“Officer Cocks?” he mouths. He gives a dry huff while darting a quick glance behind his shoulder. “It looks like you’ve thought of everything.” He raises his arms in a mocking fashion. “You’re onto me.”
Annie and Blake come over, and I’m quick to wedge myself protectively between them.
“You’ve met Wyatt.” Annie rubs my back as she and Blake continue to inch their way to the door. In addition to public displays of affection, they like to expand their touchy-feeliness to the home front. Annie and Blake like to spend the night together. A lot. I only know this because Annie is hardly at our dorm anymore. Soon I’ll have to resort to photographs just to remember what she looks like.
“Oh, is that his name? Wyatt?” I extend my hand. “Marley Jackson.” I give a knowing nod toward the con-artist before me. He thinks he’s artfully avoided my question, but I’m about to prove him wrong. “And which precinct should I send the donuts to? You know, to thank you for taking your protective services to unnecessary lengths.”
Annie goes rigid, and Blake looks more amused than shocked. I bet this narc in hiding has been after Blake’s band just hoping to find their faces buried in a big fat pile of blow.
“Precinct?” Blake gives him a sock to the arm. “Dude, if role play is your thing, you really need to clue your opponent in on it. Or else it’s just called a lie.”
Wyatt’s features smooth out. There’s marked irritation in those sharp features of his as his jade eyes narrow in on mine.
“I haven’t lied about a thing.” He blinks a smile my way. “Ms. Jackson here has surmised something I’m not. I believe the word she used was narc.”
Blake laughs so loud I jolt out from between them. He and Annie take a few more eager steps toward the exit.
“That’s Blake’s brother.” Annie waves him off dismissively. “I promise he doesn’t bite.” She scoots the door open with her back.
Blake raises his hand our way. “Trust me, he’s no narc.” He tweaks his brows as if it meant something before he and Annie disappear into the cold night air.
“No narc,” I say it under my breath. “Blake’s brother, huh?” I step in front of him with his wide frame, his defensive lineman shoulders, his dark ridge of a brow and feel that one-night stand urge start up again in the form of a pleasant vibratory pulse between my thighs.
His features fall flat, the once smiling eyes, the once playful tug of his lips let me know I’ve blown it.
“Can we start over?” I jump on my tiptoes causing me to dance a little in my ridiculously high heels. “I’m Marley Jackson.” I jab my hand in his direction. “I write for my school paper, both the online and paper versions. As you can see I have a wild imagination.” Those last few words trickle out almost inaudible. As if this gorgeous man would care about my barely-there faux literary drivel or the twisted mind that conceives them.
Wyatt stands unmoved, leaving my hand to hang cold in the air. His gaze darts down a moment as the slim idea of a smile wavers.
He takes up my hand, warm, thick and firm, giving it a strong shake. God, I haven’t felt a man like this, well, ever. Will had tiny, slender, effeminate hands. His fingers were sort of wiry and thin, but this man, his strong thick fingers—all sorts of perverse thoughts run wild through my brain, and I hang on tight as if I’ve just clasped onto a live electrical wire.
“Wyatt James. Blake and I share a mother.” His smile widens, and, more importantly, warms toward me as if his hardcore demeanor was an act all along. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
A group of coeds crowd through the door, causing me to press against him. He’s solid as granite, holds the fragrance of a fresh cut forest mixed with that intoxicating man scent that again Will denied me because he simply wasn’t a man. But Wyatt, this very real man, smells and looks seductively expensive. I’m ready to latch on for the night to see if his bed sheets hold the promise of a very high thread count. Who am I kidding? I would let him take me in the back of his car on what I’m betting are buttery leather seats.
“It was nice meeting you.” He nods as he makes a move to leave, and I block him.
“Wait, I’m really sorry. I was totally thrown off by your—” my mind grapples for anything that might not make him sound like an authority figure bent on legal drama for the night—“I was totally thrown off by your gorgeous self.” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “And my tongue has been known to make just enough left turns to get me into trouble.”
“I’m sure you’re very nice, Marley.” He compresses a smile, shutting his eyes briefly. “You seem it. It’s just that I’ve moved past the sorority girl phase in my life. I was just here to support Blake tonight. I don’t usually pick up girls in bars. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It was wise of you to be cautious.” A genuine sadness blooms on his face. “It was nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.” He tips his head like a perfect gentleman. “Have a great rest of the night.”
I watch as he strides out of the bar, sucking all the promise of a great rest of the night right along with him.
And there it is, the big kiss off—and such a polite one to boot. Have a great rest of the night—read, have a great rest of your life.
“Wait!” I follow him out of the bar and into the snowy night, slipping in my heels on a patch of ice while freezing in my ridiculous convertible fit and flare dress more suitable for other climates, other planets, other girls.
Wyatt dissolves in the sugar storm dusting the vicinity as he makes his way into the parking lot.
“Marley?” A familiar voice calls from behind, and I spin on my peacock blue hooker heels.
It’s William.
Wyatt
A narc? I would have laughed if my ego didn’t take a bullet. I get it. I’m not the average frat boy who haunts this place on a Saturday night. I’m a working stiff who came off a twelve-hour day, still wearing my monkey suit with a briefcase tucked in the trunk.
I slip behind the driver’s seat, start the engine with the keyless remote and sit there like an idiot inhaling my own exhaust fumes.
She was pretty, I’ll give her that. Beautiful. And sweet in a quirky, slightly psychotic, way—which, unfortunately, I seem to have a weak spot for. The way she kept beckoning me over with the curl of her finger, I thought for sure we were on our way to a very good time. The way that dress wrapped itself around her body was downright vulgar—in a good way, that is. For twenty minutes straight I dreamed of taking a bite out of one of those creamy thighs she kept flashing at me. Her smile was bright. Even when she wasn’t speaking to someone, or further more when she was accusing me of running the Bay of Pigs, her lips curved up at the tips. You can tell she’s just one of those people who smile all the time. God knows I can use a little joy in this cheerless life of mine. I try to shake her out of my mind but that smile…
A light peppering of snow dusts the windshield. For a second I picture her walking the mean streets of Hollow Brook in those sky-high heels, bright as her eyes, that dress that needs to be packed and flown to the Caribbean—preferably with me carrying the suitcase for her. A dull laugh echoes through me. In my mind’s eye we’ve already landed and settled in our room—I’ve got Marley bent over the bed with my hands inching that silky, form-fitting dress right over her thighs.
“Screw it.” I jump out of the car and head toward the bar. At the least I could have offered her my jacket. She’ll end up with pneumonia if she tries to walk to campus from here, hell, if she tries to cross the street.
A choir of angry voices rises from just around the building and I pause. The sound of a girl’s shrill voice pierces the dank silence as the snow sets in heavier. A deep bellow follows with the word “slut” rumbling out clear as day.
I peer over the cypress tree blocking my view. I’m pretty sure I don’t want any piece of this angry action. I can always drive down the street and try to catch up with her that way.
A girl throws her arms in the air and
gives an exasperated sigh that vibrates through the night. It’s Marley. Some idiot stands before her in an ascot and hunting boots.
“What the?” I pull back just enough.
“Did you just really say that?” Marley’s voice curls over the parking lot. “I’m the slut? I’m not the one who wrapped herself around anything with a hole in it!”
He steps into her face with marked agitation. “It was two damn girls!”
Crap. I step lively as I head over in an effort to deliver a preemptive strike should the idiot in the ascot try to assault her.
“You still here?” I nod over at her as I grip the handle to the entry. “Hey do you need a ride?”
“Yes.” Marley digs her fists into her hips, her head jutting out as if she’s suddenly shifted her anger toward me. She’s feisty and my man parts and I both approve. “I will totally need a ride.” She huffs incredulously as if ride were code for some new hallucinogen. It’s not, is it? I’m just five years down the road post my MBA, and already I feel dated. How the hell did that happen? I used to run VD hovels like the Black Bear, and, now, I’ve been relegated to narc.
Marley wraps her arms around herself and shivers while shooting daggers at the idiot in front of her—the idiot who screwed “two” girls. I’m guessing he’s an ex or soon to be one. Marley is a goddess with or without sexed up heels. Some morons don’t know how good they’ve got it—or, in his case, had it.
I remove my jacket and take a moment to dust the snow from her shoulders before draping it over her.
She lets out a choking moan as she settles into it. “Oh, thank you.”
My boxers twitch with the sound of her approving groan. I’ll have to memorize that sound for the shower later. Marley has already gotten under my skin in the worst way. I swallow hard as I wrap an arm around her shoulder. This is either the part where she employs a self-defense move, or we walk to the car while the moron balls his fists in a rage.
Marley twists her juicy red lips in approval as she looks up with a sweeping glance.
“Let’s get out of here, Wade.” She bats her lashes. Her tongue does a quick revolution over her lips. It’s pretty clear this is all for show, but I can’t help but shed a wicked grin at the vixen she’s just transformed into. This is the exact girl I was hoping to find at the end of that curled finger.
I lean in and whisper, “It’s Wyatt.”
“Who’s this freaking Wade guy?” The douche in the ascot gesticulates as if he’s having a seizure. He’s tall, stringy, elongated features. I’d look into Marfans Syndrome if I were him.
“It’s Wyatt!” she barks back. “You can’t even pay attention to a damn thing I say!” Her entire body lurches, and I hold her to me just a touch to keep her from launching at the guy. I may not be affiliated with the Hollow Brook PD, but I can tell the gesticulating idiot will have no problem filing assault charges just to tick her off, or, more to the point, teach her a lesson. He looks like the type of idiot that assumes the world owes him.
“We’re together! We’ve been screwing for months!” She chokes out the words, leaving both the douche and me equally stunned. “That’s right.” Marley glances up with those watery eyes. “Wyatt has been helping me with my article. God knows you weren’t going to bother assisting me when I needed it most. I bought velvet handcuffs for you!” She riots in his face.
“And we’ve been enjoying them.” I pull her back before the assault scenario becomes a reality. “Let’s get going, sweetie. I’ve got a bedpost to leash you to before the night is through.”
Her mouth drops open as she gapes at me.
I give a little shrug. I may have pushed it a little too far—her lips curl up as she gives an approving blink with those big, blue doe eyes—or maybe not.
“Geez!” The douche grips his hair at the temples. “I can’t believe you’re sleeping with this guy! He’s like fifty!”
“I’m not fifty.” Thirty. I’m like thirty.
“Shut up!” he roars before reverting his roid-rage back at Marley. “That’s disgusting! And with whips and chains? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. I blame that stupid article. It’s turned you into someone I don’t even recognize.” His hands ride up a few inches too close to her body as he smirks disapprovingly at her dress. That expression on his preppy face says I want to vomit on your shoes.
“You’re just jealous,” she snipes. “Face it—you’ve come back to grovel because you realize what an idiot move it was to wrap yourself around every girl that blinked your way. You couldn’t hold it in your pants, and now you have to pay the price!”
I don’t wait for the conversation to continue. Instead, I steer Marley toward the parking lot before we both freeze to death. My dress shirt can only handle so many inches of snow.
The douche jumps in front of us with a defiant stance. His knee bounces. His jaw is tight with rage.
“I got a place off Vermont,” he rattles it off like anyone cares. “I’m at Briggs now. I couldn’t stand to be apart from you, Mars.” His voice softens.
He transferred? Game changer.
Marley’s curious eyes needle into mine as if asking what’s a girl to do? I shake my head just enough.
“Once a cheater always a cheater,” she spits it right out at him.
That a girl. That’s one truth that never gets old.
“I’m all about you.” He holds up his hand as if he’s suddenly under oath. “I worked those other girls out of my system, swear to God. Ask my sister, I bought an engagement ring I was going to give you at Christmas, just before I screwed it all up.”
Marley tenses against my arm. He’s getting to her. An engagement ring, huh. He’s not fighting fair. She’ll need a lot of resolve to push through this diamond-studded lure.
Marley takes a quivering breath. Her gaze is set dead ahead as if she can see her wedding day dissolving right before her eyes.
“We’ve got to go.” Marley slips her hand around mine and treks toward the parking lot at a quickened pace. She’s soft, cold and strong as steel—just the way I like my women.
“Go where?” he shouts into the night like only a desperate man can. “You going to screw that old dude? Is that what you’re going to do?” He brays out a laugh.
Who the hell is he talking about? I’m not even close to old. I should go over there and school his punk ass. He looks exactly like the type of idiot I’d beat up in junior high for looking at me funny.
“That’s right! I am.” Marley stops dead in her tracks and spins around. “We’re going to screw until we pass out! And then we’re going to screw some more!”
Geez. These kids and their vulgarities.
“Cat Alice was right—you’re nothing but a slut!” he shoots back.
Marley takes in a never-ending breath as if that were the final straw.
“You can tell Cat Alice that it takes one to know one!”
Who or what the hell is a Cat Alice, and why should her opinion matter?
“I will tell her!” he thunders back. “While I’m burying myself inside her later on tonight.”
So juvenile.
“That’s it!” She drops to her knees. Her fingers spastically fiddle with my belt. Before I know it my boxers are exposed to the elements. “My next article is titled how to service your man in a snow storm! Want to watch?” Her voice curdles to a scream.
The douche lets out a riotous roar of his own, extending his arms to the sky as if he’s just been electrocuted.
“All right, sweetheart. Time to take you home.” I scoop her into my arms and make a break for my car before my pants hit the ground. “The bedpost awaits.” I look back just in time to see the idiot’s jaw drop. “Don’t think I’m opposed to using my belt.” In truth that last part was meant for the two of them—each their own meaning.
Marley lets out an approving squeal as I land her in the passenger’s seat. The snow settles over her hair, and she holds a fairy princess appeal.
Her eyes widen. Her lips pa
rt as she pulls me to her mouth by the back of the neck.
Marley presses her lips over mine, lingering, smearing me with an angry affection that can only come after a good fight before pushing me away with a violent gasp.
“What was that for?” I pant into her.
“That was a thank you.” Her eyes ride down my chest then right back up again. “First one of the night.”
“So where’s home?” I ask wheeling out of the parking lot a little quicker than anticipated, my back tires sliding from behind like we’ve just knocked over a bank.
“Wherever you want it to be.” She pulls a southern drawl from out of nowhere.
“Kentucky?”
“Nope, Georgia. I try to hide it most times but on a night like tonight”—she shudders in my suit jacket—“after what I’ve just been through, it’s all hands on deck. Whatever helps the pain, my sister says.” She clucks her tongue. “Not that I’m in pain. I’m actually relieved. William Ashley Richie is just a stain on my past.”
Ashley? That explains a lot.
Once the heater kicks in, I turn it up—turn her seat heater on without bothering to ask. As much as her accent sounds adorable as hell, she shivered her way through it.
“Are you in a dorm or the row?” There’s a fork in the road up ahead. Whitney Briggs is a pretty big campus for a private university. “I didn’t go to WB, I went to Lambert.” I throw it out there for no good reason. Maybe it’s because I wanted to fill the silence, or maybe it’s just because I want her to know that I’m not ancient like her boyfriend implied—that they still had institutions of higher education back in the dinosaur days.
“Lambert? Wow, a Trident boy.”
I glance over in time to catch her milky teeth grazing her lip, and my boxers tick to life.
I’m quick to revert my attention to the road. Down boy. No way no how do I want a piece of that action tonight—maybe any night. That psycho boyfriend—ex-boyfriend of hers was right, I’m way out of her demographic. I need to be respectful, keep things chaste—look at her like a little sister.
Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set Page 22
