Wild Love

by Lauren Accardo

  Sydney’s cheeks were already pink from the cold outside, but as she met Sam’s eyes, the blush spread to her neck. He forced his gaze away from the dip in her blouse, but it hung low enough to expose the slightest hint of a black lace bra. He chugged his water. Football, fishing, Aunt Tracy’s hairy chin mole, muddy boots . . . Liv. Spell: broken.

  “How’s the car?” Sam asked, careful to keep his voice even and detached.

  Sydney raised her chin and pressed her shoulders back. “It’s fine. Drivable. Like you said.”

  A dry cough caught his attention. Jorie now sat bolt upright on Matt’s lap. She was on high alert. Her jaw tightened in a stern look of warning he’d grown to fear over the years. “You two know each other?”

  “Yeah, Andretti over here hit me with her car last night outside Utz’s.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “I barely tapped you.”

  “You were both at Utz’s?” Jorie cut in.

  “Jesus,” Sam said on a breath. He raised an eyebrow in his own version of a warning glare. Jorie wanted him to be happy, but she also wanted to keep the situation between Liv and him as peaceful as possible. Occasionally it made her seem like a referee in the game of his life.

  “I might need your help after all,” Sydney said. “I’m thinking of selling the car, so I’ll have to get the bumper and taillight fixed before I do.”

  Sam ran his tongue across his bottom lip. This girl was a mystery. She showed up in Pine Ridge out of the blue, and now she wanted to get rid of her car. Maybe she was running from the law.

  “It’s yours?” he asked. “Title and registration?”

  “Yes, it’s mine.” Her steely gaze matched her sharp tone. “Who else would it belong to?”

  “Table’s open!” Greg said, nodding toward the pool table. He shot Sam a Chill out look before nudging him out of the booth.

  “Oh, great!” Jorie said. “Perfect timing.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Baby. Come on. Let us play a game, and then you can play next round.”

  “So unfair.” Jorie tossed her purse into the booth, grabbed a pool cue, and chalked the end as she stared daggers into her boyfriend. “I’m playing.”

  “Well, hell, I’m not playing with her,” Greg grumbled.

  “I’ll play with her,” Matt said, literally dragging his feet as he joined Jorie at the table. “And, Sydney, you can play on the other team. That way it’s fair . . . ish. Sam? You up?”

  Sam ran his hands over the legs of his jeans and cracked his neck. As long as he stayed on the opposite side of the table from Sydney, he’d be fine. No smelling her perfume, none of her snarky remarks. He raised his eyebrows in silent agreement before grabbing a pool cue from the rack and chalking the end.

  Sydney grabbed her own cue before leaning over the table for a practice shot, her blouse and bra and everything they were meant to contain suddenly on full display.

  Shit.

  chapter five

  Sam grabbed a beer from the bucket on the table and handed it to Sydney. “You drinking?”

  “Sure.” She took the beer and twisted the cap, squeezing her breasts together as she went. Still trembling from the interaction with her mother, she craved control in any form.

  Sam stood before her, smoldering intensity burning in his eyes. Maybe a one-night stand would find her less unsteady in the morning.

  “I’m actually better when I’m drunk.”

  He blinked, and as if a veil had lifted, the heat was replaced by a vacant stare. Had she said something insulting? He turned over his shoulder, leaving Sydney confused and alone.

  After a few terse words with Jorie, Matt tossed up his hands, stepped backward, and watched with pursed lips as his girlfriend poised to break. When the cue ball barely grazed the ball at the top of the pyramid, Matt grumbled and reracked.

  “This game is going to be endless,” Sam said under his breath.

  “What makes you think I’m terrible, too?” Sydney asked. “Because I’m a woman?”

  “I never said you were anything. Matt implied you’re at Jorie’s skill level.”

  “Hey.” She leaned into him. Time to disprove some stereotypes. “Let’s put some money on it.”

  Sam raised one dark eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  She shrugged, a grin curling her mouth. “Let’s just say, dudes who thought girls can’t shoot pool ended up paying most of my college bar tabs.”

  With a wild gleam in his eyes, Sam turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yo, Matty. Care to up the stakes?”

  A slow grin spread across Matt’s full-moon face. “You serious?”

  “’Course. Fifty bucks?”

  “Whoa-ho-ho!” Greg chuckled from the booth. “Who is this guy?”

  “Hell yeah, man,” Matt said. “Now I’m having fun.”

  Sam met Sydney’s gaze and held it for a moment, raising his eyebrows. They were in this together. A thrill ran through her veins, and she took a long drink of the cheap beer to calm her frayed nerves. It wasn’t strong enough.

  “Give me one minute, okay?” she said. She moved through the dense crowd, squeezing through the mostly male patrons, and sidled up to the bar. Before she could order a shot of whiskey, Sam was next to her. Was it the mass of bodies that forced him to press himself against her? As his warm, clean scent drifted over her, she didn’t care.

  “Shot of Jack, please,” she said as the bartender approached.

  “And gimme a Coke.” Sam tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.

  “You don’t have to pay for me,” she said. The soft skin of his forearm brushed against her elbow and caused the lump in her throat to nearly choke her.

  “If you’re as good as you claim to be, we’ll make it all back.” He ran his tongue over his full bottom lip, and she leaned in toward him. The pull was magnetic.

  “Here you go.” The bartender set down the drinks, and they clinked their glasses together before she threw hers back. The whiskey warmed her throat and stung her nostrils.

  “All right,” she said through a cough. “Now I’m ready.”

  As she turned away from the bar to head back toward the pool table, his hand rested on her lower back. The touch sent shivers all the way down her legs and into her toes. Had he meant to touch her? Was it an invitation? She needed to feel good tonight. She needed this attractive mountain man to be the one who made her feel it.

  Back at the pool table, Matt broke, sending a single striped ball into the corner pocket. After snagging one more stripe, he missed the third shot and Sam stepped up. Sam set his sights on the purple four ball and sunk it with no problem. He missed his next shot, Jorie avoided hitting anything other than the cue ball, and then it was Sydney’s turn.

  She surveyed the table and avoided the most obvious shot, the orange five ball hovering near the side pocket. Instead, she used her nondominant hand, aimed at an impossible shot, and missed.

  “Dude.” Sam’s scolding voice carried across the table.

  “What are you gonna do, right?” she said, sending him a wink.

  He ran his tongue over his bottom lip again. His lips pulled into a grin, sharing their pool shark secret. The whiskey burned in her belly, begging her to do the stupid thing.

  Matt sunk one more ball, Sam did the same, Jorie nicked the felt, and then Sydney was up again. This time there was no easy shot. She found the most logical choice, set up her angle, and sunk the ball without issue. She looked up in time to see Matt’s jaw hanging.

  “Hey, nice shot!” Jorie said brightly.

  “Where’s your loyalty?” Matt teased. He reached out to grab her hand and pulled her into his side, tucking a soft kiss in her blond hair. The sweet sentiment burned into Sydney. Connor and the blonde. She clenched her teeth.

  Sydney set up her next shot and sunk it with ease. In one single turn, she manag
ed to sink all but the eight ball.

  “Oh, okay, cool,” Matt said, his gaze level. “So you pool-sharked us.”

  Sydney shrugged, a devilish smile playing on her lips.

  “I never pool-sharked anyone,” she said. “You just assumed, since I’m a woman, that I’m terrible at pool. It’s kinda more on you than me, I’d say.” A few other men from the bar had joined Greg in the booth, and they all hooted and hollered like a pack of monkeys.

  “Oh man, a feminist,” Matt groaned. “Great. How long are you here for again?”

  Jorie slapped his arm, and he ran a hand over his face, clearly embarrassed to have been schooled by a girl. But Sydney was flying. She loved revealing her skills to unsuspecting men who thought they knew better.

  After Matt’s turn, Sam sunk the eight ball without issue, and as soon as the ball plunked into the pocket, Sydney yelped and thrust her arms in the air. Sam’s arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her clear off the floor in triumph. The wind escaped her lungs in a single rush as she swallowed down the sensation of his arms pressing against her ribs, his face in her neck, and his belt buckle against her thighs. She wanted to breathe in his scent and wrap her legs around his waist, but she wasn’t drunk enough to completely forget where she was just yet.

  He set her down, and his eyes sparkled. She could only imagine what he wanted from her. She’d seen that look before. And she was single, after all. Recently single. Connor and the blonde. A new, fresh flare of anxiety burned inside her gut.

  “Come on.” She cleared her throat and forced Connor out of her head. “Drinks are on us. Or should I say, on Matt?” She watched Sam’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he studied her face. His hands trailed across her hips and fell at his sides. She could almost taste the tension.

  They spent their winnings on a round for the group, and after her third drink, Sydney settled into the booth next to Jorie. For the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly at peace.

  Inhibitions lowered, Jorie chattered away about the bakery and her parents and her older sister who lived two towns over, and Sydney simply let the information wash over her. Jorie was sweet and kind, and her friends were easygoing and fun. No one was concerned about the outcome of a high-stakes case or who was vacationing at which island this winter. Being in Pine Ridge felt like taking a break from real life.

  “So, what about you?” Jorie asked, draining her beer bottle. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No,” Sydney said. “Um . . . no.” Thirty-six hours ago I watched my boyfriend have sex with another woman on our bed. In our sheets. Possibly wearing my earrings.

  “Okay.” Jorie narrowed her gaze. “I feel like there’s more there than just a no.”

  Sydney cleared her throat and studied Jorie’s pretty, honest face. She barely knew the girl, but she wanted to open her guts and spill them across the table. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek.

  A hiccup escaped Jorie’s mouth. “Oh God, hiccups. Matt will never let me live this down. I’m not even drunk.”

  “Let me get you some water,” Sydney offered.

  “Oh, no, Matt will get it for me.” She waved across the bar at Matt, whose eyes never truly left her, and he mouthed, Water? She grinned and gave him the thumbs-up.

  “Damn, you guys are really in sync,” Sydney marveled.

  “We’ve been together since we were sixteen. He knows more about me than I do.”

  “That’s a long time,” Sydney said.

  “Heck yeah, it is. Twelve years. And here I am, still waiting for this jerk to put a ring on it.” A hiccup bubbled up, and she rolled her eyes. “So, what about you? Ever been close to marriage?”

  “No,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached for the chain again and cursed herself for forgetting it wasn’t there.

  “Not much for gossip, are you?” Jorie teased.

  “It’s not that.” Sydney laughed.

  “Sorry,” Jorie said. “I’m prying.”

  “You’re not.” She took another swallow of beer and tried to clear her thoughts. “I just found out my boyfriend cheated on me. Has been cheating on me. God, I don’t even know the full story.”

  “Wow.” Jorie placed a cool hand on Sydney’s arm, her brow tightening. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Sydney said. “We lived together, and I don’t have a job at the moment. Not full time, anyway. When I caught him cheating and ran out with my suitcase, I realized I actually had no place else to go. My friend Bee would probably have let me crash for a couple of nights, but honestly, I was embarrassed. I couldn’t bring myself to call her and tell her the truth about what happened.”

  Her eyes flickered over to Jorie, waiting for the judgmental sneer to appear and cast her off as a gold digger. But Jorie’s kind eyes remained steady.

  “Well, Sydney, I’ll tell you what. You’re not the first woman in this position. And you won’t be the last.” She patted Sydney’s arm. “But man, what a shit thing to do to someone. You must be mad as hell.”

  The relief trickled into Sydney’s heart, and she cracked a smile. Was it that easy to open up to a girlfriend here in mountain country? Whenever she bemoaned her lack of full-time work to friends in New York, they gave her pitying stares and changed the subject. In their eyes, the woman who depended on a man to take care of her was the ultimate offense to feminism. Even Bee, the one friend she’d held on to since college, had grown tired of her happy hour invites being turned down for fundraising galas and drinks with Connor’s frat buddies. But Jorie had compassion.

  Matt approached with Jorie’s water bottle and handed Sydney another beer.

  “You guys trying to get me drunk?” Sydney asked, gratefully accepting the drink. Her conversation with Jorie was as much emotional outpouring as she could handle tonight.

  “Nah, yer man over there told me I was being a jerk by assuming you were a shitty pool player just because you’re a girl. So I thought I owed you a drink.”

  Sydney found Sam sitting at the bar. His limber body perched on a stool as Greg talked at him. Sam nodded along, with his arms crossed over his chest, and as he adjusted, the hint of a tattoo peeked out from the sleeve of his royal-blue T-shirt. Sydney’s legs turned to jelly.

  As the night went on and the alcohol seeped further and further into Sydney’s bloodstream, she nearly forgot about the mess of chaos her life had become. She was having fun. She and Jorie grooved along to the nineties’ hits blaring from the jukebox, and only when Matt jumped in to steal his girl away did Sydney collapse into a sweaty heap in the booth.

  “You’re a lot more fun than I thought you’d be,” Greg said. He adjusted the belt around his paunchy middle, his gaze roaming across Sydney’s chest.

  “Thanks?” Her patience for comments about her uppity appearance wore thin. She didn’t have a drink of her own, so with her vision swimming, she focused on the closest beer bottle and took a swig.

  “Sure, Greg doesn’t mind,” Sam said. “Have a sip.”

  A grin tugged at her lips, and she leaned over the table, fully aware that her blouse dipped low. She pressed her breasts together and watched with dark delight as Sam’s gaze lighted on her chest. He shifted, his mouth pressed into a firm line, and leaned back in the booth.

  “Guess I’ll get myself another drink,” she said. The alcohol had released the demons inside her, and she swiveled her hips as she passed by Sam. When he joined her at the bar, she knew it had worked.

  “How are you not falling over?” he asked.

  She motioned to the bartender for another round. He knew her drink order by now. “I have a very high tolerance.”

  The crowd in the bar had reached capacity, with bodies and voices clamoring for maximum attention. The heat from Sam’s chest radiated through the thin silk fabric of her blouse, and she leaned in closer to him.

 
There was something about this man. The intensity flowed out of him in waves, whether it was directed toward a game of pool or a conversation or a BMW that had plowed into his truck. He was even and steady, and she craved his muscled body on top of her. After witnessing Connor with another woman, she deserved at least that. Something raw, something animalistic. Something mind-numbing.

  She pressed her lips together, the recently applied gloss tugging at her skin as she opened her mouth again. Let him imagine what her lips could do.

  “How are you getting home?” His scratchy voice lowered a full octave. She felt it in her bones more than she heard it with her ears.

  “Jorie, I guess.”

  He ran a hand over his short beard and glanced back at their table, where Jorie and Matt were now openly making out.

  “Matt’ll probably take her home. That’s how these nights usually end. Drunk Jorie. Matt swoops in and takes care of her.”

  The words floated through her ears without sticking. The soft, bristly hair above his lip looked softer than most beards she’d come into contact with. How would it feel against her skin?

  “Come on,” he said. He snatched the full beer bottle from her hand and set it down on the bar.

  Yes. This is happening.

  She grabbed her coat and purse and followed him out of the bar, her entire body preparing to have his lips on her, his taste in her mouth, his salty skin under her tongue. Her heart pumped blood through her limbs, but mostly it congregated square between her legs.

  He moved at a clip, and when they burst outside, the cold air hit her like a brick. Her damp skin, now exposed to the elements, puckered and shivered, and she wrapped her arms around her body. She needed his heat now more than ever.

  He slid the key into the passenger-side door, and she sidled up next to him, leaving only a hint of space between their bodies. He looked down at her, his breath coming in steady puffs of visible air between their mouths. His brow furrowed, and his lips remained still and flat, but his eyes blazed.