The Bluff (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul.

Winnie says nothing, and I continue pretending she isn’t there, even as every cell in my body seems to have swung her way like tiny, malfunctioning satellites. Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.

hear the thump-thump-thump as one of the dogs wags its tail from the porch. I appreciate the show of solidarity.

This is chocolate cayenne with a milk stout chocolate ganache,”

Whereas fictional ones never let me down. They come complete with a grand gesture and an HEA every dang time.

Guess I should know better than to judge a man based on his motorcycle boots.

The cat doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t make a sound. And yet I feel supremely judged.

like that period of time altered my DNA permanently.

This happens to me sometimes, where my gruffness encroaches on rudeness territory. I remember in seventh grade, I started getting notes on my report cards talking about my tone of voice problem. When I stopped talking almost at all in class, the next report card said I had a tone of face problem.

ASD

the Grahams are like watching the sibling rivalry Olympics.

started asking questions, James got this glazed look. Total donut of the face.

Let’s not discuss WHY the idea makes me stabby, because I’m pretending it doesn’t.

There are educational programs in schools across the country warning about the dangers of drugs. But there should absolutely be a similar program about the dangers of men’s body products. Aftershave, bodywash, cologne—all of them need warning labels. Maybe prescriptions or age restrictions. May cause infatuation, wild bouts of lust, obsession, or addiction. Please use responsibly.

our kiss was like beer that’s been barrel-aged and complexly developed. Not something new. Not a first. It was like working for months or years refining a recipe, letting it age and develop to perfection. With Winnie it was instant, immediate, unquestionably amazing. We were perfectly melded flavors, an unexpected pairing. We had something no one has from the start. It was … undeniably amazing.

It was the kind of kiss that starts wars or ends them. The sort that sonnets are written about. Country songs too—the happy ones that you line dance to, not the sad ones or the vengeful ones. (Though I do love some vengeful Miranda Lambert.)

it’s the kind of kiss that becomes your last first kiss.

Because if you’re not

eating chips as the bookend to your meal, you’re doing it wrong.

I’ve never been casual. I don’t have enough chill for casual.

his gaze sought me out, landing on where I stood against the wall. He held out a hand to me, I took it, and he hasn’t let go since.

This felt like a way to connect with her. It also felt a little bit like my own personal armor.”

want my kiss to assure her

to protect, to cherish, to keep her close and safe. I want to explore; I want to treasure. I want her to know her value

He already owns the majority shares of my heart’s stock and is angling for a hostile takeover.

it’s all over. I’ll be his forever, no take-backs.

My resolve is like a bowl of Jell-O in direct sunlight. I’m watery, and any solid part I had left is melting into goo.

“It’s genetic,” he calls back. “How many abdominals a person has is related to their genetics and how many bands of connective tissue they have. Six is my max.

Grief has a long memory, and a way of leaping up to surprise you.

discuss the feelings I have for Winnie. How they’ve grown wild as weeds and taken over my lawn.

I’m not sure who started the tradition, but almost every plot and most of the paths have little solar lights—the kind you can pick up at any Walmart or dollar store. It makes the Sheet Cake Cemetery look magical, like some kind of fairy garden.

Before coffee, you look like the truest version of yourself. Fierce, strong, soft, real.

there’s the tiniest hint of pride in his expression. Like James is suddenly this proud cat dad. I wouldn’t have EVER predicted this, but I am here for it.

His frown deepens. Is it weird I find him hotter frowning than smiling? Are frown fetishes a thing? If not, I’ll gladly be the start of this trend.

James takes several steps forward, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the way the Orange Cyclops saunters along next to him. They have matching strides and wear the same intense expression. It is … a-freaking-dorable.

I’ve never seen a cat match the attitude of its owner.

You aren’t allowed to apologize for loving me so well.”

taps his chest, right over his heart. “I feel your love in all the things you’ve done for me.”

do I need to prepare to be more twitterpated?”

“You ground me, and you help me fly.

don’t want to take one more step toward my future without securing you as a part of it.”

James chuckles. And looks at Winnie both like he wants to completely consume her and die fighting to protect her.