A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  He shot her a questioning glance, squeezing his aching thigh between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Colton’s giving me all kinds of great material,” she explained, “but I’m getting nothing from you.” Tiny lines wrinkled her forehead, and she bit out the next words quickly. “Just do me a favor, and get to first base tonight.” Dropping her gaze, she added, “On camera, or it doesn’t count.”

  Something about her request pissed him off. Maybe it was the casual way she’d demanded he kiss another woman when the lips he wanted to feel against his own were the pink pair currently pouting in front of him. “That’s really what you want?”

  She danced around his question. “It’s like you’re not even trying.”

  Right, because he wasn’t. The only woman in Sultry Springs who raised Trey’s flag these days was the one person he couldn’t have.

  Luke had sensed it. After busting Trey in the sanctuary with his arm around Bobbi, Luke had pulled him aside and delivered a stern warning. Back off. There’re hundreds of hot chicks in the county, and you can have any one you want. Just not my sister. But the problem was Trey didn’t want anyone else. Asking him to pursue Sarah was like giving a kid a taste of German chocolate and then forcing him to feast on Brussels sprouts. He’d tasted Bobbi’s sweetness, and it’d left him wanting more.

  He observed her closely when he conceded, “Fine. And since I haven’t been trying, I’ll make up for it tonight. I’ll show you a kiss so hot it’ll melt your camera.”

  Her jaw clenched tight enough to crack her face in half like an egg, and she gave a silent nod. It was all Trey needed to know she wanted him too. A warm sense of satisfaction settled deep in his gut and kicked up its heels. He had no intention of leading Sarah on with a meaningless kiss, but Bo didn’t need to know that. Let her stew awhile.

  An awkward minute passed before she pointed to his thigh. “What’s wrong? I notice you favor that leg sometimes.”

  “Fell off a roof a couple of years ago and broke it.” Among other things, like his ribs, spleen, and pride. “It only bothers me when the pressure changes.”

  “My God, it’s a wonder you survived.”

  Trey pulled a frosty Bud from his cooler and held it against his thigh. He rolled it back and forth over his tensed muscles, replaying the memory of that day and laughing despite the pain. “You could say I was distracted at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your sister-in-law was hitting on me.”

  “What?” Every muscle in Bobbi’s torso seemed to lock, forcing her ramrod straight on the curb. Her head whipped around, and red tendrils of hair slapped her blushing cheeks. “As in June?”

  “Yep. Joooonbug was servin’ hours for a misdemeanor—got busted skinny-dipping with your brother. Anyway, she was cleaning out old Mr. Jenkins’s gutters, and I was up there laying shingles. If I remember correctly,” which he did, “she wanted to come over to my place and mix up some drinks.” He waggled his brows. “To ply me with booze and get lucky.”

  Bobbi’s pretty mouth gaped so widely Trey noticed she still had her wisdom teeth. “I can’t believe she wanted you.” In a flash, she touched his bicep. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, the way she looks at my brother—”

  “You’re right, Bo Peep.” Trey barely had time to pat her hand before she pulled away. “It wasn’t me she wanted. That’s why I shot her down.” Then he’d lost his balance and fallen twenty feet to the hard, unforgiving ground below. It was a miracle he’d walked away with so few injuries. Of course, he hadn’t literally walked away—more like ridden via ambulance to Sultry Memorial.

  “Oh, I am so calling her out on that at supper tonight. I can’t wait to see the look on my brother’s face.”

  “Might not wanna do that.” Trey glanced at his jeans, now damp from the beer can. Figuring an ice-cold Bud would probably do him more good from the inside, he popped the top and took a deep pull, then wiped his mouth against the back of his hand. “Luke’s pretty touchy when it comes to me and the women in his life. He’s already riding my ass about getting too close to you.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, eventually declaring, “It’s none of his business.”

  “He means well.” Besides, common decency said you didn’t fool around with a buddy’s wife, mom, sister, or ex. Trey’d violated the Bro Code, and he already felt lousy enough without Luke piling on the guilt. “Just leave him be.”

  “Fine, but can you take something for it?” She nodded at his leg.

  Trey had a feeling she wasn’t referring to BC Powder. “I can, but I won’t.”

  “Too macho for pain meds?”

  “More like too paranoid.” After the accident, Trey’d spent two weeks in the hospital pumped full of opiates, feeling all warm and bubbly until the haze wore off. He knew the power of those drugs, and nothing should make a man feel that good unless it had a pair of breasts attached to it. “I’ve seen too many guys get hooked.” Tough guys too, like the old, gritty Veterans of Foreign Wars marching in misaligned formation right in front of him. Life had dealt Trey his fair share of shit, but at least his pain was manageable, unlike some members of his old unit who’d had the misfortune of driving over an IED in Iraq a few years earlier.

  From his peripheral vision, he noticed Bobbi watching him instead of the parade. She flicked a few glances between him and the vets and asked, “Does it bother you that you can’t march with them?”

  Of course it did, every damn year, like an annual reminder of his shame. “No.”

  “Has anyone ever thanked you for your service?”

  What a strange question. He set his hotdog and beer atop his cooler and met her gaze. “Sure.” Once, when he’d traveled in uniform from New York to Germany, a flight attendant had taken him into the plane’s kitchenette and thanked him with her mouth, quite generously too. But he kept the details of that story to himself. “That was a long time ago, and I was only in the army a couple—”

  “Thank you.”

  “Jesus, Bo, don’t do that.” He didn’t want her pity. Gritting his teeth, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt to blot the sweat from his face. “There’s more than enough sunshine out today. I don’t need it blown up my ass.”

  She scooted so close, the tips of her soft breasts brushed his arm. “I think what you meant to say was you’re welcome.” Then, pressing even harder against him, she curled one hand around the back of his neck and kissed him on the cheek, those soft lips brushing the sensitive skin close to his ear and heating his body in a way that had nothing to do with the fierce July sun. Trey hadn’t seen it coming, and before he had a chance to fill his lungs with her luscious scent of sweet cinnamon or wrap an arm around her slender waist, she pulled away.

  Bringing two fingers against his cheek, he tried to hold on to the sensation while turning to face her. “Wanna thank me again? Maybe in French this time?”

  She laughed and pushed to standing. “Save it for Sarah. I’m heading over there to prep her and talk to the crew. Meet me in—” she glanced at her bare wrist “—like fifteen minutes?”

  Sarah. At the mention of her name, Trey let out a disappointed breath. Under any other circumstances, he’d jump at the chance to score with the pretty blond, but not now. Now it felt like work. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, and you have to like it. Or fake it really well.” Hands on her hips, she scanned him from head to toe. “And wear that straw cowboy hat I saw in your truck last week. It’s hot.”

  “It’s all right. I’m used to working outside.”

  One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted in a seductive smirk. “That’s not what I meant.” She turned and jogged across the street, just ahead of the Shriners, and Trey shamelessly ogled the rhythmic jiggle of her thighs. God bless America. Watching her sensuous movements had made his pants too snug in the front, so he shifted his gaze—and his junk—to the left
and mentally recited the Cubs’ starting lineup.

  Deciding to wear that battered, old cowboy hat more often, he crammed the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and gathered his cooler and half-empty beer. He checked on Bobbi’s worm, happy to see it burrowing into the rich soil, and then he headed across the vacant courthouse parking lot to his Chevy.

  He’d just set the cooler in his truck bed when his cell phone vibrated against his left butt cheek. He plucked it from his back pocket and checked the screen. Dad calling. The temptation to let it go to voice mail was strong, but Trey couldn’t remember the last time his father had initiated a phone call. In the end, curiosity and perhaps a childish need for acceptance won out.

  “Hello.” Trey kept his voice flat, devoid of all expectations, since this probably wasn’t a friendly “Happy Independence Day” kind of call.

  The Colonel got right to the point. “Talk to your mother lately?”

  A rush of guilt washed over Trey. He’d let all Mom’s calls go to voice mail for the last three days. “No, why? Did something happen? Is she okay?”

  “Of course she’s okay. That woman’s got titanium balls.”

  “Let’s hope so, ’cause you’ve been kickin’ her in the babymaker for years.”

  Dad’s voice turned hard enough to crack a diamond. “Don’t pretend to know the first thing about my marriage. One of these days, you’re gonna push too hard and find out a few things—” he cut off and inhaled loudly through his nose. “Christ. Just mind your own damn business.”

  “What do you want, Colonel?”

  The sarcastic use of the other man’s title didn’t appear to faze him. “I need you to talk some sense into her. She’s being unreasonable.”

  “Hmm.” Trey pretended to consider this request. “I think I’ll follow your first order and mind my own damn business.” Before his father had a chance to beat him to it, Trey disconnected.

  He chugged the rest of his beer and tossed the empty can into his truck bed, then opened his cooler and downed two more. After retrieving the straw cowboy hat Bobbi loved so much, he pulled it low over his eyes and set out to meet the two women waiting for him: one he didn’t want, and one he couldn’t have.

  ***

  Sarah Divine-Darling—yes, that was her real name, Bobbi checked the birth records—was so disgustingly perfect that Bobbi wondered if cartoon mice dressed the perky dance instructor each morning before transforming into stallions to tow her pumpkin-festooned carriage. Smelling of freshly plucked lavender, Sarah blinked lush, lash-fringed eyes even bluer than Trey’s, if such a thing were possible, and at five feet eight inches tall, not an ounce of visible fat existed on her lithe body. She had the thinnest thighs Bobbi had ever seen, and when she glanced at Sarah’s delicate feet, she half expected to see them encased in glass slippers. Wouldn’t you know it—nude Manolo Blahnik sling-backs paired fabulously with a vintage skirt. Add “great taste in shoes” to Miss Darling’s list of virtues.

  Despite the acid burning a trail into her throat, Bobbi couldn’t hate the girl—she was too freaking nice. Kindergarten teacher nice. Like she spent her free time delivering Meals on Wheels to oozing lepers.

  This would be the recipient of Trey’s kiss. His hot-enough-to-melt-the-camera kiss. The moment their lips met, an invisible symphony of violins would surely erupt into a romantic chorus as butterflies flittered about their heads to sanction the union for time and all eternity.

  Bobbi almost threw up in her mouth.

  “Are you okay, Miss Gallagher?” Sarah touched Bobbi’s forearm with French-manicured fingers. “You’re practically green.”

  No shit. Green with envy. “Oh, I’m fine. Just need to drink more.” Tequila—a double shot. “This heat’s brutal.”

  “I know.” Sarah stroked her smooth, blond ponytail. “When the humidity’s this bad, I can’t do a thing with my hair.”

  How tragic. “Don’t worry, you look great.” Unable to take another moment of gilded small talk, Bobbi got down to business. “Now listen, I’m not trying to pressure you, but if the moment’s right, feel free to…” she swallowed the bitter lump in her throat, “…k-kiss Trey. Don’t wait for him to make the first move.” See? There, that wasn’t so bad. She could totally survive this.

  Sarah smiled, revealing pearly whites that would make an orthodontist jizz in his pants. “My pleasure.”

  Oh god. Maybe she couldn’t survive this. “Um, on second thought—”

  “Hey, Sarah.” Speak of the devil, Trey strode forward and extended a handful of vibrant daisies to his date. Bobbi sank a few inches. She loved daisies. Sarah brought the bouquet to her nose while Trey tipped back his hat with one finger and grinned at her reaction, flashing his deep dimples.

  Bobbi didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he looked even sexier now than he had fifteen minutes ago. The sun had stained the apples of his cheeks, giving him a rugged edge, especially when combined with that weathered cowboy hat. A few sweaty, blond tendrils of hair clung to his temples, and his black T-shirt hugged every blessed contour along his muscled torso, leading Bobbi’s eyes to his long, lean thighs showcased beneath slightly dusty jeans. Just then, she decided she was perfectly capable of hating Sarah. Because that was the kind of woman Trey belonged with, not some hot-ass mess from Inglewood with enough debt to sink a small country.

  Bong hopped out of his van and slung his microphone pole over one shoulder. He glanced at Bobbi’s face and furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong, boss?”

  The Golden Couple tore their gazes away from each other to study Bobbi. Sarah rested one hand over her chest in a bless her heart motion and cooed, “I think she’s overheated.”

  That was one way of putting it. “No biggie. I’m about to go grab a beer.”

  Her innocent words drew the attention of Weezus and Colton, who’d just approached from behind. “Drinking on the job?” Weezus asked, peering around the camera atop his shoulder. “That’s a first.”

  “Ah, hell,” Colton drawled, winking at her, “everyone knows beer doesn’t count as drinkin’. It’s nothin’ but liquid bread.” Still in uniform, he leaned back against the van and adjusted his utility belt. “Let’s go get a drink together, honey. A good, strong one. My date bailed on me, and I need a shoulder to cry on.”

  Trey stiffened and cleared his throat, shooting daggers at his friend.

  “She stood you up?” Bobbi asked, narrowing one skeptical eye. “Or you already nailed her and didn’t call the next day?”

  After a few low chuckles, Colt admitted, “Both.” He pushed off the van and ambled over to her, then slung an arm around her shoulders. “I could sure use a stiff one. How ’bout it?”

  With Colton, stiff one didn’t necessarily refer to booze, but Bobbi knew how to handle him, and she needed a distraction from the impending Kissapalooza. It wasn’t five o’clock yet, but what the hell. A margarita on the rocks couldn’t tell time. “Fine.” She raised her cell phone at Bong and Weezus. “Call if you need me.”

  “Hold on.” Trey settled his hand on Sarah’s lower back in a protective gesture, and Bobbi’s stomach dropped to the asphalt. He seemed to have warmed up to her pretty damned quickly. “This is exactly the kind of stuff Luke asked me to watch out—”

  “What’re you afraid of, Lewis?” Colton smirked, clearly baiting Trey. “I’ll take real good care of our girl since you’re otherwise occupied.”

  Through a clenched jaw, Trey reminded Colt, “It’s a dry county. There’s no place to get booze around here.”

  “Well, now, you’re absolutely right.” Colt nodded, a grin practically splitting his face. “We’ll have to go to my place.”

  “The answer’s no.”

  “Enough.” Bobbi rolled her eyes. She half expected them to free their tallywackers and hold a pissing contest right there in the parking lot. “Go film this date and—” get it over with. She darted a g
lance to the sky, where gunmetal clouds had begun to roll in. “And work in some shots of the parade before the storm shuts us down.” Trey’s prophetic leg had been right about the pressure change. “Guess this means no fireworks.”

  Taking her hand, Colton towed her away from the group. “C’mon, honey. We’ll make our own.”

  “Goddamn it, Colt, I’m not playin’.” Pure rage flashed in Trey’s eyes, his tensed body twitching as if poised to spring on the deputy. Judas Priest, he was worse than Luke.

  “Chill, Golden Boy.” Unable to bear the sight of him at Sarah’s side, Bobbi turned away. “I can handle myself. Just remember what I told you.” She hoped Trey and the crew hadn’t noticed the tremor in her voice, proof that she wanted that kiss to happen as much as she wanted a full bikini wax from Jack the Ripper.

  “Where’re you going?” Trey demanded.

  Though still facing the other direction, she was aware of his eyes on her, a hot, electrical charge tingling along the back of her neck and spreading like warm honey over her shoulder blades. She heaved a sigh, desperately trying to rein in her emotions and act like a professional. She could justify one drink in the middle of the day, but not driving into the next county when the crew might need her. And no way in hell was she setting foot inside Colton’s skeevy palace of porn. “I guess I’ll settle for an iced coffee.”

  Before Trey had a chance to object any further, she set off, briskly leading the way to Blessed Brew. Five minutes later, she and Colton had barely made it inside before the sky opened up and put a soggy end to the Independence Day festivities.

  Bobbi sagged into a booth at the back of the café and faced the wall while Colton ordered their drinks. She didn’t want to people-watch, only to drown her jealousy in sugar, cream, and caffeinated goodness.

  When Colton rejoined her, it was with an iced mocha latte—extra whipped cream—and a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Here ya go, hon.” He set it gingerly on the glossy Formica tabletop and took the seat across from her. “If that doesn’t do the trick, you let me know, and we’ll head to my place for somethin’ stronger.”