Going All In

by Alannah Lynne

  Startled by the severity of her tone, Tiffany gasped while Callie froze with shock and anger.

  Tiffany recovered first. “Right,” she said in a diplomatic tone, leaning casually against the end of the counter. “We wouldn’t be good, responsible friends if we didn’t make sure she was going somewhere safe.”

  “Oh, for the love of God, guys.” Callie threw her hands in the air in frustration. “I work with Wade. He’s good friends with Kevin. Stop with the overly protective parent routine. And stop being nosey.”

  He glanced from Callie to Tiffany and Jen, then back Callie. His face was mostly blank, except for the muscle popping in his jaw, but the tension in his shoulders and the white-knuckle grip on the shirts let her know he was feeling a lot of something, and none of it good.

  She had her reasons for not wanting to share the details of their date—aside from not wanting to hear crap about their destination—but given the way he slowly and methodically drew in breaths, as if to calm himself, he was angry, or maybe hurt, that she’d kept their date a secret.

  After another tense moment, he turned to the girls and said, “We’re going mudding.”

  Tiffany’s eyes widened, Jen gasped in horror, and Callie said, “What?”

  Despite their reactions and her confusion, Wade continued without missing a beat or cracking a smile. “If we get stuck, she’ll need to get out and push, so I brought some of my clothes for her to wear.” His grin was pure evil. “I have overalls in the truck, too, so she won’t get too muddy.” He picked up her hand. “She doesn’t have any nails, so you don’t have to worry about her breaking one or messing up the manicure. I promise I’ll get her home in one piece.”

  Despite the anguish she felt for the unintentional hurt she’d caused him, the shock and revulsion on their faces had her bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

  She’d almost regained her composure when Wade shook the shirts at her. “C’mon, tighten up. We gotta get going.”

  When she collapsed into a fit of laughter again, he muttered, “Aw, hell,” then picked her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Which way is the bedroom?”

  Tiffany’s gaze slid to the hallway and then, as if realizing she was giving away a great secret, she jerked it back to Wade.

  Picking up on the tell, Wade nodded. “Thank ya, ma’am, I appreciate the help.”

  *

  Wade carried Callie into her bedroom, kicked the door shut behind them, and set her on her feet.

  She dabbed at her eyes to clean up the mascara streaking down her cheeks and blew out a deep breath. “If I live to be a hundred and ten, I’ll never forget the looks on their faces. Thank you…” She rested her hands on his chest for balance and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “For making me laugh harder than I ever have before.”

  Her hands took a slow glide down his chest to his abs as she rested back on the flats of her feet. The sultry look in her eyes and the slow caress of her tongue across her bottom lip indicated she’d welcome another less-chaste kiss.

  And even though his body read the cues and heartily responded, he didn’t feel all that romantic at the moment. “You’re welcome.” He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug. “They think I’m nothing but a dumb-ass country boy. I figured I might as well live up to the expectation and give them something to really lose their shit about.”

  The lusty haze filling her eyes evaporated as he stepped back from her. “You didn’t tell your friends where we’re going.” Hello, Captain Obvious. “Did they know I was the one coming to pick you up, or did you think they’d be gone before I got here?” He tried to sound matter-of-fact without allowing his past hurt to harden his tone, but he failed miserably.

  “Of course they knew.” She chewed on her lip for a minute, then grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her to the bed. Tugging him down beside her, she said, “I’m not ashamed of going out with you, and I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just…”

  She sighed and chomped down on the side of her pinky fingernail. “I’ve always shared everything with them. I mean everything. We have no secrets.” She glanced away and worked her mouth around, agitated. “That’s why they have… certain impressions about me. Over the past several months, though, I’ve found myself becoming more private. I want to keep some things for myself.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and glanced at him shyly. “You’re something I definitely don’t want to share.”

  He didn’t know what to make of her answer since he rarely shared anything with anyone. Kevin was pretty nosy and sometimes put together bits and pieces of information. And because of his relationship with Lizbeth, Miranda’s sister, he’d been privy to all the ugly details of his and Miranda’s breakup. But for the most part, Wade kept to himself and preferred it that way.

  He wanted to trust Callie was telling him the truth, but he found himself torn between his heart, which against all logic and sensibilities was falling deeper and deeper into her big brown eyes as she implored him to believe her, and his head, which screamed for him to remember the past and never allow history to repeat itself.

  All arguments ceased, however, when she smiled sweetly and swept her fingers down the side of his temple, then cupped his jaw in her hand. The gears controlling head and heart seized, leaving the door wide open for his body to step in and take control.

  “I’m sorry. I would never intentionally hurt you.”

  He might be an idiot, and she might be lying, but at the moment, none of that mattered. They were sitting on the edge of the bed, she was looking at him with soulful eyes that implored him to believe her, and, fuck him, he did. Before he did something stupid like drag her up on the mattress and spend the next four or five hours having their first round of make-up sex, he jumped to his feet and held the shirts out to her again.

  “We’re not going mudding, and you probably won’t get dirty, but you will smell like smoke. Are you sure you don’t want to wear these instead of your nice clothes?”

  Something mischievous shifted in her eyes as she grinned and looked from the long-sleeve Guy Harvey shirt to his red-and-black Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt. After a moment, she stood and pointed to the sweatshirt. “I don’t need the T-shirt, but I’ll trade in my sweater for that.”

  His body coiled like a too-tight spring as she stripped her sweater over her head. Beating back the urge to slide his fingers under the hem of her turtleneck to rid her of that too, then follow through on the make-up sex extravaganza, he turned away and took advantage of being in Callie’s most personal space.

  As he rotated in a slow circle, he was surprised to find it less frilly than he’d expected, barren of personal touches. Her bed didn’t sit on a pedestal. It had a basic head and footboard and was free of ornamental carvings or anything else to give the impression a princess slept here.

  There weren’t any pictures anywhere. None of her family. None of her friends. Not even a family pet. No horse show ribbons. No tennis trophies or pom-poms from her high school days. No college memorabilia to give away her alma mater. By all indications, the younger version of Callie never existed.

  He moved over to the open closet door and peeked inside. “Holy shit.”

  This space was the antithesis of bare. At least a hundred pairs of shoes and an equal number of handbags littered the floor, hung from hangers, and sat atop shelves covering yards and yards and yards of fabric. Tops, dresses, skirts, slacks, long formal dresses… The place resembled a mini department store packed into thirty-six square feet.

  It was hard to imagine the woman who owned all of these clothes and matching accessories was the same woman eating ramen noodles to save up for a pair of boots.

  “It’s a hot mess, huh?” He turned to find her standing behind him in his sweatshirt, the sleeves flapping off the ends of her arms like six-inch flags. “I keep meaning to clean it out but never seem to find the time.”

  His gaze dipped from her pouty pink lips and white teeth doing a numbe
r on them to the badass bulldog snarling at him from the front of his extra-large sweatshirt. Few things ramped up a guy more than seeing a woman—his woman—wearing his clothes. But this closet, filled with more… stuff than he could afford to buy her in a lifetime, along with her refusal to tell her friends where they were going, served as harsh reminders she wasn’t, nor would she ever be, his woman.

  With a pang of longing for something he’d never have stabbing him in the chest, he stepped forward, took hold of her arm, and rolled the sleeve up to her wrist. After doing the same with the other one, he let go of her, took a step back, and winked. “Ready to go mudding?”

  She grinned, that damned dimple winked, and everything that seemed wrong moments before righted themselves. “Absolutely.”

  As they crossed the parking lot toward his truck, Callie tilted her head in one direction, then the other, then scratched her head.

  “Wanna run back upstairs for a stepstool?”

  She cut her eyes to the side and grinned. “I assumed you’d have one in the back.”

  “Nope, you’re out of luck.” As he unlocked and opened the door, a memory from his ancient past had him laughing out loud. “My brother used to carry a stepstool around in his truck when his wife was pregnant.” He shook his head, thinking about the day it became obvious Theresa wasn’t going to be able to get into Cody’s old Ford without it. “His truck was higher than mine, and he threw his back out on Christmas Eve, trying to lift her into it. After that, he always made sure he had a stepstool in the back.”

  “Why didn’t they drive her car?”

  “She didn’t have one. They got married right out of high school, and she didn’t have one then. A few months after they tied the knot, she found out she was pregnant. He didn’t want her standing on her feet all day, waiting tables, so she quit work. They could barely make the rent, so getting a second car was out of the question.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her gaze to the ground. “That’s awful.”

  And here they were again. Another example of the extreme differences in their backgrounds and further proof he’d lost his mind to think, for even a second, anything could come of them—regardless of her cute dimple, the way she made him feel, or the boots that continued to fill his fantasies.

  Her friend, Tiffany, lived in the condo next door, and when he and Callie left, she and Jen migrated east. When he glanced up to Tiffany’s window, as expected, he found the pair watching Callie and him.

  They judged him by his looks—much the way he’d done with Callie—and all they saw was a dumb hick with nothing but a big truck to offer their friend. He still didn’t understand why she treated him the way she had their first day of working together, but he’d been wrong with his other assumptions about her. Her friends, however, were pretty close to the mark with theirs.

  He was smarter than they probably gave him credit for, and he would take care of her to the best of his abilities, giving her everything he possibly could. But he’d never be able to give her a mansion or a new Mercedes or a closet full of the world’s finest clothes. Eventually, she’d get tired of eating Hamburger Helper and would want a man who could keep her in fresh lobster and fillet mignon.

  “They don’t think I can do it.” Callie was standing next to him, staring at her friends, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach.

  “They don’t think you can do what?”

  “Get into that monster truck by myself.” She turned and squared off with him, shoulders back, chin up, eyes hard. “Don’t you dare help me. Understood?”

  Damn… this fired-up Callie was smoking hot, and his internal temperature soared from the heat and intensity she put off.

  “Yes, ma’am. I get it.” And he did. The women staring down at them might be her best friends, but he’d picked up on a lot of static between the trio, especially with Jen. Callie had something to prove, and he was happy to support her in that effort. “I’m disappointed I don’t get to grab your ass as I shove you in.” He winked as she shifted her weight to the side and gave him a lot of attitude. “But yeah, I hear ya. Have at it, princess.”

  Shit. She doesn’t like that.

  She sucked in a breath and opened her mouth to blast him, but before she got the words out, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her pretty pink lips, stopping the rant before she started.

  “I’m sorry, Callie. I forgot that was a hot button for you.” He swept a lock of hair away from her eye and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “It just comes out without me thinking, because…” Well, won’t this sound stupid and like I’m a total sap? “That’s how I see you.” He scratched the back of his head. “Hell, I don’t know how to say what I mean and not sound like a pus—pushover, but I mean it as a term of endearment, like baby or sweetheart.”

  She stared at him, barely breathing, hardly blinking, lost by his convoluted explanation. Which made perfect sense, since he hadn’t actually said anything of value, and her confusion was for the best. One of them realizing she was getting under his skin was one too many.

  The differences between them were like raging floodwaters, too deep, too wide, and too dangerous to attempt crossing. Staying on their respective sides and watching from a distance was definitely the safest choice.

  Past time for a subject change, he nodded to the handle running down the bracing of the truck between the door and the windshield. “You’ll have to use your leg strength to get started, but once you get high enough, grab hold of the shit grip and use it to pull yourself into the seat.”

  She stared at the truck, her confusion building. “Shit grip?”

  “Yeah, this.” He tugged at the handle. “You know, when someone goes around a corner too fast and you grab hold and say, ‘Oh shit!’”

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek, scrunched up her cute little button nose, and shook her head.

  “Oh, c’mon. Seriously? You’ve never been riding with someone who went around a corner too fast or slammed on brakes at a light?”

  “Well, yeah, but I just grab hold of the dash.”

  Of course she did, because she usually rode in little sports cars where the dash was at her knees.

  “That won’t work in my truck. The seat is pushed too far back. You’ll never be able to reach the dash. So during those terrifying moments, you’ll wanna use the shit grip.” He paused, giving her a moment to catch up. When her mouth dropped open and her wide-open eyes snapped to him, he laughed. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Jesus, would you get in already?”

  “Okay.” She rolled her head around and twisted her back, like she was loosening up for gym class. “Wish me luck.”

  She put her left foot on the running board, braced her left hand against the seat, and readied her right hand to grab the handle. She might be a novice, but she had incredible leg strength and took to the task like a pro.

  He might not be able to touch, but he sure as hell could watch, so while she hauled herself up, he stood back and enjoyed the sway of her ass swinging side to side.

  “Ha!” She dropped into the seat and gave him the biggest, brightest smile he’d ever seen. “Please tell me they’re still watching.”

  He glanced at the window in time to catch the back of Jen’s head as she walked away, but Tiffany was still standing there, smiling and waving, clearly enjoying Callie’s accomplishment. “Yep, they saw it all.”

  Including the kiss.

  Callie leaned back in her seat, peacock proud, and reached for the seatbelt. “You didn’t think I could do it either.”

  Pride for her pushed at his chest and had him vehemently shaking his head, denying the charge. “You’re wrong. I knew you could.”

  She studied him from the side of her eye as she clicked the seatbelt into place. “Then what’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Because you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet and make me happier than I’ve been in a long time. But logic slipped through the door, reminding him of the temporary nature of their relationshi
p, stealing his happy and replacing it with a slow-burning sadness.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He swallowed the lump of emotion clogging his throat and squeezed her knee. “You’re a lot of fun, and I’m looking forward to spending the evening with you.”

  Chapter Seven

  It took a while for Callie to become acclimated to the bounce and sway of Wade’s truck as they traveled south on Highway 17 headed toward Murrell’s Inlet, towering above everyone else, but she gradually settled in and learned how to roll with the motion rather than fighting against it. She wasn’t, however, comfortable enough to let go of the shit grip.

  “Why do you drive a truck this big?”

  Wade glanced at her from the corner of his eye and grinned. “Why do the guys you know drive little sports cars?”

  “Because they’re fast.” She didn’t know much about this truck, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t win any races. She giggled and added, “They’re also popular with the girls.”

  Wade threw his head back, laughing… which reminded her of the way he’d looked drinking her Gatorade… which made her think, again, about the way he’d look in the throes of sex.

  “There ya go. Where I’m from,” Wade said, interrupting her daydream, “girls like trucks.” He slid her a heated gaze and smirked. “And the bigger the better. Always.”

  A tropical heat wave erupted within her and she broke out in a pool of sweat.

  Before meeting Wade, she rarely thought about sex and never during general conversation. Not even when a guy threw out subtle—or not-so-subtle—innuendoes. Most of the time, the remarks went right over her head. But Wade had flipped some kind of switch inside her head, making it impossible to think of much else. And that was without him tossing double-entendres around while sweeping a hot gaze down her body.

  What kind of lover was he? Did he go slow, allowing things to build to an amazing crescendo, or did he get in and out with little to no thought for his partner’s pleasure?