Good Behavior: An MM Forbidden Romance (Wild Heart Ranch Book 2)
Good Behavior: Chapter 3

Ant and I make our way to Willow, the tiny, super-queer coffee shop just past Pedernales Falls. I never take anyone here, but I think Ant needs it. Hell, I do too. I don’t think Justin and Charlie are purposefully excluding us, but Ant’s right—it does sting to be called brother, to be treated with kindness, and then not included in the typical family things.

Honestly, if I said something about the Sunday dinner, I know we would instantly be invited and apologized to. But I resent having to point it out.

“Willow?” Ant asks as we park the truck. “What kind of coffee shop goes by the name Willow?”

I point out the logo, a bunch of delicate stems with wispy balls of white fluff running up the sides, tied together with a rainbow ribbon.

He cracks up, a sight that makes me feel way better than when this ride started.

“Is that a pussy willow?”

“Yyyyep,” I say, popping the P. “Lesbian-owned coffee shops are the best.”

Shaking his head, he checks his phone as he hops out of the truck. The smile slides off his mouth and a snarl takes its place. I up-nod him, and he shoves the phone back into his pocket.

“Charlie just texted me. Says he and Justin will be back tomorrow, and he’s got big news for me.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Rolling my eyes at Ant, I check, and sure enough, it’s pretty much the same message.

“Is it wrong that I want to ruin their ‘surprise’ and tell them we already know?” I ask, setting off the bell as I open the door for Ant.

He scrunches his nose. “I dunno. Ask me after coffee.”

Speaking of which, the smell of coffee beans roasted by artisanal lesbians wafts over me, and I try to put on a happy face.

“Hey, Z.”

Zoya’s been Willow’s head barista since her sister opened the shop, and there’s something comforting in seeing her drying a stack of coffee mugs, wearing her black-gray-white-and-purple Ace T-shirt, as we walk in.

“You finally bring a friend, and you’re both giving Wednesday Addams,” she deadpans.

I like Zoya because she doesn’t try to be too cheerful in the morning and gives as good as she gets. Her hair is currently a faded violet, and she’s wearing a few more piercings than normal.

“Wow, Zoya, you look positively festive.”

“It’s International Asexuality Day,” she says, pointing to the board. “And Susan let me set the special.”

I replace the special and crack up. It’s the AroAce: a cup of plain black coffee, no cream, no sugar, full price.

“An inspired choice, but the two of us need all the extras.”

She grins. “Don’t I know it. I saw you coming and restocked the creamer at the coffee station.”

“Thank you, my friend. I’ll let Ant tell you what he wants.”

Ant steps up to the counter, self-consciously touching his ponytail. I think the Wednesday Addams comment hit a nerve.

Looking up at the vast variety of coffee options on the chalkboard behind her, he asks quietly, “Can I get a Mexican vanilla mocha with an extra shot and whipped cream on top?”

“Sure thing, baby queer. Would you like some chocolate shavings on top of that?”

His eyes go wide. “You know I’m gay?” he asks, looking around, touching his ponytail again.

“Not to assume or anything, you just look like the kind of guy who’s been told he was wrong his whole entire life.”

The thing about Ant is he’s a little…uneven. I don’t know his whole story, but I know it’s not good. I’ve also learned he can swing between shy and prickly, and there’s not much rhyme or reason to what’ll set him off.

Setting his jaw, he fixes her with a glare. “Actually, the johns who passed me around always said I was their most cooperative girl. Saved my face on more than one occasion.”

Zoya, whose default setting is unbothered, swallows thickly, flicking her eyes to mine. I grimace, sending her a subtle shake of my head.

I had no fucking idea.

“Shit, dude. I mean…um. Pronoun check?” she asks, completely flustered.

“He/him. Johns like that are always fucking straight. They just like little ‘girls,’” he says with pointed air quotes, “who can’t get pregnant.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“Ant…” I start, but he holds up his hand, silencing me as he stares down my favorite barista.

Zoya takes a deep breath and sends Ant an understanding look.

“Welp. Guess I can’t charge you for this now,” she says, quickly adding a couple of croissants to our tray.

He snatches the chocolate croissant and steps back before taking a bite. “Thank you.”

I turn to her to pay for my coffee, and she waves me off. We share a longer look.

“Shit, I stepped in that one,” she whispers as Ant wanders off.

“Yeah, but it was fun to see somebody put you in your place for once.”

“Shut up.”

She glances back over at Ant, worrying her bottom lip.

“Hey. You didn’t know. I didn’t either.”

Blowing out a gust of air, she responds, “Yeah, but I’m usually the one getting onto others about making assumptions. Lesson learned. Think I should apologize again?”

“Knowing Ant, probably not. But next time we come in, make sure to give him shit. He’ll appreciate it.”

“That is my specialty.”

I leave her a tip for the full value of the order and fill my ridiculous travel mug, adding more cream and sugar than reasonable. We get out to the truck, and I check in with him.

“You okay?”

He shifts his jaw, pulling off a piece of croissant and eating it before he answers.

“I’m okay. I didn’t mean to snap at her like that.”

“I think you just made sure she knew what was what.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I am a little surprised though. You’ve never talked about what happened to you.”

He shrugs. “I’m tired of people thinking they know me just from looking at me. Like I’m weak or something. But I’m not, and if they knew what was in my head…well. They wouldn’t think that anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Put it to you this way. I’ve been working since I was eleven, and this is the only job I’ve ever had that allows me to keep my gender and my clothes.”

I clench my fists, taking a few deep breaths.

He continues as though having opened a spigot on a truth he’s been holding inside him for too long, “My grandfather sold me to traffickers. I sorta…went numb for a bunch of years, I guess. Got passed around a lot. Never even dreamed of what a different life could be like.”

“Shit, Ant.”

I fucking hate people sometimes.

Staring out the window as people go in and out of the coffee shop, he explains, “Charlie and Erik pulled me out of a hotel room in downtown Austin. So this whole thing with Charlie getting married and not telling me makes me feel, like, disposable all over again.”

“Ant,” I say, reaching across the console for an awkward hug. “He doesn’t view you that way, man. Super promise.”

He stiffens, and I immediately pull back.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have hugged you without asking.”

“Yeah, I don’t…” He lets out a ninety-year-old sigh, touching his ponytail. “Hugs are usually okay, but they’re hard sometimes too.”

“Seriously, dude. I want, like, five minutes alone in a room with your grandfather.”

He finally turns and meets my eyes with a fierce sort of determination. “Me too. Actually, I have a very long list of names of people I’d like to revisit.”

“You kept a list?” I ask, shocked.

He taps his temple. “Yep. Memorized every single one of them. Wrote them down when I got to the Bashes to get them out of my head, but…I want them all dead.”

He continues to look into my eyes, searching for my response.

Tapping my teardrop tattoo, I meet his confession with one of my own. “I’ve killed two men, Ant. One was terrorizing my neighborhood, and the other was trying to rape me in my cell. Both times I nearly threw up. Couldn’t stand the thought of taking a life. But if we ever run across someone who hurt you like that? I’ll kill him with my bare hands, and I won’t think twice about it.”

He runs his hand along his ponytail and returns to looking out the window. “Yeah?”

“Anything for you, little brother.”

“Thank you, Nacho.”

I pull out of the parking lot, and we ride in silence as we make our way over to the new project, a bit of newly developed land right outside the city limits.

Bonnie Mullins, our project contact, waits as we pull into the drive. She waves us over with a broad grin.

“On time and everything,” she says, smiling genuinely. “I appreciate that.”

I set aside Ant’s and my conversation and put on a professional smile. “We try to keep as close to the schedule as possible. By the way, I’m Nacho, and this is Ant.”

“Nacho and Ant, got it. I’m Bonnie. Just you two working on this?”

“Yes, ma’am. This is actually a pretty easy installation since it’s a chain-link fence. We’ll spend today putting in the posts, let them cure overnight, and come back tomorrow morning to add the fencing. After that, you’ll be good to go.”

“Excellent. My dogs are anxious to have a yard,” she says, pointing to the two monsters behind her.

“Shit,” Ant says, stepping back.

I agree. They’re quiet. And they’re staring us down like they’re calculating the manner in which they’d like to kill us and eat our entrails.

She sees his reaction, and her eyes go wide. “Oh no. They look vicious, but that’s all a big smoke screen. I promise, once they know you mean me no harm, they’re sweet as pie.”

“Those are some huge German Shepherds,” I say, grimacing. Fuck, their teeth are big and sharp.

She nods. “I worked with a lady who trains and sells them. She’s a little rough around the edges, but when I said I was a little nervous being a single woman out in the sticks, she said she had a bonded pair I might like. She trained them to be nearly silent and to take German commands, but I’m teaching them English,” she says with a giggle.

Ugh. First of all, I’m flattered she feels safe enough around Ant and me to talk about the fact that she lives alone. Hell, I look like an ex-con, no matter how nicely I dress. Women, way more than men, tend to read something safe about me, and I’m kinda proud of that fact.

It’s just…I know the German commands are a thing, but it’s something I saw with the skinheads from my old neighborhood. Like they wanted to be extra in their devotion to the Third Reich.

She must read something in my expression because she holds up her hands. “I’ll keep them inside the whole time, but I promise they are way more bark—er, death stare—than bite.”

Knowing it’ll make her feel better, I respond, “Honestly, they’re the perfect dogs for a single woman living alone. I’m glad you’re giving them a great yard to play in.”

The minor tension of the moment dissipates, and her smile returns. Win.

I grab the clipboard and have her sign the required documentation. She hands me back my rainbow flare pen, smiling. “Nice pen.”

“Thanks. Got it at Austin Pride last year. They were a hot-ticket item, but I knew the guy handing them out.”

“Then you might want to put it away because I’m a notorious pen thief,” she jokes.

Laughing, I pull the pen away in a dramatic fashion.

She cracks up, taking it from me. “No, no! It’s accidental, I promise!”

I snatch it back from her playfully, and the three of us share a good, hard laugh that seems to reset the day. Even the dogs have gone from plotting our demise with a 1940s German accent to floppy-eared, head-tilted curiosity.

“Thanks, Bonnie. We’ve got everything we need to get started on the fence posts, and we’ll let you know when we’re done.”

“Sounds great, y’all,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “I have a cooler on the side of the house filled with waters and Gatorades, and there’s a little basket next to that with protein bars. Feel free to have as much of that as you like.”

I turn to Ant. “See? The day’s already looking better.”

He nods, resting his head on my shoulder. “It is, Nacho. Thanks for listening.”