SMITH (The Beckett Boys, Book One)

by Olivia Chase

  “You have to text—no, call—if anything goes wrong.”

  “We will.”

  “And if someone starts a fight, make sure to break it up immediately so it doesn’t get worse.”

  “Yeah, we know.”

  “And keep an eye on the kegs—”

  “Fucker, we know. Shut up, idiot, and get out of here.” Jax shoves my back. I growl at him, and he laughs. “Yeah, yeah, big guy. Don’t forget, I can take you.”

  “One time, when you were like twelve.”

  “Best day of my life.” He winks. “I was thinking of getting a trophy for it.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. Asshole knows how to work me. I glance at the time on my phone. It’s only nine-thirty. A whole night off…what am I going to do?

  I grab my keys and head out the crowded bar toward my motorcycle. Crank it up, rev it, then back out of the spot and just drive. I’m not sure where I’m going. I just need to feel nothing but the street beneath my tires, the power of the bike. It was my dad’s, and he left it to me in his will, knowing how much I loved helping him restore it.

  Whenever I ride it, I feel closer to him.

  Mile by mile, the tension starts to fade, and my shoulders loosen. The wind whips through my hair. I take the back road up to the small lake in the park. A good place to be alone with my thoughts.

  Think about what it is I want and how to get it.

  When I get to the parking lot, there are a few other cars there. I hear a couple of kids playing in the playground at the far end of the park. The air is warm but not humid tonight. I park my bike and head right to the water’s edge.

  There are a few ducks swimming on the surface; the sun has already set, so it’s dark over here, lit by a couple of ambient lights around the park. The sky is an explosion of stars above me. I work my way around the perimeter of the water to my favorite thinking spot, a small grassy patch in the back.

  Been a long time since I’ve come here. This used to be one of my retreats from the world, where I’d lie on the grass and not worry about anything.

  I bet Aubrey would like it here.

  The thought stops me right in my tracks.

  I’ve never brought a woman to this place. Not because it’s that big of a secret or anything—it is in a fucking public park, after all. But something about doing a thing as regular as going with a woman to a park seems like real dating.

  When the fuck have I last gone on a real date, not just a one-night stand? And why does Aubrey make me think about these things? That’s not what I’m interested in.

  I’ve been telling myself that very thing all week, that I don’t want more than just fucking. And the entire time, I’ve known I’m lying to myself. Because dating Aubrey would give me a chance to hear more of her laugh, make her smile. Give us the chance to tease until we’re so sexually aroused we can’t see straight.

  Maybe trying a date wouldn’t be so bad. Just one.

  If she’ll even have me. I did creep out of her place without a goodbye. Shit move for sure. Jax, the king of one-night stands, would even kick my ass for that.

  Is she pissed at me? Regretting what we did?

  Guilt sinks my stomach hard, and I sigh. This week has fucking sucked because I’ve been running from the truth, and I know it. I want to know Aubrey more. Maybe take her out to dinner or whatever.

  One date couldn’t hurt, could it?

  Fuck me, I want to see her again. Feeling that tight cunt wrapped around my cock was one of the hottest moments in my life. Her innocence, mingled with that dirty curiosity, that eagerness…I need it right now.

  Aubrey could drive away the shithole this week became.

  I just have to get her to give it a chance.

  I go back to my bike and hop on it. Get back on the roads and weave my way to her apartment. I’ll convince her to see me. I know she feels our sexual connection too. That look in her eyes wasn’t manufactured. That pussy was drenched for me, her body craving my hands, mouth, dick.

  Aubrey’s name is a pulse in my head as I ride to her place, pull into the open spot in front of her building. Stroll to the door. The front light is on—good indicator she’s home. Which means she is avoiding Outlaws, that I pushed her away.

  I can make it up to her though.

  I refuse to acknowledge the small flutter in my gut and push that shit right aside. Knock on her door with a firm rap.

  After a moment, the door cracks open. Aubrey’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and short-sleeved pink shirt. Her breasts are molded by the fabric; it’s hard to fight the way my mouth waters at the sight. Holy fuck, her tits are gorgeous.

  I look up into her eyes and see wariness. “You can’t possibly be this desperate for customers,” she says in an airy tone, contradicting the tension I see around her eyes, her mouth.

  “Not for customers,” I tell her. “Let me in, Aubrey.”

  “No, thanks. I already met my quota for guys running off in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping.” She moves to close the door, but I block it with my foot.

  “It wasn’t night. It was morning.”

  She huffs a frustrated breath. “Oh, awesome. Thanks for the correction. That’s good to know.”

  “Come out with me tonight.” I look down at her lips and watch them part ever so slightly. Aubrey might be trying to play cool, but she still responds to me. A small thrill whips through me. “Let me take you to dinner.”

  “I already ate.” She glances at the ground. “Why are you here, Smith? Seems like you got what you wanted.”

  Fuck. I can tell she’s trying to sound casual, but I see the tension in her shoulders. Her feelings got hurt by me running off like that.

  I scrub my face with my hands. “Look. I’m shitty at all of this. I haven’t been on a date in probably well over a year.”

  That makes her look up at me. She raises a brow. “I wouldn’t exactly call what happened between us a date.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I mean I want you to come out with me tonight. I’ll buy you dessert or get you drunk. Your choice.”

  She furrows her brow, studying my face. I try to keep myself steady, tell myself that this isn’t that important, but I can’t help feeling like everything is hinging on her response right now.

  The more she thinks, the worse it gets for me. So I throw out another possibility, hoping to catch her interest. “I know a place that makes the best damn key lime pie you’ve ever had in your entire life.” It’s a stab in the dark, a random hope that she might be tempted enough by food to give me a chance.

  I’ve never had to work to get with a woman before. Why am I pushing this so hard? I know the answer when I look down into her eyes, see nuanced emotions flickering right in front of me. Because the moment she opened the door, I felt like I could breathe after living underwater for a week.

  Aubrey is oxygen.

  She draws her lip between her teeth, and I see in her eyes that she’s getting swayed by my argument. “I haven’t had a good key lime pie since I visited Florida a couple of years ago,” she admits.

  “This woman is a Key West native who moved here when she got married. She’ll make your panties melt off.”

  That makes her quirk a smile. “Don’t think that a slice of pie is going to make anything happen to my panties, Smith.”

  We’ll see about that. I wisely refrain from saying that and just give her what I hope is an innocent smile.

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and the laugh she gives sinks down beneath my skin, chips away at the hardness that had surrounded my chest all week. I feel alive with her, elated, aroused, warm. “God, I’m a walking cliché. Swayed by sweets.”

  “It happens to the best of us. We all have our weaknesses.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you have any,” she murmurs as she cracks the door open, grabs her purse off the side table, then locks up.

  “You’d be surprised.” I leave my comment at that. Because Aubrey’s beginning to feel like a weak
ness, an addiction. Something I crave beyond sensible reason. If I were smart, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d let her slip away.

  For once in my life, I’m kind of glad I’m not smart.

  We stroll to the parking lot.

  “Where’s your car?” she asks from directly behind me.

  I point to the motorcycle. “Right there.”

  “Oh. God. I should have guessed.” There’s a breathlessness in her voice.

  “You’ve never been on one, have you,” I say as I turn around to peer down at her.

  Her eyes are wide, locked on mine, and in this moment I feel like I’m the only man on the planet. Aubrey has a way of making me crave that look, making me want to keep her looking at me like that.

  “I don’t have a helmet,” she says weakly.

  “I have one on the back of my bike. Next argument.”

  She crosses her arms and squints at me. “You’re kind of arrogant, you know.”

  I laugh, and it feels freeing. My laugh makes her lose her irritated look, and she gives me a small smile. “You’re not the first person to tell me this today.” I take her hand, feeling the slender bones, the soft skin, feeling like maybe this week won’t be so bad after all. “Hop on the back. You’re about to learn what real freedom feels like.”

  7

  Aubrey

  It takes all of my strength to approach the motorcycle after Smith climbs on. He looks so ridiculously hot that I can barely believe it.

  Meanwhile, this helmet probably looks stupid on me in comparison. But I can hear my mom’s voice in the back of my head, telling me how many people die on motorcycles from being improperly protected. Because of her, I grew up petrified of them.

  So of course, Smith rides a motorcycle, because fate likes to push my buttons in every possible way.

  I’m looking like a doofus for you, Mom, I say to myself. Hopefully that will appease her. I’m sure that at home, she’s probably got some kind of Mom alert warning her that her baby girl is doing something dangerous.

  Smith takes a couple of minutes to coach me on how to be a safe backseat rider, to lean with him into curves, not squeeze him too hard, not move my feet off the foot props so I don’t get burned on the exhaust pipes. I nod and try to remember all of the details.

  Then I hike my leg up and slide onto the back of the bike behind him.

  And suck in a shaky breath when he tugs me closer so that he’s nestled right between my open thighs. The feel of his smooth back pressed against my breasts makes my nipples bead right up; since I’m wearing a thin, unlined bra, I can’t help but wonder if he can feel my reaction.

  Oh fuck, I hadn’t anticipated needing to be this…near him. With his hand stroking my outer thigh as he revs the engine, I feel myself sinking into a space with him I swore I wasn’t going to feel again. After waking up alone that morning, hurt and embarrassed that he didn’t bother to even say goodbye, I was determined to avoid Smith.

  Even though I thought about him all the time since then.

  But the hole I felt in my heart since waking up to find him gone has made me feel empty and sad and jaded in a way that is unexpected. I didn’t intend to start falling for this tattooed guy who runs a bar and seems like the type that doesn’t ever settle down.

  I hoped I’d learned my lesson after he ran out on me, hoped the hole in my heart would start to repair itself and I’d lose interest in Smith Beckett, as impossible as it seemed.

  And then he showed up at my door not asking for sex, but for a date. Seeming awkward and trying to talk me into it, even when I initially refuse him. Not like his usual self, the version of him that is so self-assured that he never has to work for a girl’s attention. The version I’ve seen of him at the bar, in bed.

  The fact that he put himself out there for me made my heart weaken. So despite me swearing him off a few days ago, here I am, on the back of his bike as he pulls out of my apartment complex and onto the road.

  I must be a fool to open myself up to yet more heartache. Will I never learn?

  When we pick up speed, I can feel the wind whipping at my bare skin on my arms. I try to be careful not to move my head too much so he can stay balanced, but I’m riveted by the sight of everything streaming by us fast, the world open, unlike in a car where we’re closed in metal and glass.

  Here, I’m not just riding. I’m almost a part of the road.

  Smith navigates turns expertly, and I lean with him into them. His body is firm between my legs, and my clit grows warm and begins to throb. I can’t help but be reminded of the last time he was there.

  Something about sitting on such a powerful piece of vibrating machinery with the sexiest man I’ve ever met is arousing me more than I ever realized would happen. God help me. I refuse to get off this bike and jump on his body the way I want to.

  After about ten minutes, we pull into a parking lot of a small diner. Despite its size, the lot is filled, with people lingering outside in a row along the building. When the motor cuts, I take off my helmet and get off the bike.

  Smith takes the helmet from me and locks it into place in a resting spot on the back of the bike. I can’t stop staring at him. He’s radiating sex, and several of the younger women—and a couple of older women—are eye-fucking him so hard it makes me feel a small surge of jealousy.

  But when I turn back to look at him after scoping out the crowd outside, his eyes are locked on me, and I forget everything else.

  “Um. Thanks for the ride,” I tell him. When his mouth quirks in a half smile, I chuckle and say, “I mean on the motorcycle, you perv.”

  “Let’s go get some pie.” Fuck, his voice is just as sexy of a rumble as that motorcycle. Is there anything about him that doesn’t turn me on? It’s almost embarrassing how much I feel in heat around him.

  “It, uh, seems like a really long wait,” I tell him.

  “I have connections.” Smith takes my hand and leads me in front of the crowd. He weaves his fingers in mine, and I tell myself it’s just to get us to the building, because if I start thinking it’s anything more, I’ll just get hurt again.

  I can’t let him make me feel bad about myself, the way I did when I woke up alone, mortified, thinking maybe the night wasn’t as impactful for him as it was for me. I’m only here because he made an obvious effort in this, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to drop my guard.

  Besides, it would be good for me to explore more of Rock Bridge. Right?

  The door dings when we come in, and the older black woman at the register waves Smith over. “Holy shit on a shingle, it’s about damn time you get your ass in here, you overworked moron. I was wondering if you ever take a day off from that skank hole you call a bar.”

  A barking laugh erupts from my chest at her blunt words, especially when I see Smith narrow his eyes but not lash back out at her. I have no idea who she is, but I already like her. She seems like she can tame the beast in a way no one else can.

  “Aunt Sylvia, can you fit us in?” he asks her, obviously exasperated but reining it in. “Aubrey’s new to town, and I told her the key lime pie here is the best.”

  “Well, damn right it is. I make it myself fresh every day.” She gives a matter-of-fact nod then eyes me. Her eyes are the same color as dark amber, and her skin is smooth, despite her advanced age. “You’re pretty. Sweet-looking. Not his usual type.”

  I feel my face flush. “Sounds like that isn’t such a bad thing,” I mumble.

  She cackles and smacks my upper arm. “This one’s got spitfire. I like her.” She leads us through a room packed with tables to a small two-top table right by the fryer. “Best I can do, so suck it up.”

  “This is fine,” I assure her. “We appreciate you fitting us in.”

  Aunt Sylvia moves away back to the register, and we sit down. Due to the location of the table, we’re forced to be right beside each other, since the table is pressed in between the building wall and the half-wall of the fryer area.

  A teenaged waitress
brings us waters, and I take a deep gulp as I try to pretend I’m not totally nervous about being out with him.

  I can’t believe I’m here with him. That we’re on what is definitely looking like a legitimate date, something he said he doesn’t do. So why me? I can’t help but ponder it as we sit in silence for a minute, then two.

  I shift in my seat. “So you got today off work, then? Sounds like you never leave the bar.”

  Smith groans and reaches for his water. I see the snake tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, wrapping around his forearm. “Aunt Sylvia exaggerates. Kind of.”

  “Is she really your aunt?” I’m not sure if that’s a rude question to ask or not, and my cheeks get a little warm.

  “Sure is. My granddad married her and brought her here from Key West. She’s his second wife after his first passed away young. But she hates being called Grandma, so she makes me and my brothers call her Aunt.” His face softens and he seems different, less edgy, as he talks about her. “After my dad died, she got us through the hard time.”

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I say, a heaviness in my chest at the thought of his sorrow, losing a parent at such a young age. “I can’t imagine how difficult that had to be for you. Your mother must have been devastated.”

  The softness fled his face until the hard lines returned. “I wouldn’t know. She ran out on us when I was five. Dad raised us, and then he had an unexpected heart attack and passed a few years ago.”

  My heart lurches, and I realize this probably explains a lot about Smith and why he is the way he is. He’s the oldest brother, that much I can tell. I bet he had to step in and be a parent to two teens when he was barely an adult himself. “So…how did you come to own the bar?”

  “It was Dad’s. He always wanted to run a bar. Be that place where the regular locals loved to come.” He gives a wry smile. “Unfortunately, as you’ve seen, the locals that frequent our spot tend to be on the rowdy side.”

  I laugh and nod. “Ummm…yeah, I did notice that.”