Free Mine to Hold by Shayla Black Page A

the case up. Maybe a change of scenery would be good. Lately, he’d felt really . . . unsettled, unsatisfied. No clue why. Lingering concern for Eric?
    Moments later, Del emerged holding her beer, wearing a pair of denim short-shorts with rhinestones and white stitching across her sweet little tush, along with a deep red V-neck tank that flowed around her slender figure. He’d always liked that shirt on her. Good color, and it showed off her breasts. Eric smiled, and Tyler bet she’d worn the shirt so her husband could appreciate her, even if he couldn’t do anything about it. Tyler tried to shove aside the fact that he appreciated the hell out of it, too.
    “So?” she asked, tossing back a healthy swig of beer. “Pizza? Should we call now? I didn’t get to eat lunch today.”
    And her bottle of beer was nearly empty.
    “Lunch flew the coop on me, too,” Tyler complained. “Damn executive fucking his secretary over lunch at the little love nest he keeps for her. Why don’t these dumb asses ever close the drapes before they drop trou and go at it?”
    They all laughed. As he described the couple’s sexual gymnastics, they finished their first beers and started the second. It wasn’t long before they popped open a third.
    “Hey, Tyler.” Del sent him a saucy stare. “You still dating that skank at the strip club on Wilshire?”
    He tensed, looked at Eric—who glanced away. Shit. He needed to change the subject fast. Now wasn’t the time for this cat to come out of the bag. “Destiny and I didn’t ‘date.’ We just fucked.”
    Del rolled her lively blue eyes. “Duh! I was being polite, you horndog.”
    “Okay. Then, no.” He grinned. “When the ‘dates’ got boring, I moved on.” And that was enough on that. He turned to Eric. “So, what did the physical therapist say this morning?”
    As they discussed Eric’s recovery, they opened their fourth beer each and had a contest to see who could suck it down the fastest. After Tyler’s easy victory, his memories of that night started getting hazy.
    With the beer gone, they broke out the whiskey. But soon that bottle was gone, and the sun had barely set. Then they broke into Del’s stockpile of wine while they raided the pantry and munched on some chips and salsa. But they never managed to order that pizza.
    Critical mistake. The worst move? Allowing the alcohol and his dick to form the committee that made his decisions. Yeah, epic fail there. After that, everything went to shit.
    Suddenly, Deke bounced beside him on the sofa. Tyler blinked, returning to the present as the last four seconds of the basketball game ticked down.
    Just before the buzzer, one player made a killer three-point shot, and Deke rose to his feet with a fist pump. “Yeah, the Mavs won!”
    “Nice.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I should ‘go to bed’ now.”
    Deke’s demeanor changed instantly, becoming all business. “I’ll, um . . . let myself out the door.”
    “Want a pillow or blanket?” Tyler whispered.
    “Nah. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”
    Plenty of time for Del to flee. She couldn’t wait to leave him and throw herself into danger.
Damn it.
    “Good night. Thanks for the playpen, man,” he called out for Del’s benefit.
    The front door opened, closed. Ten silent seconds later, Deke returned to the family room and settled on the sofa. With a nod in his buddy’s direction, Tyler headed to his bedroom, stripped down, and slipped between the sheets.
    As he lay in the dark, he tucked his hands behind his head. The day washed over him. He had a son. Ten fingers, ten toes. So perfect. So life altering. A precious baby boy who’d need a father to teach him to play catch, learn right from wrong, help him become a good man—something his own father hadn’t stuck around long enough to do. Tyler’s eagerness to embrace fatherhood surprised him; he’d never thought much about kids . . . but he already loved that little boy, would lay down his