Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  The passionate heat between us blazed hotter the moment the doors to the truck slammed closed. Instead of pulling me to him like I expected, Brenton pressed the Start button and kept his attention out the windshield.

  “You look nice,” I said to the window as I stared out into the darkness. It was a complete understatement. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a sexy cowboy calendar. The way his dark denim Wranglers hugged his ass was almost sinful, and the crisp, white, pearl snap shirt somehow brightened his already striking green eyes.

  The corners of my lips dipped when he didn't respond or return the compliment. I cut my eyes to the driver side and found him gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were white.

  Whatever. I looked cute and wouldn't let him dampen the fun night ahead.

  The second the thought crossed my mind, Brenton whipped the truck down an old county road and slammed on the brakes. He snapped off the headlights, dousing the entire area in darkness; only the faint glow from the navigation screen and controls on the dash highlighted the inside of the cab.

  “If you don't want your panties ripped off your fine ass, I suggest you take them off. Now.”

  My shocked gasp sounded over the arctic air conditioning blowing through the cab. Through the soft glow of the lights, he kept his eyes locked on mine while his hands blindly worked on his belt.

  “I won't ask again, Rebeka.”

  Not a single muscle responded. All I could do was watch his hand wrapped around his massive cock, squeezing so hard it looked painful. Wetness pooled between my legs at the sight. In a dense lust fog, my fingers fumbled with the seat belt latch, eager to get closer to him. The center console pushed into my ribs as I leaned over to the driver side.

  Demanding fingers dove into the depths of my hair at the first lick of my tongue from base to tip.

  “Fuck,” he breathed. Those fingers tightened against my scalp at my soft hum of agreement.

  My ass was in the air as Brenton shoved the thick denim to bunch at my waist. The sting of elastic stretched to its max against my skin lasted a few seconds before it snapped under the pressure. I groaned around him and shifted my angle to take him deeper with each dip of my head.

  Fuck, that was hot. Never had my underwear ripped off my body before. Never had someone need me with that much intensity.

  The first smack across my bare ass caught me by surprise, but the second I leaned into, silently asking for more. His hot palm skimmed down between both cheeks and dove between my legs to slide two fingers inside.

  One hand still in my hair, he held me close as he shifted his hips off the seat.

  “Fuck, yes. Damn your perfect mouth,” he groaned as he thrust faster. Each tilt of his hips was more demanding than the previous. In rhythm with his thrusts, his fingers pushed into me. We urged the other for more, desperate for release.

  A quick twist of his fingers pressed my sensitive spot, shooting me over the edge. My moans and gasps triggered his own with a loud curse.

  Fog covered the windows and our heavy pants echoed in the cab as we came down from the high. “You'll be impossible to let go, Beks,” he said into my hair after pulling me against his heaving chest.

  As much as I didn't want it to, his words sparked a ray of hope in my heart.

  Maybe this time he wouldn't leave after all.

  AS WE MADE OUR WAY through the parking lot of Dos Amigos, the stiff denim skirt brushed against my sensitive ass cheeks, still stinging from Brenton’s rough slap. Music blared from inside the doors as a local band played on a small stage. With Brenton’s hand pressing against my lower back, we weaved through the crowd toward the bar.

  A clearly frustrated Ryder stepped in front of us, blocking our path before she gripped my arm, yanking me toward the bathroom.

  I glanced back at Brenton, who also looked confused, and shrugged. Whatever she wanted to talk about was urgent. Maybe she and Kyle got into a fight on the way over and needed a quick venting session.

  Once inside the bathroom, Ryder leaned a hip against the sink and gave a knowing glare. “You reek of sex. Did you fuck him in the truck?”

  All the other murmurs in the small space paused, and ten sets of eyes turned to me.

  I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Not technically.” Shit, she was mad.

  “Girl,” Ryder admonished. Pulling her disapproving gaze from me, she focused on the chipped mirror to touch up her lipstick. “You better know what you're doing. Because from my perspective, you're an idiot woman who's letting that hottie out there play you like a fiddle. Again.”

  “And so what if I am?” I tossed my hands in the air before running them through my hair in frustration. “What does it matter if I like being around him again, or like the way he makes me feel? I'm just as confused as you, believe me. I'm still in love with the man who left me, but Ryder, that wasn't him. He's a good man, and an even better one now. What he did was terrible, and I should hate him, but guess what? I've hated him for years and it hasn't gotten me anywhere. And you know what else? It feels damn good to be wanted by someone again, to have that connection. So yeah, maybe I'm getting carried away, but I'm thirty fucking years old, not seventeen.”

  “Don't be mad at me for saying out loud what you already know,” she deadpanned.

  “What, that he's a good man who made a mistake?” I gritted out.

  “That he's a Graves, and the moment you're not useful anymore, he will toss you aside. Again.”

  “He might not! Tonight he said—”

  “Oh, you should believe what a guy says after you let him fuck your mouth.”

  “Stop it,” I yelled and turned for the door. “You don't get it. And I might not understand it either, but I'm not going to let that stop me from trying to be happy. Even if it's just for a few days.”

  The door slammed against the wall when I shoved through it and stepped into the growing crowd. Glancing around for Brenton, I came up empty.

  Where in the hell is he?

  Damn, I need a drink.

  A few cute cowboys tugged at my arm to detour my pursuit, but I shrugged each one off. At the bar, I hopped onto an open barstool, not giving two shits where Kyle and Brenton—or Ryder, for that matter—were.

  The somewhat cute bartender with tattoos up his arms and neck leaned against the bar and asked what I wanted. Three days ago, I would’ve swooned over this guy, but now all I could do was appreciate the inked artwork.

  After ordering two shots of tequila, I watched him pour out three. With a wink, he clinked one against the shot glass in my hand and tipped it back. With a tight smile, I followed suit, then again with the second one.

  I raised my hand to order another when a massive, rough, old hand grasped mine and eased it back to the bar.

  “Slow down there, sweetheart,” said the older cowboy perched on the stool to my right. “Going to the bottom of the bottle isn't the solution to whatever you're fightin'. I would know.”

  I glanced at the plastic water cup in his hand while I wiped the remaining cheap tequila from my lips. The alcohol swirled in my near-empty stomach.

  “The bottom of the bottle seems like a nice place to hide though.” The rounded edge of the bar pressed into my ribs as I leaned over to flag down the bartender for another round. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the man’s gray brows rise in surprise. “The boy I was in love with as a kid is back in my life after royally fucking me over. But here's the kicker—he doesn't remember doing it. And now I'm here wondering if what happened was his doing or someone else’s, and on top of that, the man he is now is amazing. Military, gorgeous, tattoos....” I sighed and downed the shot the bartender placed in front of me. “I'm playing with fire, I know I am, but hell, I've been cold for so long, the heat is welcomed.”

  “You think he'll mess you over again. That's why you're drinking.”

  “My best friend and I just got in a fight about it.”

  “Ah, she disapproves?”

  “Yeah. She pretty muc
h said I'm an idiot, and this time when he fucks me over, it’ll be like taking it in the ass with no lube.”

  Our entire side of the bar turned their attention to the old man after he spewed water across it. Wide-eyed, he turned on the stool to face me straight on, tipped his Stetson, and smiled.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  I choked on the fourth shot. “What?”

  His soft chuckle and smile soothed over the anxiety his question had triggered. “I'm just playin' with you, sweetheart. Besides, my drinking days are over, and no way in hell would I go into a fight with your man sober.”

  My man. Right. Brenton wasn't my anything.

  Wait.

  “How do you...?” I followed his pointed finger across the bar to find a pair of striking green eyes already staring back. “Oh.” While I watched, a pretty blonde walked up and attempted to talk to Brenton, but he ignored the woman to keep his sole attention on me.

  “He's been there since you saddled up next to me. And since I'm the sober one of us two, I'll tell you something. That man hasn't taken his eyes off you. I think you should be more worried about the idiot who tries to get near you instead of worrying about that boy breaking your heart.” His wise eyes flicked across the bar. “Because I don't see any leaving in those eyes.”

  “How—”

  A thick, hairy arm stretched between my new best friend and me. Instead of pulling back after grabbing the beer from the bartender, the obtrusive man stayed angled between us.

  “Well aren't you the prettiest thing in here tonight,” he said with a slight slur.

  The old cowboy gave a high-pitched whistle. “Boy, I'd watch it.”

  The brute shoved off the bar to tower over him. “Oh really, you think you have a shot? Your balls are too shriveled for someone like her, old man. Let me show her how young cowboys ride.”

  Oh hell no.

  I swiveled on the stool, the room spinning as I turned, to face the jackass. “Hey, lay off my friend here. I bet his shriveled balls are still bigger than yours, fuck face. Go practice your bolstering elsewhere.”

  “My what?” he said, obviously confused.

  “Showing off, you idiot.”

  “Girl, you dissed my balls and suggested I'm ignorant—”

  “Not suggesting. I said it. To your face.”

  Instead of deterring him like I hoped, his smile only widened. “Come on, you owe me a dance after all that sass.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head before turning to the old cowboy whose wide-eyed stare tracked a course down the side of the bar.

  Too busy trying to locate Brenton again, I didn’t notice the man’s closeness until his tight grip wrapped around my forearm. “I asked nicely. Now come on, dance with me.”

  I snorted. “That was a damn command, not you asking.”

  Stale beer breath wafted up my nose when he leaned in too close and said, “Bet a tough woman like you likes being ordered around.”

  A tingling sensation of being watched had me glancing over my shoulder. Brenton stood two feet away, his glare promising a slow death locked on the man touching me.

  “I only take orders from him,” I said with a nod in Brenton's direction. “Not sure why I’m warning a douchebag like you, but leave, now, before he rips your ass apart for touching me.”

  The burly man looked in the direction I nodded and smirked at the stone-faced Brenton. “That pretty boy? Ah hell, baby, ditch that city boy and let me show you a good time.”

  The stupid shots of tequila had me snorting again before I turned back around to the bar in obvious dismissal.

  The old cowboy smirked down at his water cup. “A lady like you shouldn't defend a man's balls. I think you castrated me.”

  “I'm no lady,” I said, then raised my hand for another shot, only for it to be smacked down to the bar. “Hey,” I shouted, glancing over my shoulder with a scowl, knowing exactly who I’d find being so damn bossy.

  Brenton's fiery green eyes pulled me back an inch in surprise. “No more shots. I don't know what you're trying to do or what happened between you and Ryder, but you're not getting blackout drunk on my watch.” His heated stare shifted down to the short skirt that was now barely covering my girly parts. He leaned down to brush his lips against the shell of my ear. “And don't forget you're not wearing any underwear.” With an exaggerated inhale, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, I can smell you. Let’s go home and—”

  Just as I closed my eyes, ready to get lost in his words, his lips pulled away. With an exaggerated pout, I swiveled back around.

  My mouth gaped at the scene unfolding just feet away. The brute had wrangled up a couple of friends. Two big friends. All three men surrounded a relaxed and smirking Brenton.

  “Let him fight,” said the old cowboy who'd also turned around to watch the show. “He's itching for it.” At his tilted nod, I focused on Brenton's fisted hands. “It's a guy thing, sweetheart. Defending our women and all.”

  A small frown dipped the corners of my lips. “He just likes to fight, always has. I'm not his anything.”

  The old man tipped his head back with a loud bark of a laugh. “Women. Let me guess. He hasn't told you, hasn't explained how he feels about you.”

  I tucked a lock of dark hair behind my ears and looked to the sticky floor. “Well, yeah. I mean no....”

  “Listen, I'll fill you in on us guys. We don't fight for just anyone. We only fight for the ones we love. And whether he's said it or not—hell, he might not even know it, but that man loves you.”

  The four—or was it five?—shots were playing with my hearing. That or the old man was lying about the water and it was actually pure vodka in his cup. I not so casually leaned to take a quick sniff. Nope, not vodka, just water like he said.

  Huh.

  So did that mean what he said could be true?

  Did Brenton Graves love me?

  Warmth spread up my belly into my chest, and the noises of the bar turned hollow. I needed to leave before I turned into a drunk fool.

  I stretched up high, using the barstool as leverage to scour the dance hall for Ryder, but came up empty.

  Oblivious to the chaos behind me, I shoved off the bar to stand and stepped back while looking at my phone.

  The old man's eyes went wide and he lunged for me.

  Unfortunately he was too late to stop me from stepping right into the middle of a bar fight.

  Chapter 18

  Rebeka

  SOMEWHERE, RYDER SHOUTED my name.

  I twisted toward her voice just as something solid slammed against my right cheek. The room spun at the force, and I stumbled back, arms outstretched in search of the bar or stool to steady me.

  Stars still blurred my vision when an arm snaked around my waist and hauled me against a solid body. Somewhere in the distance, a rage-filled bellow vibrated in my ears.

  “You're okay, sweetheart,” my old man friend whispered. Rough hands scraped down my arms and his hold tightened, securing me to his side. “Holy shit,” he murmured in awe, more to himself than to me.

  At the astonishment in his tone, I blinked several times to push away the haze clouding my sight and attempted to focus on the chaotic scene in front of us. But none of it made sense. The three men from earlier lay groaning while flat on the floor, Brenton standing in the middle with his bloodied hands on his knees.

  “What's going on?” I said, blinking again to clear the tears building in my right eye.

  The old man started to respond but stopped as a crying Ryder pulled me into her arms.

  “What's going on?” I asked again, still a little stunned. Hell, why did I take so many shots?

  “You're okay. I'm here,” she whispered. “Those fucking bastards hit you, and that dumbass started it all.”

  Her grip around my waist dropped as she turned to face the devastated-looking Brenton. The sadness lurking behind his eyes shredded my heart. Even though I wasn't quite sure what happened, there was no way he could’ve
prevented it.

  A loud smack echoed around the quieted area when Ryder's hand connected with Brenton's cheek. He didn't flinch. Didn't drop my stare. The next hit was directed to his face, but that time it was a punch.

  The third hit nailed his balls.

  Brenton's grunt of pain set my feet in motion toward them. Cutting me off, Kyle hauled Ryder away from Brenton, who was hunched over with his hands cradling his crotch.

  Ryder thrashed and pulled at Kyle's arms, shouting at him to release her.

  “Ryder, stop,” I slurred, my jaw stiff. “Don't hurt the part of him I like.”

  At that, she dropped her fight. Chest still heaving, she said, “He started the whole thing.”

  I looked around to the men on the floor. “More like he finished it. See that guy—”

  “Why can't you see it now, Beka? He's no good for you. Every time you're around him, you end up hurt in some way. Walk away. Get the hell away from the bastard before he gets you killed.”

  I turned from Brenton's stare and glared at my best friend. “Stop.”

  Her eyes widened. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” A disappointed look flashed across her features as she shook her head. “I won’t sit back and watch him hurt you all over again. He'll break you and never look back. Call me when you come to your damn senses.”

  Tears welled as I watched her shove out of Kyle's arms and storm off.

  The shouts and band playing flooded back as a hand gripped mine. “Sweetheart, you gotta get your boy out of here. The cops are on their way.”

  In a daze, I took the three steps to Brenton and gripped his forearm. Instead of resisting like I expected, he flipped my hold to grasp my elbow and guided us through the staring crowd. Eyes focused on the sticky floor, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, hoping to not trip over my feet or someone else’s. The last thing we needed was Brenton getting into another fight because someone accidentally tripped me.

  A heavy metal door slammed at our backs as we stepped into the dark back alley. The hot night air amplified the stench of rotten food and urine.