“Is that what you’re wearing?”
Lucky glanced down at the front of his T-shirt as if he’d forgotten what he’d pulled on. “You’ve got something against Superman?”
“Would it have killed you to put forth a little more effort?” Determined to rectify the situation, she headed straight for his bedroom. “Do you have a button down and a tie at least?”
“We’re going to the Red Dawg,” he called after her. “Not some fancy Halloween party at the casino.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she yelled back just before she found herself frozen in place. She was in his room, standing at the foot end of his neatly made bed. Then, before she knew it, he was standing beside her. Both of them. Alone. In his bedroom.
She swallowed hard and tried to remember what the hell she went in there for.
“My dress shirts are in the closet.”
Oh, yes, that’s why she was there. She was improving his costume, absolutely not thinking about how long it had been since she’d had sex or that the underlying scent she always smelled when he was around was stronger here in this room.
She forced her feet to move and continued to the small closet, pulling open the door. “Are you kidding me? You have neatly pressed shirts just ready to go and hanging in the closet?”
“Where else would they be?”
From the look on his face he was genuinely dumbfounded by her question.
“But I’ve never even seen you wear any of these shirts. Do you always have to be so prompt and neat? Can’t you be like all the rest of us and be less than perfect on the occasion?”
That made him smile. She didn’t even have to look at him to know he was doing it. She could just feel his smugness radiate around the room.
Rachel removed a light blue button-down from its hanger and chose a crimson tie from the small rack hanging on the back of the door. “Put these on,” she said, handing him both. “Over the T-shirt.”
“But I’ll get too hot in the bar.”
She waved off his complaint and marched into the kitchen, immediately helping herself to an ice cold glass of water. Maybe it was her imagination but the temperature in his bedroom seemed to skyrocket in a matter of seconds.
The thump of his heavy boots and creak of floorboards signaled his movements and she turned just in time to see him reemerge from the bedroom. Since turnabout was fair play, she motioned for him to do a little twirl and took a slow perusal herself, starting at his feet and working her way up as she sipped from her glass. When he was done, he wore a cocky grin on his face to go along with the dress shirt neatly tucked into his jeans. And, of course, the cuffs were buttoned and tie perfectly knotted.
“Close, but not quite.” She handed him her water glass and stepped in close, mere inches separating them. Beginning with his empty hand, she unbuttoned the cuff and turned it up a couple of times, revealing the strong muscles and tendons of his forearms. Then, after shifting her water glass from his left to his right, completed the other side, too.
“I can dress myself you know. I’ve been doing it since I was five.” His words whispered across her skin as she wrapped her arms around his middle and, starting at the back, pulled the shirt tails free from the waist of his jeans.
“Just . . . be quiet.” She tugged on the knot of his tie to loosen it and stumbled on her high heels. Immediately his empty hand went to her hip, steadying her. After taking a second to catch her breath, she turned the tie slightly askew and began releasing the buttons on his shirt, revealing the Superman logo beneath bit by bit.
“Why did you have me put all this on if you were just going to undo it all?”
“Hush.”
He needed to stop talking to her in low whispers. It was too distracting, too intimate. She was already having a difficult time mentally blocking out the weight of his hand on her hip or the heat from it seeping through the fabric. Then there was his warm scent that tickled her nose with the slightest movement. She kept her head ducked down, hoping he couldn’t see her pulse thrumming in her throat or how she struggled to regulate her breathing.
“Are you about done?”
“Done.” She released the final button and quickly backed away to break free from his spell. “You need just one more thing. Give me a second.” She rushed out to the front room where she had dropped her purse on the coffee table.
“What the hell do you carry in that thing? I swear you have more shit in there than I carried in my rucksack. And that’s saying something.”
She cut her eyes at him, then went about digging. Finally finding what she needed in the bottom of her bag, she opened the soft case and pulled out a pair of black Wayfarer-style frames with clear lenses. “Put these on.”
“I’m not ruining my eyesight for a damn Halloween costume.”
Ignoring his protests, she shoved them on his face. “They aren’t prescription.”
Reluctantly he looked at her, then over her head at something across the room, then glanced at the watch on his wrist.
“Why the hell would anyone wear glasses when they don’t need them?”
“Because it looks good,” she said while tossing her handbag over her shoulder. “It’s called style, Lucky. Clearly something Uncle Sam never taught you.”
LUCKY HAD SPENT a lot of time in shitholes over the past decade and he was pretty comfortable with saying the Red Dawg easily made his top five list. Despite his rating, the place was packed with a mixture of college students, locals, and anyone else in a twenty-mile radius who didn’t want to hang with the over-fifty crowd at the casino. And much to his surprise, there were quite a few faces he recognized from the hospital.
Leaving Rachel to chat with their coworkers, he pushed his way through to the lone bar at the back of the building. He waited patiently, trying to make eye contact with one of the bartenders who were, much to his misfortune, both men. Odds were with the number of women crowding the bar he was in for a wait.
Lucky leaned against the bar, his eyes scanning the crowded room only to find Rachel standing just where he’d left her. Except she was now chatting with a man he didn’t recognize, one who looked like he’d just walked off the course at the local country club.
What the hell was a prepster like that doing in a place like this? Because he knew damn well that wasn’t a costume he was wearing.
Lucky could only watch as this guy leaned in close and got an eyeful of Rachel’s cleavage as he spoke to her. And when a smile spread across Rachel’s face, good old-fashioned jealousy burned in Lucky’s gut.
He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
And while he thought Rachel looked hot as hell in her costume, he sure didn’t care for all the other men in the place checking her out.
But he had to remind himself they weren’t dating. He had no claim on her whatsoever. They were friends. Only friends. And just days before his friend had suggested he get laid. In turn, he suggested the same for her.
What a fucking idiot he was.
He turned back to the bar and rested one arm on the stainless steel counter top with a twenty in his hand, doing everything short of waving it in the air to get the bartender’s attention. If he was going to get through this night, he was going to need something stronger than beer.
Lucky was on the verge of whistling at one of the bartenders when she placed her hand upon his arm. In that split second, relief washed over him as he thought she’d finally ditched that idiot and joined him at the bar.
“You buying?”
But the voice didn’t belong to Rachel.
It must have been one hell of a look he shot the mystery woman wearing little black cat ears and a black pleather catsuit because she immediately removed her hand from his arm.
“I’m sorry, Lucky,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I was just joking and obviously you don’t recognize me, so . . . sorry.”
She turned to leave and the bartender shouted across the wood counter.
“What’ll it be?”
In true male fashion, Catwoman had captured the bartender’s attention. The mystery woman, however, directed him to Lucky. “He was here first.”
Well, damn. The least he could do was buy her a drink now. “What are you drinking?”
Catwoman smiled. “A beer is fine.”
He ordered three beers and took another long look. “I’m terrible with names, but I have to say you do look familiar. Do you work at the hospital?”
Her smile returned. “I’m Krista. We have Psychology together.”
Shit. Another classmate.
Immediately he wondered if she used a fake ID to get in the place or if they’d bothered to card her at all. And the last thing he needed was to be busted for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
He narrowed his eyes at her when the bartender slid three longnecks across the bar to him. “Are you old enough to be in here?”
“I’m twenty-three.” She reached into the top of her black catsuit and pulled out her driver’s license, apologizing for her lack of pockets as she handed him her ID. “See for yourself.”
It was impossible to read her license in the dim light of the bar, so he could only assume she was telling the truth.
“I realize I’m older than most of our classmates,” she said as he returned her license. “That’s because I work full-time at the casino and pick up classes when the schedules allow. It might take me ten years to get my degree, but at least I won’t be in debt when I’m done.”
He thought it funny she considered herself older than their classmates. Which was true in theory. But twenty-three was still pretty young in his book.
Lucky handed her one of the beers and picked up the other two. “Are you here by yourself?”
“For the moment,” she answered. “My friends are running late.”
Being a nice guy, he invited her to join their group so she wouldn’t be alone, and they worked their way back across the bar. As they arrived at the table, Rachel and preppy boy were each tossing back a test tube shot.
“Oh, hey, you’re back,” she said, tossing the empty plastic tube on the table. “And you brought a friend.”
After introducing Krista to Rachel, he handed her a longneck. “Looks like you found a new friend as well.”
“This is Rich Hamilton,” she said, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “He’s the new interim doc in the ER.”
Even though he didn’t want to, he offered his hand. Because he was a nice guy and that’s how he was raised. “Lucky James. Good to meet you.”
The guy looked from Rachel to him, sizing Lucky up before accepting his handshake. His grip was a little over the top. And since Lucky wasn’t one to back down from a pissing match, he squeezed a little harder than usual until the jackass pulled his hand free.
When his eyes met Rachel’s narrowed ones, Lucky knew she was pissed, but wasn’t exactly sure as to why.
He tipped back his longneck and drank down most of it in a single swallow. Then, remembering Krista was there, he asked if she’d like to dance. They abandoned their drinks on the table before he took her by the hand and led her out onto the dance floor. It’d been a hell of a long time since he’d done any two-stepping, but he’d be damned if he was going to stand around and watch Rachel flirt with the man who would likely become her next boyfriend.
From the dance floor he kept a watchful eye on Rachel as he and Krista made small talk as they danced. It soon became clear preppy boy mustn’t know how to two-step since they never attempted going out onto the floor. Instead, the jackass plied her with test tube shots, later advancing to tequila shots, ordering so many that Lucky lost count of how many Rachel drank.
Which meant he was laying off the beer the rest of the night, because no way in hell would he let that jackass get Rachel drunk and take advantage of the situation. Not on his watch. If she went out with the guy another night, well, then, that was out of his hands. But tonight they’d come to the bar together and they were leaving the bar together. End of story.
RACHEL LICKED THE salt from the back of her hand and lifted the shot glass to her mouth. After taking a deep breath, she tossed back the tequila, feeling the slow burn of alcohol down her throat, into her belly, and finally reaching the tips of her toes.
Richie Rich stared at her with a smug grin on his face. “Another?”
“Sure. Why not?” The words had barely left her lips when he rushed off for the bar, disappearing into a sea of Halloween costumes.
She wasn’t a fool. She knew what was going on here. The good doctor determined she was an easy lay as long as he got her good and drunk, and if she were completely truthful, there were worse ways to spend her evening.
After all, Lucky seemed to have taken her advice to heart and found a prospect of his own. They hadn’t been here ten minutes before he was leading a gorgeous brunette around the dance floor. To be sure, she was young, but beautiful as well. And she rocked the hell out of her Catwoman costume.
At the thought of him taking her home, Rachel decided Richie Rich could serve a purpose, a distraction of sorts at least for tonight. Because the last thing she wanted was to lie in bed, all alone, and have her imagination running wild with thoughts of Lucky and his brunette.
Just to make matters worse, an hour earlier she’d spotted Curtis cozying up with her dear old friend Tamara. Which should have made her furious. Instead, she couldn’t really be bothered.
Once again, Lucky and Krista passed by on the dance floor and her stomach twisted. She wanted to be the one in his arms, her body pressed against his with that familiar weight of his hand on her hip. She wanted to get drunk on his scent, learn the taste of his lips, his tongue. She wanted to be consumed by the feel of him wrapped around her, on top of her, inside her.
It wasn’t tequila or jealousy or anything else talking. Just the simple fact she could no longer deny wanting the man who’d become her best friend.
Chapter Eleven
LUCKY WAS ABOUT to put Krista into a spin when he glanced in Rachel’s direction and saw a man who was not the ER doc towering over her. As they worked their way around the dance floor, Lucky kept trying to catch a glimpse through the sea of moving cowboy hats. From what he could see, the guy was probably about his height, but definitely thicker around the middle. And the look on Rachel’s face was one he’d seen before, usually when she was talking about how her ex treated her. In a matter of seconds, she went from a woman relaxed and having fun, to one who was practically curling in on herself.
Although the song wasn’t anywhere near finished, Lucky was on the verge of making an excuse when he saw another woman come along, grab the guy by the arm, and tow him through the bar toward the exit. Lucky breathed a sigh of relief knowing the confrontation was over. At least until he saw a flash of strawberry red heading after them.
Oh, goddammit. What the hell was running through that head of hers?
Tequila, if he had to hazard a guess.
He stopped them in their tracks and spoke directly into Krista’s ear. “Sorry, but I gotta go.” He thumbed in the direction of the door. “My ride is leaving.”
She looked up at him with dark eyes. “I’d be more than happy to give you a ride home.”
“Thanks, but . . .” He threw up a hand and waved, not wanting to waste time talking when Rachel had a head start on him.
He pushed his way through to the exit, his ears ringing from the loud music the moment he stepped outside into the cool night air. Although there was no sign of Rachel, her truck was right where they’d left it. Then he heard the distinct sound of her voice coming from the side of the building.
“Asshole!”
Just as he rounded the corner he saw Rachel pick up a large piece of gravel—a rock, really—from the makeshift parking lo
t and chuck it in the general direction of a man and woman, neither whom he recognized.
The man looked over his shoulder, laughing at her, mocking her. “You stupid bitch! You couldn’t hit the broadside of a damn barn.”
Unfortunately, Lucky had to agree with the asshole, whoever he was. About her throwing capabilities, not the bitch part. He would intervene, but knowing Rachel like he did, it was best to stay out of it; otherwise, he’d become her next target. Lucky crossed his arms and watched in amusement as she leaned over and picked up another rock. Again, her aim was way off, striking an old farm truck about fifteen feet to the left of her target.
Then the woman decided to take a turn yelling at Rachel. “I didn’t believe Curtis at first, but you really are crazy! I can’t believe I was ever friends with you!”
Ah, yes. Just as he’d suspected. This particular asshole was the asshole. No wonder Rachel was lobbing rocks.
“Some friend you are,” Rachel yelled back. “You know what they say . . . ‘With friends like you . . . !’ ”
The ex-friend seized the opportunity to take another verbal shot. “Curtis deserves so much better than a crazy bitch who was a lousy lay.”
Lucky winced. He’d seen his share of catfights over the years and he knew damn well that chick’s last comment was the lowest of blows. Never criticize a woman’s sexual prowess. That’s along the same lines as a woman telling a guy he had a Vienna Sausage for a dick.
“I’ll show you,” Rachel muttered as she swiped the synthetic bright red hair from her face. She leaned over and grabbed one last rock from the parking lot as her asshole ex turned his back and continued on to his car. With a soft grunt, she heaved the golf-ball-size rock as far as she could. Lucky lost track of it in the dimly lit parking lot, at least until Curtis grabbed at the back of his shoulder, a stream of curse words flying from his mouth.
“Oh, shit,” Rachel and Lucky said in unison, both shocked she actually struck her target.
She turned to Lucky, knowing damn well she was about to have her ass handed to her if she just stood there. Wasting no time, he grabbed her by the arm and slung her over his right shoulder since he knew she wouldn’t be able to run in those damn shoes she was wearing. Thankful her truck was parked in the opposite direction of her ex, he took off running. When they reached her truck, he swung open the driver’s door and tossed her inside on the bench seat. The engine roared to life and he wasted no time throwing it into drive, immediately stomping on the gas and leaving Curtis standing in a cloud of dust.
Here And Now (American Valor 2) Page 10
