by J. Daniels
“Ah, allow me.” He steps up on the silver bar below the door, gaining height.
I flatten against the seat when he leans over me to grab the strap beneath my left shoulder.
“Why do I feel like I’m getting ready to go drag racing?”
His quiet laugh rumbles all around me. “Truck’s been modified for when I go mudding. I had the other seat belts removed and replaced with these.” He brings both straps around my body, loops my arms through, and secures them together in the center of my chest.
“Is it that rough that you need to be strapped in like this?” I look down as his fingers tuck underneath the belt and give it a tug, lurching my body forward. “This seems a bit extreme.”
“The truck I had before this one, I flipped it off-roading four years ago. Totaled it. I was fucking lucky wearing only that lap belt. Only ended up with three cracked ribs and a nasty gash on my head.”
He leans back a bit, pushing all the hair off his forehead and exposing a white scar running along his hairline. It’s long, close to two inches I’d guess, and about as thick as a line you would draw with a blunt tip marker.
“See? I can’t go messing up God’s prefect creation any further. Any more damage to this pretty face, and the female population of Alabama would plummet.” He drops his hand and steps down out of the truck.
I laugh dryly. “So, you’re really just doing a service to your home state by using the latest safety features?”
His cheeks lift with his smile. “Exactly. There’d be nothing left for you women here if I didn’t have these looks.”
The door shuts and my eyes follow him through the front window.
God, I’ve never met a man so self-possessed before. Normally, cockiness isn’t something I find charming. Men can say too much, act too assertive, and I’m immediately tuning them out and wishing I never looked at them in the first place. But with Reed, his confidence only adds to what makes him appealing. I want him brash and unapologetic of his actions. No other way but this.
He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts up the truck. My seat rumbles with the engine, bouncing me ever so slightly against the soft leather.
“So, what are you in the mood for?” he asks, looking over at me as his hand drops to the gear shift. “Burgers? Mexican?”
My mouth waters. “Mexican. I love tacos.”
His hand shifts down, backing us out of the parking spot.
I’ve never ridden in a truck before, but I’ve seen them. Heard them. None have been this loud. This truck rumbles like there’s a fire burning in the engine. With each shift of his hand, it roars to life, the thunder below my seat vibrating against my legs. This isn’t just a man’s truck. This is Reed’s truck. It’s as arrogant as he is, commanding attention as we drive down the street and tower over the other vehicles. It smells like dirt and leather and him. Something distinctly Reed. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
The song changes on the radio. A soft tune, one I don’t recognize, spills through the speakers and stills me against the seat. The man’s voice is gravelly, scratching the air, with an accent that distorts the words filling the car. But not the words falling from Reed’s lips.
Oh . . . my . . . God. Are you kidding me?
His perfectly smooth voice has me breathing quieter, but somehow, heavier at the same time. I don’t turn my head. I don’t look at him for fear he’ll stop the second he realizes he has an audience. He’s barely singing loud enough to distinguish between him and the voice on the radio, who doesn’t hold a candle to Reed, and maybe he knows I’m listening, but I won’t risk it. I also won’t ask him the millions of questions I’m dying to ask to get to know him better. I can wait until we get to the restaurant, or until this song is over.
I’ll stay silent, clutching my phone, while he pulls me under just a little bit more. I can do that. No problem at all.
Reed
BETH IS QUIET THE ENTIRE ten minute drive to La Cocina Mexicana.
I steal glances at her every few minutes, catching her eyes either focused out the passenger window, or cast down at the phone in her lap. Her profile is lifted into a comfortable expression, like she couldn’t be more content than she is right now, sitting next to me.
I, on the other hand, can’t decide how the hell I should be feeling.
I know today was my idea. I know I suggested we get to know each other to make the situation Beth put us in seem believable, but I was still expecting this shit to feel forced upon me. I was still expecting this to feel like an obligation, something I was cornered into doing because of circumstances I had no control over. Yes, I ultimately agreed to partake in this bullshit on Saturday, but Beth was the one who forced me to have to consider it. Beth was the one who seemed to be on a mission that night to screw me as much as possible with that perfect fucking mouth. Take her and what she did to me out of the equation, and I’d never be preparing myself for a night with my ex.
This was all her doing. My hand was forced, and I’m spending time with this woman to fulfill a requirement. That’s it.
So why the hell am I struggling to view any of this as a chore?
I turn the truck off after parking in front of the restaurant. Beth takes a minute to look over at me, and when she does¸ her head falls back against the seat and a slow, satisfied smile lifts the corners of her mouth.
“Hey,” I say before blinking heavily at the absurdity of that greeting.
She didn’t just fucking get here, dumbass.
“Hey,” she echoes, without the slightest trace of amusement to her voice. I open my eyes, catching her still watching me. “That was so much fun.”
“What was?”
“Riding with you.”
I tuck my keys into my pocket. “You’ve never ridden in a truck like this before?”
She shakes her head as her fingers begin unfastening the harness. Her eyes drop to the front of her. “Nope. You’re my first.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, and I can tell she’s still smiling. Even though her braid is now covering some of her face, I can still see the slight lift in her mouth.
I go for my own buckle. “Well, in that case, I hope I was gentle. I’ve been known to get a little rowdy sometimes.”
All of her movement ceases, abruptly stopping my own efforts.
“I’m not a virgin,” she says quietly, before letting her shoulders relax against the seat. She lets out a slow breath. “I guess that’s probably something we should know about each other, if we’re going to be pretending to be a couple. Though I’m not sure why that question would come up.” Her head slowly raises until our eyes meet. “Did you think I was?”
I cannot for the life of me get a read on that question. She almost sounds pained, or disappointed that she isn’t a virgin, but why the hell would that matter? And fuck! Do we really need to be talking about this? Is she trying to kill me with visuals?
I don’t know how the hell to answer that without possibly hurting her feelings, or pissing her off, or doing something that will only make my life more difficult. But she’s staring at me with those big doe eyes, filled with curiosity, looking like she’d wait a damn lifetime for what I’m about to say.
“It wouldn’t matter,” I manage through a thick voice, throwing my arm on the back of the seat so that it’s between us.
My fingers brush her soft hair, and she seems to lean closer, giving me more of it. I continue after I force my hand to clamp down on the seat.
“When we’re together on Saturday, when you’re with me, that won’t matter. You understand?” I say my words slowly, hoping they’ll sink in and we’ll never have to talk about this again.
“It would never matter.”
What the fuck did I just say?
She sucks in a sharp breath, nods, and drops her head back down. “It wouldn’t matter for me either.” Her fingers begin working the harness again.
Well shit.
I get out of the truck before I can say anythi
ng else that sounds like a damn confession, and before I let what she just admitted affect me in any way. Fuck. Maybe taking her to a restaurant where they serve tequila as a condiment wasn’t the best idea. I’m already acting like an open fucking book with this woman. Add in alcohol, and who the fuck knows what all I’m going to say?
She hops down out of the truck without waiting for my assistance. Her face is a bit flushed, and I wonder if it’s from the rain that’s got a bit of a chill to it, or the conversation we just had.
“I’m so hungry right now, I think I could eat a taco the size of my head.” Her voice breaks with a laugh, all cute and soft. She joins me on the sidewalk with her one hand still gripping her phone.
“We could make a game out of this,” I reply, opening the door of the restaurant and allowing her to walk ahead of me. Her eyes meet mine over her shoulder, waiting. “Whoever eats the most, gets out of paying. I was going to treat you to lunch, but if you think you’re up for a challenge . . .”
“Deal,” she says, almost triumphantly. She turns to face me after we get inside. “You’re underestimating me because of my size. I may be little, but I can pack away food like a squirrel on a nut hunt.”
I look down at her, watching that damn smile grow so big, I know it’s matching the one I’m wearing now.
“Nut hunt?”
She giggles as her free hand wipes the water drops off her forehead. “You like that? You can use it if you want.”
“Yeah,” I answer, lifting one eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to let everyone know I go hunting for nuts.”
The hostess walks up to the podium we’re standing behind and picks up two menus. “Booth or table?”
I motion with my head for Beth to decide. Doesn’t matter to me.
“Booth,” she replies.
The hostess leads us to the back of the restaurant and sets the menus on the table. Beth settles into one side of the booth, picking up her menu which I quickly snatch out of her hands. She eyes me curiously as I pick up the other menu and hand them back to the hostess.
“We’ll take two of the taco platters with everything on the side. I’ll have a root beer with mine.” I sit down across from Beth, waiting until she looks at me before I ask, “What do you want to drink?”
“Sweet tea.”
“Okay. I’ll let your waitress know.” The hostess steps away with our order as Beth sets her phone down in front of her. I reach for it, sliding my thumb across the lock screen and opening up her contacts.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my number in here. In case for some reason after I drop you off, you want to call me and apologize.” I enter my phone number and set the phone back down in front of her.
She looks down at the phone, then back up at me. “And why would I do that?”
“For thinking you could beat me in a taco-eating competition.”
“I don’t think I can beat you. I know I can beat you.”
“You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. Let’s make it a little more interesting then.”
She leans back, intrigue lifting her eyebrows. “Name your terms.”
The waitress returns with our drinks, and we both take a sip, looking at each other over the glasses.
I use this moment to think of something, anything to up the stakes because I honestly didn’t think she’d call me out on it. If by some miracle she does beat me, I never had the intention of making her pick up the check. This may not be a date, but I’m not an asshole. The only woman I ever let pay when we’re out together is Tessa, and that’s only because she likes to remind me she has the bigger dick out of the two of us, and arguing with her is exhausting.
“Well?” Beth asks, licking the tea off her lips. Her one hand tucks some stray hair behind her ear that fell out of her braid, as her other stays wrapped around her glass that’s back on the table. “Worried whatever you’re about to say, you’re going to have to do?”
“No. There’s no way in hell you’re going to beat me.”
“Then what is it?”
“I can’t think of anything.” I set my glass down and brace my weight on my elbows. My mouth presses against my hands that are folded in front of my face, and I watch her eyes drop to a spot on the table between us.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here? To ask each other questions?”
Her shoulders lift into a weak shrug as she continues to avoid my gaze. “Yes, but this wasn’t one of the questions I was planning on asking you. I’m not even positive I want to know the answer to this, but if I don’t mind your answer, then I could offer a suggestion to make this more interesting.”
“Can you do me a favor first?” I ask.
“Okay.”
“Can you look at me?”
I can tell she isn’t expecting me to say that, but she doesn’t hesitate. She lifts her head, looking at me straight on and giving me her full attention.
“This is how I want to talk to you,” I tell her. “If I didn’t care about seeing your face, I could take you back to your car and we could have this conversation on the phone.”
“Would you rather we do that instead?”
“No, I hate talking on the phone. Ask me what you were going to ask me, but keep your head up.”
She nods once, then takes a quick drink before she goes for it. “Were you okay with what I did last weekend?”
“Which part?”
“When I kissed you.”
My eyes drop to her mouth, and the memory of what those lips are capable of has me slowly hardening underneath the table. Plus, now they’re wet.
Wet and fucking perfect.
“That night, before you left, you said I shouldn’t have done that, and I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why. I think maybe I just surprised you, or maybe you like to initiate things, and that’s why you said it.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone in nine years. You did a little more than surprise me,” I explain through an even voice, lifting my eyes back up to hers and dropping a hand to my lap.
“You haven’t . . .” She leans over the table, letting go of her glass and flattening both hands in front of her. “You haven’t been with a woman in nine years?” she asks quietly.
“I’ve been with a lot of women. I just don’t kiss them.”
“Why not? That’s like . . . sometimes the best part.”
I tilt my head with a grin that has her blushing so fast, it’s as if I’m showing her exactly what she’s doing to me underneath this table. I watch her slowly sit back before I continue.
“If you think kissing is the best part of being with a man, then you’ve been with the wrong ones.”
She pinches her lips together, fighting a smile. After a subtle shake of her head, she replies. “I think kissing is a very important part of it. It connects you to the other person in a way that sex can’t, in my opinion. And I’m honestly not sure how you can sleep with someone and not want to kiss them. Isn’t that one of the things that draws you to another person? Wanting to see how they kiss?”
I adjust my shorts discreetly, giving my erection room to breathe. Christ, I’ve never gotten hard this quickly. I feel like a goddamn teenager.
“I don’t know. I don’t pick up women to kiss them. And when I do get them alone, that’s the last thing on my mind.” I brush my hair out of my eyes and lean against the booth to stretch my back out. Silence looms between us as Beth takes a lot longer than I’d like to respond to me. The smile she was fighting seconds ago is no longer a threat as the corners of her mouth pull down in confusion, tightening her soft features. “Beth.”
“Yes?” she asks, never once dropping her head, even though I’d bet money on her wanting to do that right about now. She seems uncomfortable, maybe even a little wounded. I’m not sure if it was hearing that I wouldn’t have kissed her had things gone my way that night that’s gotten to her, or something else. Maybe it’s my
announced habit of sleeping around that has her shutting down on me. Either way, I don’t like her quiet like this.
“To answer your question,” I begin, trying to coax more conversation out of her. “Going that long without kissing someone, and having it be you, and that mouth, and the way you did it, grabbing me like that and not giving me a choice . . . you surprised the hell out of me, sweetheart, but I have never been more okay with something in my entire life. The fact that I know you’re going to pull that shit again on Saturday has me fighting off an erection every five minutes.”
Her lips slowly part. Shock. I’ve shocked her? Is my obsession not as obvious as I think it is?
“Wow,” she finally says after giving me nothing but silence for thirty-seven seconds.
Yes, I counted.
“I was just expecting a one word answer to that.”
“Ask me again.”
The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile, and fuck me, if my chest doesn’t tighten at the sight of it.
“Were you okay with what I did last weekend?”
“Yes.”
“So if I were to suggest whoever wins this competition, gets to do what I did . . . you’d be up for that?”
My brows pinch together. “Do what you did?” I repeat, trying to understand.
She sits taller in her seat, excitement radiating off her in waves. “Kiss the other person, but on their terms. Anytime. Anywhere. Not necessarily on Saturday.”
Beth turns her head as the hostess arrives with our food, smiling up at the older woman.
As our platters are set down in front of us, I think about this wager. I think about it really fucking hard.
Winning means I basically get to assault Beth with my mouth whenever I feel like it. I can pull exactly what she did, maybe even catch her off guard. The part of me that usually runs what I do in the bedroom is geared up for this, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. He wants to win. He wants to claim that fucking mouth whenever and wherever. But the other part of me, the part that wants to lie back and let this woman take me anytime she wants is picking up his napkin and waving it in surrender before this shit even gets started.
