Never Enough

by Elliott, Kelly

  Betty Jane winked. “Ralph will help you get him out to his truck.”

  “But . . . I . . . my . . . I’m not . . . wait!”

  Placing her hand on her hip, she rolled her eyes. “Listen, I’ve got to finish cleaning up and then kick everyone out of here. Just spit it out, would ya?”

  “My car! I have my car here. I can’t leave it.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about it being left here. It’s perfectly fine.”

  She turned and walked away. When I called out for her again, she ignored me.

  I turned around and walked back over to the table to find a sleeping Brock. Burying my face in my hands, I mumbled, “Oh my God! Why me?” Poking his shoulder, I said, “Brock! Brock, wake up!”

  His head popped up, and I let out a little yelp.

  He turned to look at me, and instead of frowning, he smiled for once. “Hey, pretty little thing.”

  He’s so drunk he doesn’t even know who I am.

  “Um, hey. Listen, I need to get you home, so could you maybe stand and walk out to your truck?”

  Brock smiled bigger, and his dimples seemed to scream out at me.

  Oh. Holy. Hell.

  This guy was beyond good looking. I mean, I didn’t think I’d ever seen a guy smile and look so damn sexy, despite his highly intoxicated state. Even with his cowboy hat all crooked, he looked handsome as hell.

  “I can stand,” he grumbled out as he slowly stood.

  I slipped my arm around his waist. After doing a quick scan of the table, I reached behind me and felt for my phone. I had my license and credit card tucked into my phone case, and I had my keys in my pocket.

  “Okay, let’s get you to your truck.”

  His head dropped forward, and I was pretty sure he was falling back asleep.

  “Brock!” I shouted, making his head jerk up. “Walk to the door.”

  “What do you adore?” he asked, taking a few stumbling steps next to me as I guided him.

  I chuckled. “No, I said, walk to the door!”

  “I am walking to the door, woman!”

  With a roll of my eyes, I focused on keeping this man upright. It wasn’t an easy task. His stocky frame was heavy. With the way my arm was around him, I couldn’t help but notice his muscles flexing as we walked . . . no, stumbled along. I let my silly mind wander to what he would look like without a shirt on.

  Stop it right now, Lincoln Pratt!

  Betty Jane opened the door for us and winked at me yet again as I walked by. “Have a good night, and don’t worry about your car!”

  I mumbled under my breath about being set up and then stepped out into the cool night. A shiver ran up my spine as I searched the parking lot. I’d only seen Brock’s truck once, and the only thing I remembered was that it was silver.

  “Where’s your truck?” I asked, glancing at three trucks still parked in the lot.

  Shit on a stick, does everyone here drive trucks?

  Brock lifted his head and looked around. “My truck is the best damn truck in the parking lot.”

  “That doesn’t help, Shaw. What’s your license plate number?”

  Brock turned, his big, drunk blue eyes gazing down at me. “You want my number, Lincoln? I thought you didn’t like me.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Um, excuse me, but you’re the one who’s been shooting daggers at me all night long. Not to mention how rude you were to me earlier today.”

  “You didn’t catch me at my best, sweetheart.”

  My stomach dipped at the endearment. No one had ever called me anything like that. Not baby, babe, sweetie, or sweetheart. I was always just Lincoln. Every guy I’d ever dated called me by my first name. Even in bed, I was always Lincoln.

  It pissed me off how much I liked hearing that come from Brock’s mouth. I liked it a lot . . . more than a lot.

  Damn it. What is it about this guy?

  “I didn’t ask you for your phone number, you drunk fool. Your license plate number on your truck.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know the license plate on your own truck?”

  “Nope!” he said, popping the p in the most adorable way.

  I found myself smiling up at him.

  “It’s the silver one on the far right!” Betty Jane called out.

  I looked behind me, almost losing my grip on Brock. “And I don’t suppose you’d help me get him there . . . or Ralph, maybe?”

  She laughed. She actually laughed before turning and walking back into the bar.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled as I guided Brock over to the truck.

  I hit the button to unlock the doors, and all the lights came on. I scolded myself for not thinking of doing that sooner. When I got to the passenger side, I not-so-gently pushed him against the back door and tried to open the front.

  “Damn, woman. I didn’t peg you as a rough-sex kinda gal.”

  “If you think we’re having sex right now, you’re drunker than I thought.”

  Brock laughed, and it was magical. No, seriously, it was the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. And it went right to the area between my legs that was now pulsing after one laugh from a man I really didn’t want to like but was finding myself liking anyway.

  “I’ms not that dunk.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I said, “Huh?”

  “I’ms not that dunk.”

  “Do you mean to say you’re not that drunk?”

  He attempted to snap his fingers and pointed one at me as he said, “Yep.” And he popped the damn p again.

  I giggled. “You are a very cute drunk.”

  He smiled. “I knew you liked me.”

  “Don’t get cocky, Brock. I’m warming up to drunk you. Sober you is an entirely different beast.”

  He licked his lips and pulled me against his body. “I bet I can find a better way to warm you up.”

  Oh. My.

  My body stilled, and I wanted to ask him what he had in mind.

  I’d always heard the silly rumor that guys couldn’t get hard-ons when they were so drunk. I didn’t have much experience with drunk guys and sex, but what I did know was Brock Shaw was for sure hard. Very hard. And, from what I could tell through his jeans . . . very big.

  I placed my hand on his chest and couldn’t ignore the instant zap of energy that raced from his body into mine. He must have felt it, too, because he inhaled sharply. A small thrill raced up my spine at the thought of Brock reacting to my touch.

  “Let’s get you home, Brock.”

  He leaned down to kiss me, but I pulled back. There was no way I was going to kiss this man when he was drunk. No. If he truly wanted to kiss me, he’d do it sober, when he wasn’t acting like a complete jerk.

  The look of disappointment quickly morphed on his face, and he nodded, pushing his fingers through his hair. He turned his body and climbed into the passenger side of the truck without a word.

  I shut the door and dragged in a deep breath while I walked around the truck. It was only then that it dawned on me: I could have just put him in my car. Clearly my mind was boggled around this guy. I groaned and shook my head as I climbed up into the cab.

  “Tell me you’ve driven a truck before, princess.”

  Jerking my head to look at him, I asked, “Princess?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t like the name princess?”

  I stared at him, not knowing what to say. I loved hearing him call me that, but it confused me more than anything. Drunk Brock was indeed throwing me for a loop. He finally looked away and sighed.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t ever call you that again.”

  “No, I mean, I . . .” The words seemed to fade away in the back of my throat before I could get them out.

  Dropping his head on the back of the seat, he said, “Don’t wreck my truck, Lincoln.”

  His words were harsh, not like a moment ago, when he’d called me princess. “I’m not going to wreck your precious truck.”

&nbs
p; “Damn right you better not.”

  I sighed as I started the truck. “Just . . . pass out or something so you don’t make me nervous driving.”

  “Fine.”

  Yep, we were back to the asshole. Maybe he was sobering up.

  After pulling up to the Shaws’ driveway, I looked around the truck’s interior and saw a gate opener clipped to the sun visor. When I hit it, the giant iron gate swung open.

  “Brock, are you staying with your parents?”

  He snored.

  Ugh.

  When I hit him on the thigh, he jumped. “What? I’m up!”

  I tried not to laugh. “Main house?”

  The way he looked at me with a confused expression was cute. “Huh?”

  “Are you staying at the main house? Tanner mentioned something about Blayze being at the main house with your folks.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t stay with my folks.”

  My heart dropped. Well, shit. Is he at a hotel or something?

  “Okay, well, where should I drop off your drunk ass?”

  “Um . . . I live in the old foreman’s cabin.”

  I waited for him to tell me where that was.

  “Okay, Brock, I’m going to need directions there.”

  “The road forks up here. Go left and follow it until you see a cabin.”

  I remembered the last time I had been here, the road went off in two directions, and I’d had to turn to the right to get to the main house. There was a sign that marked the right turn. I hadn’t noticed any other signs. When I got to the fork in the road, I turned left and followed it another mile or so.

  “Jesus, how big is this ranch?”

  Brock laughed. “It’s big.”

  When I drove farther and saw a large one-story ranch-style house, I put on the brakes.

  “Damn it. I must have missed it.”

  Brock lifted his head and looked. “Nope. That’s my house.”

  Glancing between him and the house, I pointed to it. “That’s your house, Brock? That is not a cabin! That is a house. A big house.”

  “Yeah, well, when I moved in, I wanted more room. So, I added on to it.” His words were slow and drawn out, like he was trying really hard to talk normal.

  After putting the truck in park and turning it off, I grabbed the keys and ran over to the passenger side.

  Brock nearly fell as he got out of the truck, and then again when we climbed the porch steps. I was silently thanking God that this was a one-story and I didn’t have to help him up any stairs. Brock was stumbling all over the damn place.

  “My gosh, how much did you have to drink?”

  He chuckled. “A whole bunches.”

  When we walked into the house, we stepped into a large living room. To the left was an open kitchen that made my mouth water at the amenities and high-end details. To the right was a large dining room. There were two halls that jutted from the living room.

  Pressing my lips together, I kept from laughing. “Bedroom?”

  “Well okay, then. Finally we’re getting somewhere.”

  I smacked him on the chest. My God, the man is solid.

  “You wish. Now, tell me where your room is, Brock. I’m exhausted, and trying to hold you up is testing how strong I really am.”

  “Um . . . let’s see. Down the hall.”

  “Which hall?” I asked.

  He pointed right. “That would be the master bedroom hall. Or, as I like to call it, the place where I’ll make you call out my name when I make you come . . . at least three times.”

  I stilled.

  What in the hell? Does he even realize what he just said?

  “Do you think you can manage to get there yourself?” I asked, my heart nearly beating right out of my chest.

  “Sure, I can get there.”

  The moment I let him go, he nearly fell over the love seat.

  Grabbing his shirt, I pulled him back before he tumbled right over. “Crap! Brock, you are drunker than all get-out.”

  Wrapping my arm around him again, I carefully and slowly guided him down the hall. There were two doors. One on the left and one on the right. The first one on the left was an office. The last door on the right was the master bedroom.

  Finally.

  I kicked the door open all the way with my foot, guided Brock in, and gasped at the sight before me. “This room! It’s beautiful.”

  Brock mumbled something about a magazine and then leaned more on me.

  “Oh, wait—Brock, I can’t hold you up like that!”

  Spinning, I came face to face with him just as he lost the only bit of balance he had left, and we both started to stumble. I was going backward and couldn’t get ahold of anything to stop.

  When I felt the end of the bed hit the backs of my knees, I cried out, “Oh shit!”

  I fell onto the bed—and Brock fell right on top of me.

  “Brock,” I gasped out. “Can’t. Breathe.”

  He rolled off me, pulling me with him. Now, I was on top of him. I tried to get up and ended up straddling him.

  His hands grabbed my waist and pinned me still.

  Okay, this was somewhat better. I mean, at least I wasn’t suffocating now, but my girlie parts were pressed against his manly parts, and . . . holy hell, it felt good. The urge to rotate my hips was powerful, but I somehow managed to get off him . . . that is, before I got off on him.

  I tried pulling him farther up.

  “Brock, scoot up more! You’re hanging halfway off the bed.”

  He turned his head and looked at me. “Were you just on top of me?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Really? ’Cause I swear you were just straddling me.”

  “Nope.” I even popped the p, giving him a bit of his own sass.

  He pushed himself up the bed and draped his arm over his eyes. I quickly got his boots off. I contemplated attempting to remove his pants but thought better of that. Although a peek at his package might be sort of fun. He’d never remember a damn thing about tonight—thankfully.

  With shaking hands, I reached for his belt buckle. It was one of those that cowboys won in rodeos and all. I leaned in closer to read it.

  PBR World Champion.

  My teeth sank into my lip. Okay, why is that title such a turn-on?

  I went to work getting his belt off and then unbuttoned his pants. When I started to unzip his jeans, I froze.

  “Holy hell, he’s not wearing any underwear!” I whispered in shock.

  Jumping back, I stopped myself.

  Would I want him to undress me if I were passed out?

  No! I most definitely would not.

  Stop this right now, Lincoln Pratt.

  I quickly looked around for a blanket. Finding one in the closet, I covered Brock, but before I could step away, he sat up and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back onto the bed.

  “What in the hell?” I cried as Brock quickly moved back and pulled me flush against his body. He draped his big arm over me and buried his face in my hair.

  “Don’t leave me alone, Lincoln. Please?”

  I froze instantly. Not even breathing until I absolutely had to. I was lying in bed with Brock Shaw. The guy I was internally debating on whether I liked him or didn’t like him.

  No. I definitely liked him. Or maybe I liked the feeling of being in a man’s arms. It had been an awfully long time since I’d had any physical interaction with a man. Over a year. And the way he asked me not to leave him . . . Why did that cause my stomach to flip?

  Ugh! This was not good! Not good at all. I needed to get out of Brock’s bed.

  It didn’t take Brock long to fall back asleep. When I tried to move, he drew me closer to him in a death grip, like he knew I was trying to escape.

  Fiddlesticks. What am I going to do now?

  I was stuck. Brock had pulled me into a spoon position, and not only had he thrown his arm around me, but he’d put his leg on me as well. I wouldn’t have pegged Brock
Shaw as a spooner, but boy howdy, he had me tied up in his body like I imagined a cowboy would tie up a calf. I was trapped—no chance of escaping from the grip he had on me.

  Images of Brock tying me up went through my mind. His rough hands exploring my body while he covered me in soft kisses. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” I chastised myself, forcing the dirty thoughts out of my head. This wasn’t like me at all.

  “Lincoln.”

  I froze again. “Yes?” I whispered.

  I turned my head some, only to find Brock sound asleep and saying my name while wearing the cutest grin . . . and those damn dimples were right at eye level.

  My heart dropped in my chest.

  This cannot be good.

  Chapter Eight

  BROCK

  I didn’t want to wake up. My head was killing me, but I felt strangely at peace.

  Then, I realized I had my arm around someone.

  Shit.

  If I’d hooked up with someone last night, I was going to kill my brothers.

  I took in a deep breath and smelled something amazing. Coconut? No. It was better than coconut.

  When my eyes opened, I saw her.

  What in the actual fuck?

  Lincoln Pratt was pulled up against my body. Both of us were fully clothed, but it was difficult not to notice my hard cock pressing against my jeans.

  I gently lifted my arm and carefully rolled over. Staring up at the ceiling, I silently cursed myself. What in the hell is she doing in my bed?

  When I didn’t move, Lincoln did. I decided to play like I was asleep, even breathing a bit heavier.

  She carefully slipped out of the bed and quietly went to the bathroom, where I immediately heard her talking on the phone. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call! My phone was in my back pocket, and something really weird happened.”

  I frowned.

  “Okay, let’s see, after I got him in bed, I started to walk away, and he grabbed me, pulled me onto the bed, and then asked me to stay with him.”

  My head jerked back in shock.

  “Well, of course I was fully clothed! My gosh, Kaylee!” Lincoln hissed. “I did try leaving, but he just held me tighter. No, I didn’t sneak any peeks, but I thought about it; I won’t lie. I started to take his jeans off and had to stop when I realized he was going commando.”