“You need to chill. Lucky for you, I have a certain skill set to help with that.” He put the lid on the Nutella, took her spoon with his, and set it all on the nightstand with her laptop. He scooted closer to her.
She resisted the urge to move backward, because she would end up on the floor. Besides, he only scared her a little bit with this whole conversation. And it wasn’t like he had touched her or anything.
He rested a hand on her waist and moved his head closer to hers. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest. Surely, he could hear it, too.
“What do you say, V?”
“You want to be friends who sleep with each other?” That couldn’t possibly be what he meant.
“I want to be friends who have sex with each other. Sleeping is optional.”
Okay, so that was what he meant.
“Way I see it, you need to relax. I can help with that. I won’t be in town long, so no long-term expectations. No weirdness when it’s over.”
Wow. That sounded super rational.
“Really, I’m flattered. I…we’re so different. I’m…me. And you’re…you know…you.”
He grinned right up close to her, and, Holy Hannah, the wattage of his smile. “Feel that between us? It’s called chemistry.”
“I don’t like rock music. There. I said it. I think it’s loud and obnoxious,” she declared.
His eyebrows dropped together. “What music do you like, then?”
“Country, mostly. A little Justin Timberlake…” Her voice trailed off as his eyes sparked with humor.
“Won’t listen to music while we do it, that’s fine.” The edges of his lips twitched.
“You have tattoos and I wear sweaters,” she continued.
“What’s wrong with tattoos?” he asked, moving his hand away.
“Nothing. No, it’s just we’re different. I haven’t even seen them all. What if you have one that I really don’t like, you know?”
“Take off your top.” He tugged at the hem of the pink-striped sweater she had paired with the skirt.
He wasn’t making any sense. “What?”
“You take off your top. I’ll take off mine. You can check out my tattoos, make sure you like ’em. I’ll check out your girls, make sure I like ’em. Tit for tat.”
“You’re such a pig.” She crossed her arm across her chest and tried to stand, but he caught her and pulled her back to him.
He ran a hand through her hair and pressed her to him so their foreheads touched. She shivered—in a good way. In a maybe-I-should-reconsider-my-stance-on-this-proposal way.
“Oink.”
She laughed, pretty much against her will, and shoved him away.
“Holler if you change your mind about our situation.” His thumb grazed her bottom lip. For a moment, only a moment, she seriously considered allowing him to have his way with her right there in her bedroom while his buddies played video games in the other room.
Luckily, she came to her senses.
“Clean up the living room before you go to bed,” she whispered instead.
He chuckled as he stood. “Next time Ma sets you up, tell her to be sure the guy’s schedule is clear for the evening. You deserve his full attention.”
He left. She glanced out the window at the clouds that covered the stars before she hauled herself out of bed to finally take that bubble bath.
Chapter Seven
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 6 Weeks
Velma had slathered on makeup and, at Claire’s insistence, slipped into a pair of tight jeans. Their friend Heather had picked the girls’ night location. Heather rocked the pinup look with her red lipstick and cleavage-baring vintage top. Hank’s Bar, she promised Velma and Claire, had an amazing band on tap for the night. The place was a dive, but clean—sealed concrete floor, long wooden bar top, and a scattering of tables throughout the room. The tables along the wall were countertop height, so patrons could watch the band. Standard neon alcohol signs lit the wall alongside triangle pennants declaring the various beers on tap. They were quite festive.
“Another?” Heather asked, tipping her forehead toward Velma’s nearly empty Shirley Temple.
Velma rested her elbow on the table and propped her palm against the side of her head. “That’d be great.”
Heather headed toward the counter.
“Thank you for dealing with Brek on the invitations,” Claire said.
Velma had helped smooth everything over. She’d promised Claire she’d be involved with the rest of the details, and she’d report any issues immediately. After a chat with Aspen, she’d made Brek a spreadsheet of all that still needed to be done.
“Okay. Dish. You’re overthinking something.” Claire took a sip of her drink.
Velma was overthinking Brek. And his proposal. And her refusal. Which she was now questioning on an hourly basis.
“Brek propositioned me.”
“Again?”
“He wants to be friends with benefits.” Velma stirred her drink—the swirling cubes of ice matching the feeling in her chest.
“Yeah. And?” Claire stared at Velma with an absurd amount of interest.
“And I said no.” Velma’s hand fell on something sticky along the edge of the table.
Claire raised an eyebrow and Velma flinched. That look. The one that told her Claire was ready to pounce for information. “But you thought about saying yes?”
Velma nodded.
“Oh my God, Velvet. This is crazy.”
Gah. Velma had done more than think about saying yes—she’d nearly brought it up to him twice. Nearly. Both times she’d caught herself. Nowhere in any of her plans did a short-term fling with a guitar-playing biker come into play.
“I can’t blame you. I mean, have you seen him?” Claire licked her lips. “The other day when he was with Jase showing me options for our flowers... I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Dean, but, you know, Brek’s not hard to look at.”
Velma squirmed. She shouldn’t care that her sister checked out Brek. Not when she, herself, had admired Dean. Still, though, it felt wrong. “I want a guy like Dean. Like what you two have.”
Heather hopped back onto her barstool. “They’re bringing our drinks over. What are we talking about?”
“Velma wants to hook up with Brek.” Claire grinned like she’d won the lottery. “And the feeling is mutual.”
“Get out.” Heather smacked Velma’s shoulder. “You totally should. I would. You could use a little of Brek’s brand of fun.”
Claire sat taller. “Agreed. It’s like a reset button. To help you get over the whole Tommy thing.”
Velma’s heart dropped at the mention of Tommy. The last guy she’d seriously dated forever ago. The last guy she’d gone to bed with.
He’d told her she was boring.
In bed.
The hit to her pride pierced a lasting sting.
“I want a relationship. A husband. Not just a roll in the sheets with Brek. I want what Claire has with Dean.” Velma dropped her head to the table. Her forehead fell into the stickiness. Regret immediately followed the move.
She was midwipe with her napkin on her forehead when the door to the joint opened and—fudge, Brek had found her bar.
Her heart tripped over her ribs. She glanced to Heather. Then to Claire.
Heather looked to the door. She rubbed her hands together. “Tonight just got so fun. You’re gonna go press the reset button.”
The waitress pushed two new Shirley Temples in front of Velma. “A regular Shirley Temple and a vodka Shirley Temple.”
“Oh, Velvet, I fixed your drink order. You’re welcome.” Heather beamed.
Velma was going to need vodka to get through the night. She took a long sip from the straw.
Her gaze slid back to Brek in time to see a look of shock pass over his features.
She focused on her spiked Shirley Temple.
“You should go over there,” Claire encouraged.
“Say hello.�
�� Heather was practically bouncing on her barstool.
“Tell him you changed your mind,” Claire continued as though this conversation were totally normal.
Velma wasn’t going to do that. But it was probably better to just say hello and move along than to stare at each other across the bar. That’d be awkward. She trudged to the table Brek had claimed.
He fixed his eyes on the cleavage peeking out from her black V-neck T-shirt. Slowly, he raised his gaze to her face.
Her toes curled in her high heels at the way his eyes ate her up.
“What’re you doing here?” He glanced to the door and back her way.
“Girls’ night. What’re you doing here?”
“Drinking.” He nodded to the bar, the movement causing his hair to brush against the collar of the leather biker jacket. “Scouting the band.” He glanced again at the door and rubbed the back of his neck. “And meeting a friend.”
Oh geez. He was on a date. Velma’s heart plunked straight down to her patent leather Jessica Simpson sling-back heels. Apparently, she had a jealous bone (or ten) in her body, because the idea of Brek with another woman made her stomach hurt. Of course he was with a woman. A guy like him didn’t spend quality time alone with his hand on a Friday night.
She scraped her heart back up to her chest and flashed her most sincere you’re-my-roommate-and-everything-is-fine smile.
“We’ll go somewhere else.” His apologetic gaze landed on Velma. He began to stand, but she didn’t budge.
“No. You’re here to have a good time. So am I.” She cocked her hip and tried to look sassy. She was pretty certain she failed.
A piece of hair escaped the tight bun at the nape of her neck, but she didn’t fix it. He stared, fixated on the chunk of escaped in-desperate-need-of-highlights blonde.
Her ovaries practically sighed.
That’s when the world turned topsy-turvy. A gorgeous biker babe hit the bar wearing a tube top under her leather jacket that matched her tight pants. And by tight, the pants were painted on. She definitely was wearing a thong, because there was no panty line. Either that or she was going commando. But that couldn’t be comfortable in leather.
Still, the look worked on her. Or she worked the look. Either way. Lordy, the amount of hair spray to tease hair that big must’ve raised Denver’s emissions to hazardous levels. Sheesh.
Velma was wrong. She hadn’t plastered on makeup. Nope. This chick had the market cornered on that.
Biker girl’s painted lips ticked into a full grin as she stalked toward Brek.
He stood but he didn’t smile. Not until Tight Pants said something in his ear. Then he gave her a half grin and a side squeeze.
Velma hadn’t moved at all since Brek’s date had walked in. She should’ve moved, though. Should’ve gone back to her table. Or to Minnesota. Anywhere but there.
“Who’s this?” Biker chick gave Velma a once-over that would’ve chilled the entirety of the Breyers Ice Cream factory.
“Velma. Chelsea. Chelsea. Velma.” Brek shifted uncomfortably, but his hand still rested on Chelsea’s waist.
“Nice to meet you.” Velma infused her tone with warmth to counter Chelsea’s winter blast.
“Hey, Brek.” Claire hooked her arm through Velma’s. “You crashing girls’ night?”
Velma warmed with her sister beside her. Taking her back. Well, her side, in this case.
Chelsea kept her expression neutral. The kind Velma knew well from her high school days when the pretty, popular girl was dismissing her.
“Not tonight. Another time.” Brek glanced to Chelsea, his intentions for the evening absolutely clear.
Which was totally fine, because Velma had her friends. “We’re just going to ah…go back to our table.”
Head high, Velma looked Chelsea straight in the mascaraed eye before heading back to her barstool. She didn’t even glance back as the band began to set up on the small stage.
“I don’t think any of us saw that coming.” Heather squeezed Velma’s forearm. “It’ll be my personal goal to find you a guy tonight. Ignore Brek. Don’t look over there.”
She didn’t need to, because she was a confident woman. A confident woman who studied a chip missing from the tabletop. Except, one last look and then she’d be done.
Brek moved to shake hands and smack the drummer on the back. Much better than his hand on Chelsea’s waistband. The guy handed him a guitar. Brek played a few chords.
He was pure rock ’n’ roll in that moment. Long hair, guitar strap around his neck, playing some song Velma recognized but couldn’t put her finger on. And when he glanced up and caught her looking? It felt like he played only for her.
She ripped her gaze away.
“Holy crap, he played that for you. Right in front of her.” Claire sucked in her bottom lip. “Like, right in front of his date.”
“He’s got an amazing voice.” Heather’s expression went dreamy. “We need to help him ditch her.”
Claire nodded in agreement. “Nicely, of course.”
Brek had stopped playing.
Velma couldn’t bring herself to look back to the stage. “This is ridiculous, he’s on a date. He doesn’t want an offer of bedroom benefits from me when he’s on a date.”
The waitress dropped three red plastic baskets filled with oversized hamburgers and fries on the table.
“This is a complication, that’s all.” Heather squirted ketchup on the waxed paper lining her basket.
“I should go home.” Velma couldn’t think about food right now. “Deflated” was the word of the night.
“No. It’s girls’ night. We’ll eat and go somewhere else. I’m thinking massages at that place in the mall.” Claire swirled her ketchup with a fry.
Velma held the burger to her lips and dropped it without taking a bite, her gaze shifting to Brek and Chelsea. He’d left the stage. Now he had his arms crossed, feet propped on a vacant stool, listening to something Chelsea said. Chelsea was a hand talker. It didn’t seem to bother Brek, but she’d better be careful or she’d knock over his Coors.
Velma’s chest rose and fell quickly. Fight or flight and no way was she taking on a biker babe.
“I need to use the ladies’ room.” Velma slid off the stool and headed down the hall leading to the bathrooms.
Get it together, Velma.
Brek was allowed to date. Of course he was. She just didn’t want a front-row seat.
An intoxicated guy poured himself from the men’s room, stumbling straight into her. He wobbled a finger in her direction, but even his finger wag looked drunk. “Watch your step, sweetie.”
She reached out to steady him when he tottered backward.
“Plans for tonight, muffin?” His drunkard smile looked more like a sneer.
“Yup.” She laughed what she hoped was a dismissive chuckle and turned on her heel to go back to the table, grab her friends, and get out of there.
The guy’s hands wrapped around her hips, twisted her, and he pulled her against his crotch.
“Stop.” She lurched forward to get away, but his fingertips ground in, holding her in place while he rubbed himself against her backside. The bile in her stomach curdled.
“Let go.” She steadied her breaths while she shoved at his hands. He gripped her harder. Her pulse sped, and she kicked at his shin with the heel of her shoe.
“You heard her.” Brek pushed past and wrapped his hand around drunk guy’s neck. Apparently, he squeezed, because the guy gasped for air, released his grip on her, and clawed at Brek’s hand.
He pushed forward, the idiot smashing against the Bud Light sign on the wall. Brek forced the guy’s chin in her direction. “See her?” Jaw tight, Brek jerked his head toward Velma.
Drunk guy nodded, his glazed eyes huge.
Well, huh. She had never had someone growl on her behalf before.
Brek slammed his palm against the wall next to the man’s face.
Velma jumped at the sound. “Brek, stop. You don
’t need to hurt him.”
Brek ignored her.
“Brek. Let the guy go.” Chelsea sounded decidedly pissy that her date was taking time to defend Velma’s honor.
Honor that Velma was perfectly capable of defending herself with a strategically placed knee to the douchebag’s fly.
Brek ignored Chelsea, too.
“She’s a lady.” He got right up in the guy’s face. Deep down, Velma knew this wasn’t going to end well.
“Velma? Are you okay?” Heather shoved through the small crowd forming at the entrance to the hallway.”
“Velvet, let’s go.” Claire stood right beside Heather.
“Seriously, you have to stop.” Velma moved forward, but Brek stopped her with a furious glare.
Or, you know, she could just wait here.
Brek waited a beat and turned his face back to the squirming drunk in his grip. His nostrils flared. “I said, she’s a lady. You get that?”
Brek’s fingers still wrapped tight around the drunk’s throat, the guy nodded.
Sheesh, someone was actually going to get hurt. “Brek, you have to let him go,” Velma said with as much conviction as she could muster.
Brek ignored her, his face maliciously close to the other guy’s. “We need to talk more about how to treat a lady?”
Drunk dude’s eyes bugged to cartoon status. He shook his head.
Brek released his grip and patted him on the shoulder like they were old friends. “Then we’re done here. You okay, V?”
Velma shoved her hands onto her hips. No. She wasn’t okay. “I’m fine.”
Now free, the idiot made an attempt at a drunken fist, and, holy crud, he lunged at Brek. Velma pushed Brek out of the way.
A wild swing grazed her cheek. She dodged and fell to the floor with a very unladylike thunk. Pain radiated up through her shoulder. Crud, that hurt.
Brek twisted back to the guy.
Oh no. With the murder in Brek’s eyes, drunk guy didn’t stand a chance.
“Well, shit,” Chelsea said under her breath.
Before Velma could scramble to her feet, Brek had him pushed up against the wall again. “I guess the lesson wasn’t finished.”
Claire and Heather flanked Velma, pulling her backward.
Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1) Page 7
