Bad Bride Good Cowboys (3 page)

He smiled wickedly and agreed Brady had a point. “Me
, too. Maybe it’s a topic we need to discuss when Felicia isn’t on a rampage.” He took a step toward the house. “Think she’s simmered down some?”

“Considering sh
e was cussing worse than a farmhand, doubtful. The mouth on that girl…”

Mickey banished mental images of Felicia’s mouth
, but not before his cock stirred at the memories. “Well, let’s get this over with.No doubt she’ll want to talk.”

“You stupid, arrogant ass! I don’t want to talk.” Felicia’s temper was in full swing and directed at the lying—not to mention cheating—bastard she called a fiancé.

“As usual, you’re overreacting. It was a kiss
. The woman was grateful for me helping her with her case.”

Does he expect me
to believe this bullshit?

She continued to pa
ce the living room carpet of the ranch house in her robe. A smart woman would have blown her hair dry before getting into a screaming match with a man who, she now wondered, was even worth her time and energy. Currently, her hair hung in soggy ringlets around her face, and despite the angry heat radiating off her, dealing with the slime out ruled all. Including the chance of uncontrollable, frizzy curls.

She gathered up all
her courage, and was just barely aware of the front door slamming in the background. “You know what Paul, I am going to take a page out of your playbook and go get laid.”

“You can’t do that—
”

“Sure I can
, and by God, I’m not wearing this cheap token of your affection while I do it!” Tugging at the ring on her finger, she stormed past the two stunned cowboys who she loved more than life, and headed toward the front entrance. Felicia stopped wrestling with the ring long enough to open the door, and by some stroke of luck…or maybe divine intervention, the heavy engagement ring came off her finger. “I hate you.” She walked to the rail of the porch and flung the diamond ring. “I hate your family, and for the record, your mother is an ostentatious bitch.”

Heavy
footsteps echoed behind her, and she knew two sexy cowboys were wondering what the hell? Felicia laughed, a cackle that bordered on malicious.

“Where are you? What is going on?” Paul’s pleas fell on cold, tired and fed up ears
, and more importantly—her heart. 

“You want to know what is going on?” Again, she laughed
, and for the first time since her father died, she became liberated. “I’m going out to get laid by someone
not
you.”

“You can’t—”

“Oh! But I am. You had lipstick on your collar at our engagement luncheon, asshole. If you loved, or even cared about me, you stupid son-of-a-bitch, you would know I don’t wear
pink
lipstick. I hate the fact you screw every woman but me. I may just be a boring accountant, but
omi-fuckingod,
I matter! And tonight, someone is going to know that better than you could
ever
imagine.”

“Felicia—”

“Save your pleas, I’m over you. I don’t want to marry you!” She didn’t mean to scream, but meh—what happened, happened. So there was an audience? It was only Brady and Mickey. Okay, not fair, truth be known, both were her heart, but…

“Where are you?” Paul was pissed and by the change of his tone, he sounded worried.

Good.
Real
good.

Her pulse hiccupped
when realization of the situation registered in her brain. Her mother would be so disappointed, considering how badly she wanted Felicia to marry Paul. He was everything her father had been career wise, but Felicia doubted her father was a cheat like Paul—who planted himself between any and every willing woman’s legs.

Maybe
it’s me.
Maybe she was just that bad in bed. She did turn a guy gay.

Her heart clenched
from that devastation. Down deep, her pride still stung from that secret humiliation, so long ago. However, the emotions she continued to suppress fueled her temper. True, some of her anger now was misdirected, but did it really matter? Paul was overdue for a mass amount, considering how he had carried on since he placed the ring on her finger. Despite her performance in bed, she deserved better. Did the guy really think a four-and-a-half karat diamond ring was an excuse to cheat? Engagement rings were supposed to be a token of commitment.
Ha!
Fat chance where her fiancé was concerned.

The thought of his infidelity
made her sick to her stomach. She’d been too stupid to catch on to his ulterior motives and too naïve to actually think she could be something special to someone. A brain, a hot body, and a pretty face—that sucked in bed. Despite the tightness in her chest, she willed herself not to cry. He wasn’t worth it. She spun around and faced both Mickey and Brady, standing on the other side of the threshold with concern etched in their faces.

Oh, yippee kiaye! Pity, just what I needed.

“Answer my question, Felicia! Where are you?” Anger ,rage even, coated his words, reminding her too much of a commercial for domestic violence. Not only was he a cheat, but Paul had just tried to nominate himself for ‘Wife Beaters of America’.

“Some town between
go to hell
and
go fuck yourself
. Later—if you’re lucky.” She ended the call and stared at her phone a long moment, purposely avoiding looking both sexy cowboys in the eye. No matter how hot they were, at the end of the day they were her brother’s best friends and in turn comparative to guard dogs—only instead of teeth, the Stetson wearing boys had fists and were known to use them.

Her f
irst reaction was to throw her phone, only that might be a problem should it break, so she did the only thing a girl in her situation could do. She turned the ringer off and took her sweet time doing it too. The longer she took, the more time she had to brace herself from the avalanche of protective and often domineering question the gorgeous ranch owners would have. She already could tell by their jaded words and cool demeanors at lunch a month ago one major thing—they couldn’t stand Paul.

Fabulous that makes three of us. Time to suck it up and face the music—or firing squad.
Could go either way.

She returned her gaze to the threshold and plastered a smile on her face. “Mickey!” Felicia beamed a smile that would charm the stars she was sure
, and pushed the fake happy tone to the next level. These boys were no amateurs; they knew her, in some ways better than she knew herself.

She
stepped toward him and though he embraced her in a hug, he was quick to pull back, but his hands slipped to her upper arms maintaining a hold on her. Deep inside she knew she wasn’t strong enough for his interrogation.

“What the hell is going on?”

Really? Mr. Tall, sexy and brooding cowboy missed the conversation with Paul?

True it would have been one sided, but still, how confusing was…I don’t want to marry you? Then again, Mickey
, to his credit did have a set of balls, which, by nature, made him slow on the uptake. The majority of his brains were safely secured behind the zipper of his well fitted jeans. Damn him—every last delicious inch of him.

Felicia stepped out of his
grasp. She fought the way her skin flamed at the simplest touch, penetrating through the thin silk of her robe or how her stomach fluttered when he was near.

She
screwed up her courage then tilted her chin and met Mickey’s dark gaze. “Since I highly doubt you’re deaf, and you stood here with your buddy, hearing the important stuff, allow me to recap and if you’re still confused I’ll run to town and get hand puppets and act it out for you.”

Mickey’s brows shot up and amusement danced in his brown eyes. Beside him Brady ran a large hand over his face to cover the snicker, bordering on a laugh. “Why do you have to be
so sarcastic?”

She scowled. “Because I’m really good at it and sometimes the things you say leave the door wide open.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to marry Paul and I’m sick to death of his cheating, womanizing and of the lying that accompanies the first two. So here I am, taking a minor break from my life and about to go get
all dressed up, then go to the bar and have a stiff one.” She flashed him her angel-like smile. “And when I say ‘stiff one’ I mean way more than a drink.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Trust Brady to be the voice of reason.

She faced him and nodded. “Nope, but
I don’t really care at this point. Now if you both don’t mind, my blow dryer and a short, tight dress are waiting for me.”

Without another word, she stepped around both slack-jawed men and headed toward the stairs. She still
felt only contempt for Paul, but hated even worse how the cowboys she was escaping made her feel. Felicia wasn’t even half way to the second floor when she heard two sets of boots following her up the stairs.

She picked up speed and hit the landing as their steps
continued. Stomping into her room, she tried to shut them out of her thoughts and concentrate on what she was going to wear. Insecurities invaded her mind and she heaved a heavy sigh as she pulled open the closet door.

“
Felicia!” Mickey’s voice called as his boots hit the landing and thumped down the hall. From the sounds against the hard wood, Brady was close behind. “I think we need to talk.”

What was there to talk about? She’d made up her mind and spun to face the two men now standing in her bedroom. “What now?” Her thoughts, emotions and doubts about her sexual capabilities whirled around like an out of control cyclone.

Mickey shifted his weight and placed his hands on his hips. “What the hell would your brother say?”

Collin! Rat bastard. Where is he when I need advice—right digging up the globe without a care?

Her temper sparked another notch into the red zone—she was quickly becoming a man-hater. “He doesn’t care. Once again he has his lackeys, which for the record is you and your partner here, cleaning up after me—because he’s an epic fail as a brother.” She wanted to cry but she had spent too many nights in L.A. crying herself to sleep while her so-called fiancé made lame excuses for why he couldn’t be there. She should have known the late nights he kept weren’t the latest case he was working on, but some unsuspecting chick who wanted to fuck a future politician.

Brady shook his head in disagreement. “Collin loves you. You’re his world.”

Red zone officially hit. “You sound like my mother. Did it ever cross your redneck minds I’m sick of being good. Wake up cowboys, I’m about to be bad.”

Brady flinched and Mickey’s eyes widened. “No, I’m putting coffee on and we’
re going to talk some sense into you.”

The most sardonic laugh filled the room and it took her about thirty seconds to realize the sound
came from her own mouth. “You, Mickey, lost any right to talk anything into—”

The
vibration of her cell phone stopped her from finishing the sentence, but by the darkening of his eyes and the set of his jaw, the man had caught the gist of where she had been going with the comment. It would have been the first time dark secrets hit the light of day. Long lashes blinked at her with a hint of hurt in his gaze.

Good. She wasn’t making this situation easy on anyone. She glanced at the number coming up and silently cursed.
Felicia wanted to scream and not stop; instead she plastered a smile on her face and answered the call. “Mom, what a surprise,” she cooed with every ounce of forced calm she could muster, not mention a lie.

Sure enough
, Paul the fiancé from hell, who cared only about getting his dick wet with everyone but her had ratted her out to her mother of all people. God she hated him for putting the extra pressure on her. Everything inside of her raged like a tornado with nothing but destruction in mind.

“So why do I have the pleasure of this call?” Like she didn’t know.

Both Mickey and Brady took on matching expressions of disgust. Why the hell did they care? It was their entire fault she was in this living state of chaos and confusion. It was never supposed to be this way.

“Paul called—”

“For Christ sake mom, save it, he’s nothing more than a douchebag and I hope he rots in hell.”

“Don’t give me that attitude or speak to me in that
tone of voice!” Her mother’s scolding did nothing to soothe the war of emotions. “Your fiancé is worried; where are you?”

Something deep inside flipped a switch and all emotions completely shut down.

Really?

Her mother was taking Paul’s side without so much as asking how
Felicia felt or what she was going through or why she had fled L.A. like the devil was on her back. Nope. It was all about the perfect Paul. Some part of her, she couldn’t pinpoint which, had suddenly died.

Do I not matter?

“I really don’t care what the cheating snake is thinking or feeling.”

Her mother groaned dramatically as Brady and Mickey exchanged unreadable expressions.
This is what life had come to? “Mom, I don’t want to marry Paul. He’s a low life cheating ass.”
There, honesty, mom could appreciate that, right?