by Dylann Crush
Then Gunner’s eyes drop to my mouth, and he blows me away. “No question.” He doesn’t even draw in another breath before rushing on. “Your turn. I dare you bring that crazy mouth over here.”
And it’s as if his words take control of my limbs because, next thing I know, I’m on my hands and knees crawling over the hard floor to where Gunner sits across from me. My eyes scan his face and then zero in on that sexy-ass grin as I inch closer. His hands cup my face, and he meets me with his lips on mine.
I expect it to be a perfunctory kiss to fulfill a stupid challenge in a game, but it’s clear from the start that it’s anything but. Gunner pulls my bottom lip between his and swipes the tip of his tongue across it before doing the same to the top one. Then he makes a little groaning sound and angles himself for better access, drawing a responding sigh from me when one of his hands drops from my face to pull my body into his. But there’s nowhere for my legs to go with him sitting cross-legged. Being a natural problem solver, Gunner pulls me onto his lap as he deepens the kiss, and I’m now straddling Gunner freaking Nix while he kisses me stupid!
He tastes like salted chocolate as his hot tongue tangles with mine and his hands drop down to the curve of my hips. I want to consume him, pull him into me and keep him. My breasts press against his chest, and I wonder what he’d think if I just tore my clothes off because my nipples are screaming for his touch, and I can feel his hard length between my legs as I shamelessly grind down on him. All of lady town is rejoicing at this Christmas miracle.
Gunner breaks the kiss, only to whisper my name against the corner of my mouth and let his lips skim to my jaw and that wildly sensitive spot behind my ear. My head falls back to give him access to my neck as one of my hands explores the muscles of his back while the other spears through his short hair and pulls him closer.
Then we’re kissing again, all tongues, teeth, and lips until the need for oxygen finally pulls us apart and we sit forehead to forehead drawing in heavy breaths.
“Best. Dare. Ever.” My kiss-swollen lips curve in a smile, and Gunner laughs quietly as he helps me off his lap and I settle in next to him again, this time with our shoulders and hips touching each other and with the new knowledge that Gunner Nix is a man of many talents.
6
I expect everything to be painfully awkward following our little snogfest, but it’s not. We sit chatting for a bit about our careers and our friends. I tell him all about my crazy history with Skye, and he relates some adventures with his best friend, Joey, who also happens to be a pro baseball player. And I even tell him about my nude-enthusiasts at the senior center, which leaves him part horrified and part amused.
Neither one of us mentions how long it’s been since we became trapped down here and how potentially worrisome it is that no one has come looking for us yet. If I let my imagination wander, it could take me to some very dark places I’d rather not visit, so I decide to believe that the police have already apprehended the bad guys and just haven’t gotten around to finding us yet. Or the criminals are long gone—painting, tickets, and whatever else they stole, never to be seen again.
Any way I slice it, though, things are bound to come to an end soon. My Gunner love bubble will pop, the coach will turn into a pumpkin, and the prince will go back to his life in the spotlight, while I go back to my studio and my painting and my easily-titillated elderly people. He’ll just be that guy I lust after on TV and at the ballpark, and I’ll be one of his many fangirls. My heart can’t help but hurt at that.
Because, when I told Skye that fantasy is always better than reality, I didn’t know how amazingly awesome the reality of Gunner Nix is. He’s not some stuck-up asshole who fronts for the cameras and trades on his good looks. He’s humble and funny and sweet, and he respects other people and works hard. And, sure, maybe he goes out with models and an odd actress or two, but the guy I’m coming to know isn’t the kind of man who would stay with a person unless they were kind and funny and amazing too. And now that I know all this, my crush is worse than ever.
So, there’s only one thing to do. I need him to wreck this new version of himself. That way my heart won’t break when we leave here tonight and go back to being strangers. That way I’ll know the reality of Gunner isn’t all it seems right now. So, I swallow hard and force my voice to remain light.
“Truth or dare?”
He nudges me and I can tell he’s grinning even though my eyes are glued to my hands as they fidget on my lap. “Since nothing could top that last dare, I’ll go with truth.”
And even though I know my question will ruin everything, I need it all to implode before my heart has a chance to wish on stars.
“Have you ever cheated on someone?”
Gunner stills beside me, and I can feel his grin drop because it takes my heart with it. Even though I knew, a tiny part of me was holding out hope for him to prove me wrong. But this is good, right? It means I wouldn’t want to see him again anyway—which is exactly what I wanted. He’s a famous baseball player, for heaven’s sake. He has women throwing themselves at him left and right, telling him how hot he is and tempting him with their perfect bodies when he’s on the road, out on the town, or, hell, probably even pumping gas. Of course he’s cheated.
“Can I ask you a question?” He tilts his head forward so I can see him, and I know he’s just trying to avoid answering. He doesn’t want to make himself look bad.
I shake my head, because he’s surely going to ask me the same question I asked him. Cheaters always assume everybody else does it too. But it’s not his turn.
He shifts forward and turns so I can’t avoid him. “It’s not a truth or dare, I promise.”
“If I say yes, will you answer my question?”
Two of his fingers flip up in a pledge, so I nod, anxious to finish this before the cops come busting in.
“Why do you want to know if I’ve ever cheated?”
Is he just being defensive or is he onto me? “It’s a standard Truth or Dare question.” My whispered tone tries for flippant.
But his head gives an adamant shake. “It’s a question someone asks when the answer matters to them.”
Shit. He can read me like the New York Times. I’ve shown him my hand, and now he thinks I’m crazier than ever. I’ll never be that girl he shared a hot kiss with in a dark basement that one time; I’ll be the crazy chick who read way too much into things and chases him in his nightmares, trying to mount him.
I force a casual tone. “Okay. That’s fair. I guess I’ve heard a lot of things about ball players. You don’t seem to fit the mold so far, and I figured you must have a skeleton or two.” Another shrug to play it off.
He nods once and drops his eyes to the floor. Then he grabs his phone and checks for a signal again before standing and walking to the far side of the room, taking the light with him.
What is wrong with me? I couldn’t just enjoy the time I had left with Gunner, I had to sabotage it like I always do. God, I really screwed the poodle on this one. All I wanted to do was protect myself, and here I am making this guy feel like a total asshole. Not that cheaters aren’t assholes, but what’s the point? I hate people making assumptions about me, and here I am doing the same about him.
I need to do something to fix this, so I push to standing, ready to apologize and do whatever I can to bring back the carefree mood and the Gunner whose smile makes my belly feel like it’s on a theme park ride. We may not be destined to make those dumb babies—oh, who am I kidding? They’d be the best babies ever—but we can at least enjoy the time we have left in this bizarre bubble.
But I miscalculate the distance between my shoulder and the wire shelving—and the amount of wine left in the bottle. Next thing I know, the shelf is tipping, and Gunner is diving toward it to break its fall.
A half dozen boxes come crashing to the floor, shattering my wine bottle and making a horrific racket. I scramble to right the shelf and avoid further noise while I scan Gunner’s clearly-illuminated fa
ce with panicked eyes. What if the bad guys heard that? They could be on their way here right now!
But Gunner’s not looking at me, and when I follow his gaze, I discover why I can suddenly see his face without the aid of his phone. There’s a window behind the shelf! It’s not very big, and it’s at least six feet off the ground, but it leads away from the guys with the guns, so that’s all I need to know.
“Quick. Let’s lay this down flat.” Gunner eases the shelf down on top of the mess I’ve made and grabs my hand to lead me around it. Then he balances himself on a cross section and shoves the window up with a quick push. A woosh of winter cold fills the space around us, and the screeching sound from the old window has me watching our wine barricade, just waiting for it to come crashing down in a blaze of bullets.
“Come on!” Gunner doesn’t even try to whisper anymore as he grabs my hand again and then lifts me up as if I weigh nothing. I stifle my gasp and grasp the window sash with both hands while he hoists me by the waist up and out the open window and into the freezing night air.
My knees scrape on sharp gravel as I turn to peer back into the room, my sight aided by the lamp posts behind me, but the pain is the furthest thing from my mind when I hear the familiar male voices outside the door to our hideout.
“Who’s in there?” one shouts, while the other one grunts and replies with, “There’s something in the way.” The box pile lurches, and two of the top ones come crashing to the concrete floor.
“Gunner, come on!” I stretch a hand through the window, but I can’t reach him. He’s facing the door and not making a move to follow me. “Gunner, please! If you don’t climb out this window right this second, I’m going to punch you in the nuts and then kill you!”
That seems to break him out of whatever stupor he was lost in because it’s less than a second later when he boosts himself up and out the window with his ridiculous arm muscles. We both scramble to our feet and sprint like Usain Bolt himself over the gravel until we reach a ladder that takes us up to street level and the parking lot. My hand is in Gunner’s again as we round the building and almost take out Skye and Bronte like a couple of bowling pins just outside the front doors.
“Inside! Now!” Gunner ushers us all in while Skye clutches at her cashmere coat and Bronte keeps everyone upright. We don’t stop until we’re safe in a side room with the door closed behind us.
“What happened to you?” Skye shoves her coat at Bronte and rushes to me, surveying my body with concerned eyes. I’m panting like a Labrador in August, so I can’t speak a word, but a glance at my legs reveals blood running down my shins and bits of gravel still stuck in my knees.
Gunner, who’s not even a tenth as breathless as I am, steps off to the side, phone to his ear.
Skye’s focus is still on me as she continues her inspection. “Lizzie! What happened?” But she’s silenced when Gunner begins speaking into the phone.
“I’d like to report an armed burglary in progress.”
Skye gasps, but instead of pulling me into a hug or looking around for someone pointing a gun or, I don’t know, hiding under a desk, she throws herself at Gunner and starts wrestling him for the phone.
“What are you doing?!” I manage to yell between gasps. My eyes flash to Bronte, who I assume will pull her back and calm her down, but he shocks the utter hell out of me when he drops Skye’s coat to the floor and joins in the wrestling instead.
“Give me the phone, Gunner!” Bronte demands.
There’s nothing left to do, so I join in the fray, pulling on Bronte’s coat and trying to protect my man from the psychos. “Leave him alone! He’s trying to call the police! There are robbers chasing us!”
Gunner, all the while, is shouting into the phone as he tries pushing all of us back. “Yes! Two armed men in the basement of the Centennial Center!”
“Stop!” Skye’s voice rises above the rest of us. “It was me! There are no robbers! I took the painting and the tickets!”
We all freeze. At this point, one of my bloody legs is wrapped around Bronte’s waist, and I’ve got a handful of Skye’s hair in my fist. How does she get it to be so damn soft?
“Hello? Are you still there?” The 9-1-1 operator’s voice shouting faintly through the phone is the only sound in the room.
Gunner is the first to get his wits about him. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry. There’s some confusion here.” He follows that up with a nod and another, “Yes. I understand,” before dropping the phone to his side and untangling himself from the Skye and Bronte assault pretzel. We all follow suit, and from the looks of everyone else, I’m guessing I resemble a rabid racoon who lost a battle with a coyote.
“They’re sending a unit.”
Skye covers her eyes with a still-perfectly-manicured hand, and Bronte’s arm falls across her shoulders. “It will be fine, darling.”
It’s only then I realize my teeth are chattering, which is odd because the building is nice and warm compared to the freezing December air outside. Gunner notices right away and comes to my side in a flash. “Elizabeth?” He scans my face and looks me straight in the eyes. His are warm and kind and full of concern. I am so in like with this guy. “I think you’re going into shock.”
“No, I’m not,” I protest through rattling teeth. “I’m going into like.”
“Oh my God. This is all my fault.” Skye buries her head in Bronte’s shoulder while Gunner leads me over to a set of armchairs and a sofa where he makes me sit.
“Skye, she needs your coat.” Gunner turns back to them, and they both come closer, picking up the coat on their way.
I try protesting again, knowing how expensive that thing must be and how blood stains don’t exactly vibe with Skye’s ensemble, but she won’t take no for an answer.
“I am so, so sorry.” Skye’s hands are wringing as she watches Gunner bundle me in camel cashmere. “It was just an innocent little match-making scheme. We figured if we sent you two off together on an errand, you might get to know each other a little bit.” She shakes her head. “I never thought it would end in a false 9-1-1 report and all this.” She throws her hands out at the mess that is me.
“Don’t worry,” Bronte cuts in. “I’ll explain it, and if anyone gets charged, it will be me.”
But I hardly hear him because my brain is still stuck on the fact that Skye set this entire thing up. She was matchmaking with Gunner and me! My body is suddenly plenty warm as a blush rages up my neck and I send the worst glare I can muster at her. I hope it’s good and nasty.
“I can’t believe you did that!” My voice is stronger now. God, this is so embarrassing. I can’t even look Gunner’s way. I wouldn’t blame him if he left without another word to anyone. “You scared the shit out of us!”
Skye at least has the grace to wince a little. “Granted, I should have accounted for your imagination getting away from you, but I have to say I’m a bit surprised Gunner joined you down the rabbit hole.”
“Remind me to find new friends.” I shake my head at her, still riled but knowing I can never stay mad at her for long. She once ratted me out to my dad when she caught me smoking cigarettes behind our back shed, and I forgave her for that. Eventually.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” Gunner lifts his hands, palms out, “but you could have just left it with locking the basement door, guys. You didn’t have to go full-out pretending you were going to shoot us and knocking over all that wine.” He grins my way, and I can’t believe how well he’s taking this. “I’m pretty sure Elizabeth had her eye on every last one of those bottles.”
I fight a threatening smile, not quite done being mad at Skye.
“What do you mean?” Skye and Bronte appear more relaxed now, but they both send Gunner and me a frown.
“When you pretended you were breaking into the room just now,” I supply with another glare. “Those were cases of wine we used to barricade the door.” I turn to Gunner, feeling better by the moment. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
His grin gets even bigger, but when I glance back at Skye, she’s squinting at me, frown still in place.
“What room?”
I roll my eyes. “The room in the basement. Where we were hiding.” Still nothing but blank stares. “Hello?” My hand waves in the air as if trying to get their attention.
And that’s when I feel Gunner inch closer to me.
Bronte clears his throat. “We weren’t… in the basement, Elizabeth.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” I glance back at Gunner, but he’s frowning as well.
My hand drops to my lap like a stone just as the wail of sirens fills the air and the windows flood with blue and red lights.
7
“And you would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for us meddling kids!” I shout after the last of the handcuffed bad guys as a police officer guides him into the backseat of a patrol car. Sure, I sound like a maniac, but there was no resisting that one. All it needed was a good testicle pun to top it off and it would have been sheer perfection.
The cops were able to find our criminal friends easily once Gunner and I pointed the way, and they gave up as soon as they found themselves cornered at the loading dock. It turned out they were trying to rob a safe in the basement and had no interest in either artwork or baseball. Their loss.
Gunner took some of the officers back to the basement to retrace our steps while Skye got me cleaned up and Bronte distracted the party guests by starting the auction. So, I suppose all’s well that ends well.
My smug grin at my cartoon reference falls as I turn and spot the look on Skye’s face where she stands next to me in the doorway. “What? Haven’t you ever seen Scooby Doo?”
“I almost got you killed!” She throws her arms around me, and I try not to let myself suffocate in her cleavage.
“You didn’t almost get me killed.” My muffled voice is meant to reassure her, but I know she’s feeling guilty. She releases me, and I link my arm in hers. “Let’s go back inside.” We head to the side room where we met with the police and flop back on the sofa with matching sighs.
