I stand and cross the bar to her, pushing a few gawking assholes out of my way with more force than needed. The second her gaze lands on me, relief washes over her face, followed by a quick blush and a wide grin. She is so fucking beautiful when she smiles.
“Hi!” she calls out. I don’t answer. I step into her, wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against me. Her body is a thousand degrees and it burns into mine. She puts a hand on my chest, just above my heart. I swear, the stupid thing tries to break through my chest and jump into her palm.
I lean into her. “It’s dangerous looking like that in a place like this.”
“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.” She nuzzles against my jaw. “Good thing you’re here to protect me, Big Man.”
I guide her to the corner, keeping a possessive hand on her back and glaring daggers at anyone who looks at her, which is everyone with a dick and a few without.
“What are you drinking?” she asks.
I sink down onto my bar stool and hold up my beer. She snatches it out of my hand and takes a sip.
“Mmmm. Yummy.” She licks her lips and I’m mesmerized. Those lips are pure torture. They hitch up on one side while I stare at them and I know she’s laughing at me. “Thanks.”
This crazy woman stole my beer. I shake my head and flag down the bartender for two more.
“This place is cute. I’ve never been here before,” she chirps, taking another sip from the pilfered beverage.
Cute? It’s a shithole. She leans back, her elbows resting against the bar. The neon light above her casts a soft blue glow across her face and makes those mischievous eyes of hers shimmer. My eyebrows knit together and I stare at her. She’s happy. In a dive bar. Surrounded by drunks and degenerates. Who is this woman?
Her jaw drops and she starts bouncing when she sees the stage. “Is this a karaoke bar?” she asks.
I nod. “Open mic night.” I point to the poster on the far wall, right above a table with a sign-up sheet.
She snaps her head to me and slides her slim fingers up my forearm. Her grip is firm but her hand is soft, delicate. Her short fingernails are painted a warm orange that pops against the dark ink of my sleeve tattoo.
“We have to sign up!” she says on an excited gasp.
“No.” My muscles tense under her touch.
She glides her hand down my forearm before she pushes off the bar and turns to face me. “Yes.”
I clench and unclench my fist, working the tension out. Raising my beer to my lips, I give her a quick once-over. “No.”
She steps closer and my knees brush against her thighs. She grabs my shoulders and squeezes hard. “Yes,” she declares.
I lift my hand from my thigh and navigate the small space between us, resisting the temptation to brush against her budding nipples. I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her to me. I lean forward to close the space between us.
Using a dead-serious tone, I grumble into her ear, “Not. Fuckin’. Happening.”
I start leaning back, but she slides her hands from my shoulders to either side of my face and holds me right in front of her. She takes a minute, tilting her head to the side and examining me. I fight the urge to squirm away. She brushes a stray hair off my forehead and nods.
“Trust me, Big Man. This is so happening.” She leans in and kisses me on the tip of my nose. Her smile is blindingly bright when she pulls away. She bounds off, shouting over her shoulder, “I’m signing up!”
I watch her swaying to the music and flipping through the songbook on the table. It’s not until I go to sip my beer that I realize I’m smiling like a fucking idiot.
Surprise, surprise. Devin hasn’t said much tonight. But it’s not a brooding quiet. It’s an attentive quiet. When a singer finishes, I lean into him and tell him what I think. He responds with one of his many grunts. He’s taking in everything around him, but he doesn’t feel the need to comment on all of it just to fill the empty space. It’s refreshing.
He isn’t bored or distracted. He’s focused on me. He watches me sway my hips and sing along to the latest amateur singer up on stage. He isn’t touching me, but I brush my body against his every few minutes to tease him.
The next guy takes the stage and we’re in for a treat. He has to be over fifty if he’s a day. He must have been going for silver fox, but, dressed in head-to-toe leather, he’s ended up looking more like the poster child for a mid-life crisis.
He’s rocking studded red boots, skin-tight low-rise leather pants and a cow-print jacket that may have been a rug in a previous life. I can’t tell if the sheen on his bare chest is from sweating in all that leather or if he oiled himself up for the occasion. His long, stringy salt-and-pepper hair is pulled away from his face by a red silk scarf that matches those boots. He shakes his head, hops up and down a few times and points to the D.J. like the diva he is. Up on stage, he belts out an Aerosmith ballad at the top of his lungs.
He’s the best of the night. Not because he can sing but for the sheer entertainment factor. The wannabe rockstar is in the zone, one hundred percent committed to his performance. I admire someone who throws themselves into something so completely. There is a heroism in his reckless abandon.
I peek over my shoulder at Devin. His face is stoic, as always. He cocks an eyebrow at me. I know that look. He uses that one on me often. That’s his ‘you can’t be serious’ look. He’s mocking me. He’s too cool to be enthusiastic about anything. Ever. But I know he’s a faker, having fun even though I’d have to torture him to get him to admit it.
Wannabe finishes his solo with a flourish, dropping the mic, throwing his arms wide and dipping his head back. The place erupts in applause. I hoot and whistle in support. He hops off the stage with a simper and a wave, walking straight to me. He sidles up to the bar and I can’t control my amused grin. Wannabe mistakes that as a sign of interest.
“You like my song, beautiful?” he asks, licking his wrist and applying salt in what I assume is a misconceived attempt at seduction.
“You were great. Very entertaining,” I answer with a chuckle. He licks his salt, takes a shot of tequila and sucks on a lime while maintaining eye contact.
My eyebrow shoots up in Devin-like silent ridicule.
“It’s all in the tongue.” He licks his lips and leans in to me. I pull back.
The low growl from Devin behind me puts a smirk on my lips. Wannabe misreads the situation. He grabs my wrist. “How ’bout you ditch the statue and let me show you a good time?”
He just crossed the line from entertaining to creepy. I wrench my hand free and place it in the middle of his chest, pushing him away in an unmistakable rejection. Yep, he’s definitely oiled up. I pull my hand away and gag at the slick mess covering it. Wannabe still doesn’t take the hint and leans in again, dragging a finger along my exposed collarbone.
“Enough,” Devin barks from behind me.
Tingles flood my stomach when he snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. His body is cool, but the touch is searing. The connection burns through me. I lay my hand on top of his and close my eyes, focusing on his thick fingers spreading from the waist of my pants to just below my bra. His hold is firm and possessive. I’ve never wanted to belong to someone before, but I want to be Devin’s now.
Wannabe is focused on Devin behind me and his lips twist into a pout.
I give him a little wink. “You know the best thing about statues? They stay rock hard all night. So I’m good. Thanks.”
He chuckles, tips his shot glass to us and downs it before stalking off to find his next conquest.
Devin’s grip tightens around me and I shiver, my body desperate to melt into his.
I twist in his arms just enough to meet his glare. I’m surprised at the real jealousy and a bit of annoyance in his features. I lift my hand to his face and stroke the scruff on his clenched jaw. “You almost lost me to a rock star there, Big Man.”
His lips curl up at the edges in the close
st I’ve ever seen to a smile. I nuzzle his nose and he responds with a soft hum. The rumble of the loud bar fades away as I stare into Devin’s deep, dark eyes. More than anything, I want to break through that veneer he wears and hear the truth hiding in those soulful orbs. The arm locked around me makes him seem so strong, but his gaze is gentle. Vulnerable. I want to protect him.
I take the beer out of his hand and set it on the bar next to mine, twisting to face him full on. He’s still sitting and I’m taller than him, tucked between his thick thighs. He glides his hands under my shirt, burning me with his icy touch. He massages my shoulder with one and slides the other to my lower back. Still cupping his face, I move a hand up under his shirt to rest on his bare pec. We’re both fully dressed, but the skin-to-skin touch feels intimate. The people around us don’t exist. We’re in our own world. I am connected to him in a way I never want to lose. Dropping my forehead to his, I close my eyes and focus on the ragged breaths he takes and the heart beating under my palm.
I ease my lips to his, as if he’ll break if I’m not careful. He tenses, but those lips stay soft, tender. He’s on alert, but he’s letting me in. He tilts his head and kisses me with such reverence, like he’s confessing he’s scared. He’s begging me not to hurt him. My heart aches. I press my palm into his chest and deepen the kiss.
Chapter Eleven
Jessie
“Really? You like the pink one? But it’s so girly,” I tell Becs from the other side of the dressing room, my inner tomboy revolting.
She laughs. “I am a girl.”
“No, you are a stunning young woman who needs to embrace colors outside the pastel family.”
She laughs again, a light, easy sound. I wonder if that’s what Devin’s laugh sounds like. I’d love to hear it. See him lighten up for half a second. Despite what he seems to think, the world wouldn’t crumble at the sight of Devin Bennett enjoying himself.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll try the green one.” She reaches her arm out of the dressing room and I slap the green top into her outstretched fingers. “You’re spending too much time with Devin. He’s turning you into a control freak too.”
A familiar tingle rushes across my body. Devin hasn’t rubbed off on me as much as I’d like him to. No need to tell his sister that, though.
“I’m pushing you to become your best self, BB.” I snicker. “Just like that sexy, grumbling big brother of yours.”
She groans just like Devin. It’s adorable. “I know he means well, but seriously, it’s my life.”
“Oh, I get it. I have three brothers.”
Becs pops her head out of the dressing room. “Three?” she squeals.
I nod. “Jared, Jake and Jamie. Or the trio of terror, as I like to call them.”
She ducks her head back in the dressing room. “Oh my God. Just one drives me crazy. How do you deal with three?”
“You get good at being sneaky. They don’t need to know everything.”
“What about your dad?” she asks, her words muffled as she either takes something off or puts something on.
“Oh, my dad is a pushover. My mom too. What about your parents?”
“Rob and Mandy are cool. They have rules and stuff, but they’re not control freaks like Dev.”
I twirl the strap of the dress I’m holding, debating how to ask what I want to know. “And your biological parents?”
“They’re not in the picture at all,” she answers without a twinge of emotion. “My mom ran off when I was only like six or seven and Dad ended up in prison on his third strike a couple years after that.”
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” I toss the dress to the side and stare up at the ceiling, kicking myself.
“It’s not a big deal. Not for me, at least. Devin’s always been there. He tried so hard to take care of me, but there’s no way the state was going to give an eighteen-year-old full custody of a minor.” The words roll off her tongue like she’s answered all these questions before and it’s old news. Still, my heart breaks for her a bit. I wish I was as strong as Becs Bennett.
“Rob and Mandy seem sweet.”
“Oh, they’re awesome. I love ’em.” Her voice is tender, holding real emotion. “They can’t have their own kids, so they let me get away with more than I should.”
I laugh. “That sounds familiar. I’m the only girl, so my parents think I can do no wrong. I’m pretty sure they think I’m still a virgin.”
Becs snort-laughs in the dressing room. Maybe talking to a seventeen-year-old about being sneaky and having sex isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.
I backpedal. “Not like there’s anything wrong with being a virgin. I mean, sometimes I wish I’d waited until…” When? When did you ever wish you’d waited? I didn’t think my little speech through and now I’m stalling, trying to think of anything else I could use to finish that sentence without being a total liar.
“Oh, that ship sailed last year.” Becs fills in the silence. Well, that answers that.
“I’m going to take a wild guess—Devin doesn’t know?”
She gasps and flings open the dressing room door. “Hell no! He’d kill Garrett if he ever found out.”
She’s exaggerating, but only a tiny bit. The kid who took Becs’ virginity might not end up in the hospital, but Devin would break at least some of the smaller bones. A few fingers. Maybe an arm if the kid looked like a punk. My brothers threatened to do the same, especially Jared, the oldest and most pigheaded of the Allen clan. That’s why I’ve made sure they never had positive confirmation of anyone I’ve slept with. Even the manliest of my ex-boyfriends knows to keep his mouth shut. It’s like the sex witness protection program.
Becs steps in front of the full-length mirror, wearing the deep green top I picked out that matches her eyes. She smooths it over a bit, turning from side to side, the fabric swishing around her.
“Told you you’d look amazing.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a reluctant smile on her lips. “Okay, fine. You were right. I like it better than the pink.”
“So, this Garrett. Is he your boyfriend?”
“No. Not anymore.” A sadness settles in her eyes. Devin might not get a chance. I might kill this Garrett jerk myself.
I stand up, brush Becs’ long hair off her shoulder and rub her back. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” she grits out, reminding me a bit too much of her brother. I decide to leave it alone, for now at least.
We finish shopping and I buy her the green top, and the pink one too because it’s fun to spoil my pretend little sister. After, we meet up with Elizabeth for Mexican food. I’m nursing a margarita as we chow down on nachos and chat about life and boys and everything else. Not a bad afternoon, if I do say so myself.
“What’s the plan for the next year, BB?” I ask Becs, taking a big bite out of a three-chip monstrosity piled high with all the toppings imaginable. Elizabeth and Becs stare at me like I’m disgusting. Guess that’s what growing up in a house full of boys will do. “It counts as one nacho,” I mumble through a mouth full of food, not helping my case.
Elizabeth slides a napkin across the table at me and averts her eyes.
“College, I guess,” Becs answers with a noticeable pout.
“You aren’t sure?” Elizabeth asks as I wipe sour cream off my forehead. How’d it even get there?
Becs lets out a defeated sigh. “I’m sure I’m going, I guess. Just don’t know where.”
“What’s your top choice?” I ask.
Becs’ eyes go wide, a spark lighting inside her. “Notre Dame. And I got in!”
“That’s awesome,” Elizabeth and I coo in unison.
The spark dies quick as lightning.
“Spit it out. What’s the problem?” I nudge her on the bench seat next to me.
“My brother is the problem. Can you imagine how his head would explode if I told him I wanted to go to college across the country?”
�
�He loves you. If it makes you happy, I’m sure he’d be okay with it,” Elizabeth says, ever the optimist.
“Have you met Devin?” I tease. “He likes change about as much as he’d like a public proctology exam.”
We all laugh, but Becs’ is half-hearted.
“First our mom took off, then his ex ghosted him right after high school. It’s fair to say he’s got a thing about the people he loves skipping town.”
My ears perk up and my heart does laps in my chest. Becs already dropped the disappearing mom bombshell on me earlier, but now there’s an ex-girlfriend too? “Ex?” I try—and fail—to sound casual.
“Yeah, Shawna. They were high school sweethearts. She left the day after they graduated. Tried to get him to go with her, but with our dad being a piece of shit and our mom being non-existent, that wasn’t an option.”
Jealousy burns deep in my veins. I hate Shawna. How dare she try to get Devin to leave his family? His home? Tramp. Holy crap, where did that come from?
Becs sips her horchata and pouts. “He stayed for me, so I guess I owe it to him to stay too.”
The sadness in her young eyes breaks my heart. I grab her hand and squeeze it.
“Staying was his choice and I’m sure he doesn’t regret it.” Good riddance, Shawna. “And now leaving is your choice. He may be a grumpy jerk about it, but it’s your life.”
She squeezes my hand in turn. “Thanks.”
There’s an awkward silence, filled by the chomping of tortilla chips.
“You both graduate this year?” Becs asks after a few minutes.
“Yep,” Elizabeth answers with a smile.
“Only a couple more months and I’ll have a shiny new diploma with my name on it,” I add.
This is So Happening (So Far, So Good Book 2) Page 7
