Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series)

by Halat, Lynetta

  “Denver!” she shouts, as she sweeps me up into a hug like she hasn’t seen me in years, rather than thirty minutes. “Can you believe that they not only let us drink here, but we haven’t had to pay for the first drink either?”

  Pete wraps his arms around her and nuzzles her neck. “That’s because we’re fucking rodeo gods, sweetheart,” he boasts. And it’s then I realize they’re both wasted. Great! I’d be on duty tonight. Our conversation about how bad she wanted Pete, but how she didn’t want to lose her virginity just yet, is still fresh on my mind.

  “Pete, should you be drinking with a concussion?” I ask.

  He gives me a slanted grin. “I haven’t drunk that much, and I’m no worse for wear.” He knocks on his head. “Takes a lickin’ but keeps on tickin.’” Maggie and I both roll our eyes.

  For the most part, we wrapped things up quite nicely for the first half of our season. Maggie and I are number one in our respective events, despite my being cheated out of almost a half of a second. Ransom had ridden today with his three broken ribs, got a ninety-two-point ride, and finished in first place. Pete is number three, having ridden with his mild concussion. Greer is number two. Everyone else is still in the chase, even if they aren’t in the top five. They’ll have plenty of time to rest up and come back in the spring ready to take care of business. Since we didn’t party yesterday, we’re letting loose tonight.

  “OK, you two, I realize you’re both inordinately horny,” I say, causing them to laugh in between the kissing and the sudden semi-inappropriate fondling that’s going on right in front of me. “But you’re making it look like our night’s going to end in a sure-fire threesome.” Greer’s pool stick brushes against the inside of my thigh as he moves in behind me. I shoot him a knowing grin over my shoulder, but he doesn’t even acknowledge his little teasing.

  Pete’s head pops up, and he has look of wonder on his face. “Is that like something you girls are into? Because, holy shit, that’ll be hot!”

  I hear Maggie gasp, and she spins around slapping him on the chest and pushing him off her at the same time. Pete stumbles a bit, laughing. “I’m just kidding, sweetheart. You’re all the woman I need.”

  “Whatever,” she snaps out. But since she’s drunk, it’s not near as pissed-off sounding as I’m sure she intended. Putting both her hands on her hips and spinning back to me, she says, “Let’s go show him what he’s gonna be missing out on, Denver. Come on!” She’s grabbed my hand and is pulling me toward the karaoke corner before I can resist.

  “I’m not drunk enough to sing,” I protest.

  “I’ve heard you sing. You have a lovely voice,” she shouts back to be heard over the girls on stage now. I glance up and can’t help but roll my eyes hard at Becky and Amber. They don’t sound bad, but they’re trying to be sexy and it’s … ugh! You’re either sexy or you’re not.

  Stephanie is throwing darts, and Maggie smacks her on the butt as we pass. She misses the target and jerks around looking like she’s going to take someone’s head off. When she sees me and Maggie, she just laughs. “I had no idea, girls,” she says, as she waggles her brows at us.

  “Oh, no,” Maggie protests, “You’re a hottie and all, but I just want you to sing with me and Denver. Anyway,” she sighs, “I’m saving myself for Pete. His tongue and his fingers are like pure magic, so I can’t even imagine what he can do with his—”

  “Oh my God, Maggie. Really?” I interrupt. “What have you been drinking?” My shy friend will crawl up in a ball and die tomorrow when I tell her how loose she’d been with her tongue tonight.

  “Pete and I were doing tequila shots. And I sucked lime juice from his lips,” she brags.

  “Girl, you’re gonna feel that tomorrow.” I hear the Dastardly Duet come to an end, and then Maggie is pulling on both Stephanie and me.

  I glance at the screen, wondering what we’re singing. I almost let a squeal as I see “Only Prettier” queued up. “Oh, Maggie, you’re too good to me,” I say as I lean in and peck her on the cheek, much to the delight of all the cowboys who’ve gathered around.

  Austin calls out, “Yeah, baby! I’d much rather watch y’all make out than sing.”

  We’re laughing so hard that we actually miss our cue and have to jump in on the second line. Somehow I’ve ended up in the middle with both girls dancing on me like we are, in fact, trying to simulate some hot girl-on-girl-on-girl action. I can’t help but play along, so I shake and shimmy and make suggestive glances while trying to keep in time with the music. Karaoke may be meant for having fun, but I won’t do Miranda Lambert an injustice, so when Stephanie and Maggie forget to sing and end up doing more of a striptease, I’m the only one left singing.

  I glance to the corner booth that Ransom’s been hanging out in to see if he’s watching me. I don’t intentionally watch for him, but my body instinctively knows where he is. It’s pretty eerie, come to think of it, but he’s not looking at me. He’s just staring at his beer with a look of concentration. I close my eyes and will myself not to give a shit what he does or does not notice about me.

  When I reopen them, my eyes find Greer. He’s kicked back on the wall by the pool table just taking us in with a slight grin on his face. He loves it when I sing.

  Our song winds to an end, and when I belt out the line, “I’ll just keep drinking, and you’ll just keep getting skinnier,” I can’t help but direct it at those skinny bitches, Becky and Amber.

  As the music dies down, the cheering and clapping reach a fevered pitch. I look to my left and to my right and crack up at my singing partners’ astounded expressions. “We were good, huh girls?”

  “We? What we?” Stephanie questions.

  “Holy shit, Denver! You can really sing!” Austin yells.

  “Denver, I’m gonna be sick,” Maggie cries. I grab her mike. Luckily, Pete’s right next to her and sweeps her off the stage before she can embarrass herself.

  Stephanie and I holster the mikes and start to make our way off stage, but Austin grabs me and pushes me back on stage.

  “No way, you’re not getting off that easy,” he says as he wiggles his brows at me. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Or … maybe I did,” he jokes. I can’t help but laugh at him.

  He backs me up to stand me in front of one mike and announces in the other, “Ransom? Where’s Ransom?” My laughter dies out quickly, and I cringe and swat at him to get his attention. I don’t know what he’s about, but I don’t want to be anywhere near Ransom. Or more like I really do want to be near him, and that’s a problem. “Stop hitting me, Denver. You’re gonna sing with Ransom.”

  I throw my hand over the mike. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I sing with Ransom,” I grit out.

  Austin shivers and says, “I just got goose bumps. You feeling that chill?” He turns back to the mike and calls for Ransom again. I see movement from his corner, and I’d bet anything Ransom is trying to get out of the bar unnoticed.

  “Ugh, Austin!” I try to jerk away, but he’s got a good hold on me. And then Ransom moves in behind me, but I stiffen rather than lean into him like my body practically demands.

  “Yeah, buddy!” Austin shouts and turns to his mike again. “Y’all are in for a treat tonight. Ransom’s practically a singing cowboy, and since we’ve just heard Denver’s sexy pipes, we know she’s gonna give him a run for his money. Put your hands together for Denver and Ransom!” He dramatically fades out and removes himself from the stage as I stare daggers at him. My killer look loses its effectiveness when I burst out in laughter at his enthusiastic expression.

  Ransom slides a hand across my lower back and hip as he moves to his mike. My skin tingles in its wake. I take a deep breath to steady myself, but instead of approaching his mike, he ducks down to my ear and rasps, “You’re even more beautiful when you laugh.”

  My heart has lodged itself in my throat, but somehow I manage to squeak out, “What are we singing?” trying in vain to take my mind off that telling comment. You don’t
say things like that to someone you hate, do you?

  “Probably some Kenny Chesney. Austin knows that’s what I like to sing.”

  Sure enough, the first chords of Kenny and Grace Potter’s duet “You and Tequila” ring out over the bar. My palms go clammy, as I haven’t sung this one in the shower very much. “You got this,” he assures me. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can’t do.”

  Is he drunk? I giggle at that thought as he sings out the first line. My giggling is short-lived, though, because he has a stunning voice. So stunning that when my line comes up, I almost miss it. I recover quickly and sing out softly since that’s what this song demands. And I suffer those lyrics with every fragment of my pathetic existence—not being able to resist those who are bad for you, you keep going back for more even though you should know better—mmm, hmm, that’s what I’ve been doing with Ransom, constantly tempting myself.

  Unconsciously, we’ve both angled our bodies toward one another, and we end up singing to each other rather than the crowd. And, even though I can hear them catcalling and dancing and moving along with us, I block them out and focus on the man in front of me.

  When I turn my full attention on him, he does the same to me. The moment we both let go is palpable. The intensity in his normally soft green eyes burns through me as they focus on my lips. My eyes drop down to his lips, and I love the way he wears a smirk as he sings about me making him crazy. Even if he’s not singing about me, I’m pretending he is. I’d give anything to feel those lips on mine, making me crazy, making me his. God, I want him. When he sings about your favorite sin doing you in, I fight the urge to throw down my mike, drag him off the stage, and show him sin in the best way possible.

  Somehow, someway, I’m able to finish the song without embarrassing myself. As the music quietly fades out, Ransom replaces his mike, gives me a strange look, and stalks off the stage, leaving me by myself to receive the praise we earned together. I’m afraid everyone will have noticed how much he hates me and how bad I want him, so I do what I do best— I take the attention off of my discomfort. I stick my boobs way out and curtsy deep, which elicits more hooting and hollering.

  When I spring back up, my eyes meet Greer’s, and what I see there almost causes me to cry out. He’s hurt and pissed, and that’s not a good combination. Pushing away from the wall, he storms out of the bar.

  Great! I hear someone moving in behind me to take his turn at the mike, so I move off the stage. I get lots of slaps on the back, and someone smacks my ass. Gasping, I turn to see Austin with a mischievous grin. “He went that way,” he deflects, as he lifts me up and jostles me in a bone-crushing hug. “Y’all were amazing. You’re amazing. Will you marry me, Denver?”

  “And deprive all these ready and willing cowgirls of all that is Austin Ransom? Not a chance,” I joke, slapping the brim of his hat down.

  “Aww … shucks, ma’am,” he says, angling his head back to smirk at me. “We aim to please.”

  “Oh, I bet you do, cowboy.” I can’t help but place a playful kiss on his cheek since he’s put me in a generous mood. Even though Ransom had stormed off, seeing inside him with his defenses down for a moment had been fascinating and well worth the ensuing awkwardness.

  I snap back to reality as I see Austin’s chocolate-brown eyes heat to molten from my little unguarded moment. I throw my hand up as his lips make their way toward mine, causing him to kiss my palm. “Ew, Austin,” bursts from my lips since he gave it a little lick too. He erupts into loud laughter.

  “Oh, Denver, the fun we could have,” he cajoles as he lifts and spins me around. My heels whack some people, but they don’t seem to care, and neither does Austin. “When you realize what pussies all these other guys are, I’m your man. Got it?” With that declaration, he sets me down to totter off toward the bathroom. I don’t get far before I am yanked into a hallway.

  The wall at my back, his hands on either side of my head, his lips at my ear … I liquefy into the wall as Ransom just holds me there, intense green devouring bewildered gold. The moment I’ve been anticipating … yet dreading. I swallow hard. I won’t be the first to speak, I promise myself. He’s been so hateful to me.

  He breathes me in and nudges the hair from my neck as he runs his nose down it. My hands form fists against the wall as I fight the urge to pull him into me. I want him. So bad.

  “I know you do.” His breath tickles my throat. I groan as I realize I said that aloud. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he continues, as the vibration switches to coming from his voice, to coming from his tongue. I want to weep with relief when it sweeps back up my neck lightly. When he gets to my ear, he places a playful little bite. “Or, maybe you do know. I can’t decide how culpable you are in bringing about my downfall.”

  His words confuse me, but I don’t have to wonder long.

  “I promised myself I’d never be with anyone like you. Someone who uses others. Someone who finds pleasure in other’s pain. Someone not strong enough to be herself.” My hands fly up between us, and I push him with all my might. He chuckles as he finds himself a foot or so away from me. We both ignore the fact that he let me push him away. Raising an eyebrow, he tilts his head and boasts, “I could do a lot with that spunkiness, though.”

  “Why are you such an asshole?” I demand, as I use my shirtsleeve to wipe away the now-cooled trail he left on my neck.

  “Why are you such a slut?” he counters.

  “I’m …” My voice dies out. I can’t deny I’m a slut, just like he can’t deny he’s an asshole. But, if I’m going to stand for him labeling me a slut, I’m going to earn it and get a little pleasure out of it at the same time.

  Springing from the wall, I put my hands on his chest and back him up against the opposite wall. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops as I catch him by surprise. I take that moment to lean into him and thrust my tongue into his open mouth. I moan as I finally satisfy that curiosity—spicy with cinnamon, bitter from beer, and ripe with his excitement. Desire explodes deep in my belly, and I can’t control myself.

  He doesn’t take long to join me, and our mouths work each other’s over at a fevered pace. My hands travel down to fit themselves around his hips as I pull myself into him. His hands match mine as he fits them to my ass and squeezes me hard against him. I feel how turned on he is, and I whimper into his mouth.

  I pull back and nip at his bottom lip as I taunt, “You want me. Slut or not. Asshole or not. You. Want. Me. And I want more than anything to see that precious control of yours crack when you finally take what you want, what you’ve been fighting.”

  I see his eyes snap to attention before I am flying backwards. I throw my hands out to catch myself against the wall as I laugh lightly and right myself. I’ve just hit the nail on the head. I make him feel out of control, and he can’t stand it. For some reason, I’m different to him, and that’s why he hates me. That, coupled with the fact that he can’t control me, pisses him right the fuck off.

  He schools his features before stalking calmly toward me. And his calmness actually frightens me more than his being out of control. Frightens me and fires me up. Putting one finger under my chin, he moves my mouth up to rest just a centimeter under his. He stills, holding there for a moment. Instead of stilling, my breaths come fast and hard as I anticipate what he’ll do or say next to insult me to put me in my place.

  He throws me for a loop when he leans down and swipes my bottom lip with his tongue. “You taste so good,” he murmurs. “Honey … daisies … and … sunshine.” I can never keep my sense of balance around him. My hands move up to pull him further into me. “No, no touching. Put your hands against the wall.” They hang in the air for a second before I feel myself complying. “Good girl,” he breathes. The way he praises me, excites me and makes me more eager to please him because I have a feeling, if you please Ransom, the rewards he will lavish upon you will know no bounds.

  One of his hands comes up to lay itself flat on my neck. His calloused finger
tips sweep lightly over my jaw. “Open your mouth,” he breathes against my lips, and I do. He slides his tongue teasingly against mine. He pulls back, sucks on my bottom lip, and then he’s back inside me. And it’s a sweet torment, as he is dedicated to his craft. My heart hammers in my ears, and I am dizzy. He pulls back and bites my bottom lip again, but harder this time. A desperate sob barely escapes me before he’s back in my mouth, sweeping and exploring. I relax and feel him, really feel him. The walls could come crashing down around us, and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. Finally, I join in. As soon as I do, he pulls back with another bite at my already swollen lip, and what he says almost causes me to melt on the spot. “I’m tired of fighting this.” He smiles against me before he lays his forehead on mine. “But I’m not tired of fighting with you. When you get bored fooling around with those little boys, you know where to find me. Until you’re mine, and mine only, I won’t touch you again.”

  His words paralyze me so that it takes me a few minutes to register that he’s long gone. I didn’t even see him walk away. I stumble out of the little hallway and make my way to bathroom. What the hell did that mean? I know where to find him? He practically said he hated me. Why would he want to be with me? Ah, the answer hits me with such force, I release a strangled breath. I glance up to see my surprised reflection. Despite the way he feels about my reputation, he wants me for a one-night stand. God, and the way he hates me and wants to use me—that’s my attraction. Just what my self-destructive nature needs, a heaping pile of burning hatred to enflame my compulsion. Self-hatred seeks match so that she can, once and for all, burn herself to the ground. Fuck that. I’ve spent my whole life making sure that never happened.

  When I emerge from the restroom, I feel like a new person. No longer torn. No longer divided. My eyes search the crowd. When I spot Greer next to the bar, I make a beeline for him. He’s leaning against the bar on one elbow, sipping his beer. One boot, propped against the metal footrest. His stance says relaxed, but his face says wounded.