I don’t know why, but she’s the only thing that’s been on my mind the entire drive over, and I can’t get her scent out of my nose. It’s like it’s rooted in my senses. I feel like I’m running a fever. Shit, I actually might be. It’s too hot in here.”

Tomás is quiet while he watches Cyrus unravel, his expression unreadable. His hands clasp together like he’s about to say a prayer, then raises them to his mouth, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. When they open again, he looks as if he’s aged a decade. “Cyrus Romeo Castillo. You may not be the stupidest man in the world, but you sure better hope he doesn’t fuckin’ die.”

Cyrus’ mouth falls open. His ears burn red from the use of his government name, and he sticks an accusatory finger in his direction. “You wait a minute now—”

“Christ,” Tomás scoffs. “Sayin’ you were born this way would do a great injustice to Mom and Pop, so I’m just gonna go out on a limb and say that time that old stallion knocked you down on that big head of yours as a pup did more than leave a scar behind. Must have knocked your brain a little loose too.”

Cyrus balks. With eyes narrowed and arms crossed in what some might consider to be a pout, he leans up against the fridge.

“Fuck you.”

“I already told you, you ain’t my type.” Tomás flashes him a sharp-toothed grin. “Cyrus, seriously, you can’t possibly be this dense on purpose. Are you so emotionally stunted that you can’t even stop to consider you’re going through these little things called feelings? Sounds like you like the girl. What happened, you said she left this morning? I thought you had some dumb rule about overnight visits?”

Cyrus squeezes the bridge of his nose hard enough for the skin to pale. “It ain’t that, Tommy. Sure, she’s sweet, but…” Tomás hits him with another flat glare. “I do have a rule about overnight visits. It’s just, it was a long night. She passed out, and there was a storm the next morning. I couldn’t just kick her out.”

“Uh, huh,” Tomás says. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long while and I know what I’m dealing with. I do not have feelings for anyone. I know how to keep things professional. Besides, you know me. I’m a lone wolf kind of guy. A steady relationship isn’t what I’m here for anyway.”

Alana showing up on his booking list had been a surprise. He rarely books with someone he has a history with. Well, maybe history is a bit of a strong word. He likes Alana. Sure, she’s fun to talk to, and even more fun to flirt with. And, sure, seeing that smile first thing every morning gave him more of a dopamine boost than any cup of coffee ever could. But feelings? Real, bonified feelings? No. No, of course not.

Tomás shakes his head. “I do know you. And I sure as hell know that ain’t true. You wouldn’t fight a relationship if it came your way. You just act like you’re fine without because you think yourself tough.”

Cyrus’ gaze darts away. “I do not.”

“Yes. Yes, you do. That lone wolf stuff is bullshit and you know it. It’s in our nature to be part of a pack. I know you want that. It’s just ever since mom and pop, you’ve been…different. Then the thing with Sam—”

“Don’t,” Cyrus snaps. Heat bristles beneath his skin, and his claws twitch at his fingertips. “I don’t—I don’t want to talk about Sam.”

A frown weighs down Tomás’ features, but he nods, hands held up in defense. “Sorry. Listen, all I’m trying to get at is I think—”

“I know what you’re trying to get at.” Cyrus exhales, allowing the tension in his shoulders to release.

Wolves are social creatures by nature; Tomás was right about that. There’s an innate drive for closeness and connection from those around them, a need to bond. A handful of years ago, he’d thought he found that in someone—that missing piece the wolf in him had been longing for since he was a pup, watching his parents slow dance in the kitchen during dinner. Sam.

Cyrus shakes the name from his memory. He promptly forces it right back into the vault and tosses the key.

“I’m fine, Tommy, alright? The shit I do isn’t just because I like fucking. Which, I mean, I do,” Cyrus says. “It keeps the ranch afloat, and the bills paid. It isn’t a dating game, and I don’t have time to entertain otherwise. So, can we just get back to work?”

Tomás huffs, indignant. “Fine, whatever. I still say you should at least talk to the girl. Make a goddamn friend at the very least. Need to start hangin’ out with folks other than me and your nieces.”

Cyrus flashes him the finger. “ Yeah, yeah. Funny. Look, even if I wanted to, I doubt she—”

A chime from his pocket freezes Cyrus on the spot.

Then, another one, soon followed by a vibration that sounds deafeningly loud in the stillness of the kitchen.

“Holy shit.” Tomás’ grin is ironically wolfish, as his brother stumbles around himself in an attempt to wiggle his phone out from his jeans at lightning speed. “You expecting a text from her? You are red.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Cyrus hisses. He’s about to unlock the device, thumb hovering over the pin pad, when it gets snatched away.