Happily Ever After: A Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Piper Rayne

  Reaching over, he picks up his beer off the table and sips it with a smile. “I can go as long as you can, baby.”

  I roll my eyes. Baby so doesn’t fit his vibe. But we’ll be here all night if we keep going, ‘cause neither one of us is going to give up.

  Looking around, I look at the people in the bar. They’re happy, smiling, drinking well. This has been good for business. Jenna has pink cheeks and is practically giggling watching me with Brandon, three empty mojito glasses beside her. I take a sip of my whiskey—I switched, wanting something a little harder to steady me.

  And Brandon—when did his shirt come unbuttoned? Fuck, I don’t need another distraction when I’m already fighting to keep myself from imagining dragging him to the back room and having my way with him. The man is so fucking sexy, and I’m not sure why I’m wasting time trying to deny it.

  It doesn’t matter, because I’m not giving in. He’s not going to take the bar from me no matter how sexy he is, but I have to admit that Brandon Wolfe is sex walking, especially when he’s not in a suit.

  And the longer we both play this game, the harder it will be to keep up. I’m feeling the whiskey in my veins, and it’s only a matter of time before I slip again.

  “One more round,” I tell him. “And if it’s still a tie, then we call it a tie.”

  “We didn’t negotiate what would happen with a tie.”

  That’s true. We didn’t. “Let me think about it while I get another drink,” I say.

  You learn things when you’re a bartender. The kinds of drunks there are, and while there are always outliers, it’s pretty easy to peg what kind someone is by their drink order. Wine drinkers? Sappy ‘I love you’ drinkers. Vodka drinkers are the smilers that sit in the corner and then eventually go to sleep. Tequila drinkers are the ones that’ll end up leaving pockmarks on the surface of your bar with their high heels. And whiskey drinkers?

  We were the ones that ended up in real trouble.

  That didn’t stop me from pouring myself a tumbler of the highest shelf scotch that we had. Neat. Because that’s what Brandon Wolfe did to me. The man literally drove me to drink.

  Jenna snatches the glass from my hand when I make it back to her, and immediately gags when she goes to take a sip. “No, gross. That smells like wood shavings.”

  I steal the glass back and take a long, slow sip of the smooth flavor before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Doesn’t taste like it.”

  As soon as I set the glass down though, Brandon steals a sip. “Hey, that’s not for you.”

  He just shrugs and smirks. “You think I didn’t see you pour yourself Johnny Walker Blue?”

  “Doesn’t mean you can just steal it.”

  “I’ll gladly pay for my sip. Or maybe I’ll make it a condition of the tie.”

  I wasn’t going to let him win. “Johnny Walker or not, it doesn’t matter. They all get you drunk.”

  “Don’t let Johnny Walker hear that,” he jokes. “Maybe they won’t send you any more whiskey.”

  I bite back about fifteen different comebacks, all of which would make this mess worse than it is.

  Then, he adds, “ever try Korean whiskey?”

  I shake my head.

  “I can get some if you ever want to try it. Over dinner maybe.”

  “You haven’t won yet,” I tell him. Jenna is pressing her lips together trying to hold back her fucking glee. I was really hoping she’d be on my side here, but I think that she wants the two of us to go out more than Brandon does. “My bar is well stocked, and I’ve got plenty of options.”

  “So one more game,” Brandon says.

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe we should just call it now. We’ve both proven our skill. Unless you’re some sort of glutton for punishment?”

  The man has the audacity to wink at me while he steals another sip of whiskey. “Depends on who’s doing the punishing.”

  Jenna elbows me without a trace of subtlety. When I raise my eyebrows at her, she just sips her drink calmly, as if she isn’t visibly cheering for my competition.

  “Like you said, one more round. And if it’s still a tie, we call it. Did you think about what you wanted from the tie? There’s a lot riding on this for you.”

  “I haven’t forgotten what the bets are, Wolfe.” I ignore the fact that my face is flaming because his mentioning riding makes me think about anything but darts.

  “No, I imagine you don’t forget much, do you, Ellie?” Those brown eyes are filled with an incredible amount of heat, and we need to settle this or I’m going to spontaneously combust. And he’s right. I don’t forget much. Not what he’s here for or what it was like to have my life and heart irreparably shattered. “You could say that.”

  Jenna yawns. “I think it’s past my bedtime, and clearly you don’t need anyone to keep score anymore.” She hugs me tightly, and I make sure she has her purse.

  “You’re okay to get home?”

  “Fine. Short walk,” she says. “But I expect you to call me tomorrow with details.”

  “There will be no details,” I inform her, since she’s not being quiet and Brandon is right fucking there.

  “You will tell me everything!” She practically sings the words before heading to the door. I nod to Johnny at the door and he nods back. He’ll make sure that she gets home safely, and she’ll never know that he was there.

  When I turn back around, it’s to face a very smug looking Brandon. “Here’s our compromise,” he says. “You say something nice to me—”

  “Something nice. To you.”

  He leans in and I get a whiff of delicious aftershave. “Yes, Red. Something nice to me. And you agree to have one drink with me. Here, on your turf, without having a full audience.”

  That was his half of the bet. A decent concession. And since mine was making him drop everything, I suppose I should give him something. “And I’ll hear you out. Fully. No interruptions.”

  Brandon’s eyebrows rise into his hairline before he smiles. “I’m definitely making it a tie now.”

  I know that he will. No matter what I score, he’ll match me just to make this work. I’m not sure what game he’s playing, but I’m still not going to make it easy on him just ‘cause I know he’s better than me. Stepping up to the mark, I sink my shots in rapid succession, bathing in the applause from the people that are still paying attention. And then I hand Brandon the darts.

  He’s playing dirty, but this is a two-person game. As he’s lining up his first shot I step close—closer than I’ve been all night—and whisper so that he can hear me. “You smell amazing, and it’s been driving me crazy all night.”

  It almost works.

  I see the surprise on his face and the slight falter in his throw, but he still makes the inner bullseye. But that was really fucking close. He looks at me, and I just smile. “You said to say something nice to you. You didn’t say when.”

  “I guess I didn’t, but don’t think I won’t forget that,” he says. “I’ll pay you back later.”

  “You can try.”

  Brandon raises his arm, and never taking his eyes off mine, he throws the dart. It flies perfectly straight, burying itself right next to his first throw. It’s hard to do that in a place you know like the back of your hand, let alone a board that you’re using for the first time. But he just did it like it was easy.

  And that’s terrifying. Not because of the trick shot, but because of what it says. That he’d rather throw away the entire business deal than not have dinner with me. The intensity in his gaze shakes me to the core, and I think that for sure he’s going to look back at the board to make his last shot, but he doesn’t.

  He raises his arm and throws with careless grace, and it lands with perfect accuracy.

  The bar goes fucking wild, Brandon swarmed by a couple of drunk guys that are more than impressed by the feat. And it is impressive. We’ve been going back and forth for over an hour, and neither of us has given in. But even if the score is tied, Brandon won. Wit
h those trick shots, the support in the room flowed from me to him.

  I know when I’m beaten.

  Picking up my glass, I give him a tight smile. “Let’s go get that drink.”

  We grab refills and I lead him over to a booth that’s in the back corner—definitely not thinking about the fact that this is the booth that we’d use if we wanted to make out in high school. But all the same it’s out of sight and I feel like I’ve been watched more than enough tonight.

  I intentionally sit on the side that’s less visible, and Brandon stretches out across from me. “Talk, so we can get this over with.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  I stare at him, daring him to joke around. When I said that I’d hear him out I didn’t agree to have an open mind about it.

  He sighs.

  “Honestly, it’s not a very complicated plan. I don’t want to change the vibe of Granny’s. I don’t want to buy it and manage and change everything about it. All I want to do is provide the capital to make it into the destination that it clearly already is. Renovate and replace the things that are older, give you better equipment, and some more capacity. As far as the sauce, it’s already popular locally. As it should be, it’s fucking amazing. Nationally I think it could become a staple barbecue sauce for a lot of households.

  “Wolf foods wouldn’t own the sauce. We would be licensing the formula in order to mass produce it. Granny’s name would be on the label, pointing to this bar as the originator. It would be hard to do one without the other, because people who follow Wolf Foods like to come to places like this.”

  I struggle not to roll my eyes. “So you’re saying you’re famous enough that the minute you deem our product worthy crowds that we can’t handle are going to descend on Devil’s Hood?”

  “Yes.” He doesn’t bother denying it.

  “Have you ever thought about the possibility that Devil’s Hood doesn’t want that? That they don’t want to be a tourist trap or a hotspot that’s going to be filled with strangers?”

  He studies me carefully. “I’ve done projects like this in plenty of small towns, and Devil’s Hood is one of the best. There’s a real sense of community already here, and I don’t think people will lose that because of some visitors, and I don’t think they’ll mind the extra revenue that it brings in.”

  It was hard to argue with that point. I would have to think about it, but I would find a way. Frustration was welling under my skin again. Because this was what men like him were good at. They knew exactly how to hit you where it was most effective to make you agree with them. And it worked.

  I hated that the more he talked about it, the more logical his plan seemed. Like I was mostly being stubborn in holding out against it. But I had time to sort everything out. Grandma still wanted to talk to him anyway.

  “When are you around this coming week?”

  He shrugs. “I’m here when you need me.”

  I pushed aside the little thrill at those words. “I’ll let you know when my grandmother wants to meet you.”

  “I’m flattered that she wants to,” he grins.

  “Don’t be,” I laugh. “She’s going to chew your ass up so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

  Brandon smirks and takes a slow sip of his drink. “I’ll be fine, Ellie. I’m already used to it with you.”

  “Ouch.”

  He just laughs. It’s not like he’s wrong.

  “Johnny is back,” he says. For a second I think he’s making a reference to my whiskey, but no, he means the bouncer. Leaning forward, I nod to him and he nods back, confirming that my friend is home and safe. That’s good. Devil’s Hood isn’t a very dangerous town, but I don’t think I’ll ever let go of those New York late-night instincts.

  “Nice of you to do that,” he says.

  “Send him after her?”

  “Yeah.”

  I smile. “It’s for my own peace of mind.”

  “I get that. Still nice though.”

  Knocking back the last of my drink, I glare at him. “I can be nice.”

  “You’ve definitely proved that,” he laughs, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t know though. If you were really nice, you would have let me win at darts.”

  “So you can take everything I’ve worked for? You could have lost too.”

  When Brandon crosses his arms and leans on the table, I get distracted again by the way his shirt stretches and the width of his shoulders. I’m feeling the drinks in my belly and right now his eyes look warmer than my veins. “You know that’s not what I’m doing. And besides, watching the look on your face every time I hit a bullseye was way more fun.”

  “I can’t believe you hit those last shots.”

  “I’ve done more than that.”

  I shake my head. “Not possible.”

  “It is.” He starts to tell me a story about a dare when he was younger that he couldn’t hit ten bullseyes blindfolded. I don’t know if it’s true, but after watching him it’s possible that it is.

  And suddenly conversation is flowing between us easily, like we’ve known each other for years and we’re not on two polar opposite sides of this conflict between us.

  Around us, the bar slows down. I try to go help clear the tables and tidy up the bar, but every time I try I’m fervently waved off by my employees, who keep us both supplied with water too. I’m not sure what it says that they’re trying so desperately to keep me here, but in spite of myself I’m having a good time.

  I’m perfectly buzzed and enjoying the banter. And the view. Last call comes and goes, and before I know it, the bar is basically empty. And then Johnny is waving and heading out before I call out to him that I’ll lock up.

  “I suppose it’s about that time,” Brandon says.

  “Yeah.”

  We stand from the table together, and I walk with him to the door. There’s that hesitation to leave his side. I don’t want the ease of our conversation to fade. Because tomorrow we go back to being enemies, and it’s been nice to sustain the fiction.

  He matches my pace easily, clearly not in a hurry to leave either. When we reach the door I’m not sure what to do. I have to double check and make sure that everything is good before I leave, so I can’t just walk out with him even if the temptation is there.

  I push the door open with my hip and lead him outside. “Guess this is good night,” I say, trying hard not to look up at him. “Right?”

  “Right,” he says, the tone in his voice making me look up at him in spite of himself. We’re so close. Closer than I’ve let myself get to him before now. He’s too tempting and too gorgeous, and right now he’s too focused on me.

  Brandon’s hand rises to my face, a gentle touch, testing me. I have every chance in the world to pull away. To tell him no.

  I don’t.

  He closes the distance between us and this kiss is anything but gentle. It’s fire and heat. I could be standing in the Arizona sun and not burn the way this kiss consumes me. Brandon’s hand slides around my neck and our lips lock deeper together. His tongue dances with mine, and suddenly I find my arms are around his neck pulling him closer. I want him closer.

  I want him everywhere.

  We slam against the door to the bar, Brandon’s body pushing against me in all the right places. I don’t even care that someone could see us, I just want more of this feeling. A rush of dizzy pleasure that makes kissing him seem like I’m skydiving.

  The last time I felt like this was forever ago.

  With Chris.

  Instead of fire, a bucket of ice dumps over my head. The last time I felt like this with a man like him, I ended up with my heart broken and my life in pieces. And Brandon is still trying to change things. To take what I’ve worked for and make it different. It’s the only thing I have left. I’m not letting it go.

  It doesn’t matter if he really wants to kiss me or if he’s kissing me to soften me up for this deal. I won’t do this.

  Even with that conviction
, breaking away from that kiss is the hardest thing I’ve done in years. Placing my hands on his chest, I shove. He goes, shock on his face, trying to orient himself.

  “Ellie,” he says.

  I open the door and slam it behind me before he can say anything else and try to change my mind. “Ellie!” He calls my name as I flip the deadbolt and shut off the front lights.

  No.

  I can’t.

  I won’t be the stupid, naive girl this time.

  8

  Ellie

  It’s been three days since the kiss, and I hate that it’s something that I still think about. Because it was a mistake. It was, even if my brain and body are busy trying to convince me otherwise.

  But I couldn’t get the comparison between Brandon and Chris out of my head. They were both from New York, businessmen. Cocky, confident, and handsome. They both looked amazing in a suit and they both knew exactly how to get their way.

  There were differences between them, like the fact that Brandon read fiction books and he stepped up to stop from Caleb getting back into the bar—I couldn’t ever imagine Chris doing that.

  Still, my heart was raw. No matter what it wanted, I had to be smart. It was stupid to dive headfirst into a rebound relationship with the person who was also trying to claim my business. I put a hold on that thought as it popped into my head. Brandon claimed that’s not what he wanted, and the plans that he had didn’t seem to lean in that direction, but that remained to be seen. I was still hopeful that my grandmother would hear his proposal and shove him out the door.

  We would see soon.

  I’m nervous to see Brandon today. He hasn’t come back to the bar. Which is good because I wouldn’t have wanted to talk to him. But he answered my call for the meeting today and didn’t sound like he was going to flake. That’s all I can really hope for at this point.

  After I went home that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about Chris. And everything that happened. But mostly about how I thought we had been happy. Even thinking back on the beginning, I can’t deny the sparkle and shine in the memories. He was my perfect guy, and I had been so convinced that I had the perfect life. It was only after that I saw the signs of imperfection, too late.