“How about I take you home, Sage?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Of all the luck.” She turned around at the sound of Brand’s voice, nearly spinning right off her bar stool.
He reached out to steady her, but she slapped his hands away.
“Go away, Brandon Tigggsth. I’m drinking with”—she turned back to the bartender, squinting and closing one eye to read his name tag—“Henry.” Henry. Henry. I’m ‘enry the eighth I am, ‘enry the eighth I am, I am… She sang the words in her mind with a British accent, cracking herself up. “’Enry the eighthsth. I’ll drink to that, good sir!” She gave a curt nod, snorted like a lady, then saluted the bartender with an empty shot glass. “Well, damn,” she whispered, frowning at the glass. “Still empty.”
“Come on, Sage, you’re drunk. Let me take you home.”
Sage gasped, throwing her hand to her chest, and whipping back around to face him. “Drunk? Me? Nevahh!”
Brand sighed, reaching for her once more. The sight of his eyes—the soft green now darkened by disappointment—cleared her head enough for her to stand.
He’s disappointed in me? She snorted again.
“You’ve had enough. Let me take you home.”
Anger sobered her further. Rosie’s words sang through her mind once more. Broken butterfly. Fixer-upper. Whore.
“Go to hell, Brand. You don’t get to rescue me anymore. I’m not your charity case.”
His body recoiled slightly as if she’d physically punched him, but she didn’t stop there. The pain of the past month without him rushed forth, reminding her of just how badly he’d destroyed her a second time. Her hands shook.
He’d chosen Rosie over her again; always had, always would.
“You don’t get to save me from myself anymore, Brandon Tiggs. You don’t get to fix me. I’m not your shameful little secret. Get the fuck away from me.” She pushed at him.
“Sage, please. You’re a mess. I don’t want to leave you here like this—”
“I’m a mess? Go home to your pathetic wife, you childless piece of shit.” She slammed her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She nearly cried out when the pain of hurting him tore through her. She couldn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth. Couldn’t handle the defeated look in his eyes, so broken, so destroyed. “Oh my God, Brand, I’m so—”
“Wow. I guess you got that out of your system. Congratulations.” He shook his head, his eyes glistening. “But you’re wrong. I don’t want to fix you, Sage. I don’t want to do anything to you anymore.”
“Brand, wait. Please.”
He walked away, head down, shoulders slumped, and her bastard heart broke for that man again.
“I’ll have that shot now.”
The old bartender nodded slowly, sympathy pulling his face into a frown. And, was that…pity?
Damn. He pitied her. And Sage couldn’t argue that it wasn’t well deserved. How pathetic she’d turned out to be!
He poured the shot, his gaze downcast. “It’s almost last call, Miss. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
Sage shook her head. She didn’t deserve a cab. She didn’t deserve the comfort of home, of her warm bed. She didn’t deserve the kindness of this man. She didn’t deserve anything ever again.
If Henry thought he pitied her, he had nothing on the defeatism she felt.
She’d just verbally beaten the man she’d loved her whole life. She was no better than the people who’d tortured her childhood.
And getting drunk hadn’t managed to wipe Brand from her mind; not when he walked back into her life like the knight in shining armor he’d always tried to be.
Damn you, Brand.
“Can I get a beer, please?”
Sage turned her head to the guy beside her. Brown hair, slightly long on top, strong profile, square jaw…his shoulders were solid and wide, and he stood tall. Confident.
“Beer?” She sucked in a breath when his chocolatey eyes met hers. “Kind of a rookie order, don’t you think? I mean, beer? As if there is only one kind.” Sage rolled her eyes, then spun in her seat. “I remember my first time at a bar.”
He leaned on the bar, resting his weight on his elbow, turning sideways to fully face her, then grabbed the back of her chair, stopping her mid spin. He looked familiar. Sage narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side to place him, but couldn’t. Must have been the booze still lazily caressing her mind. She slowly dragged her gaze down his body—from his deep brown eyes, to lips she wanted to taste, to distinct pectoral muscles that pressed into his t-shirt promising defined abs below, to a big enough but not too big bulge pressing against his jeans—then up again…her intention clear. She met his dark gaze once more, then licked her lips, punctuating her plans.
You’ll do.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t avert his gaze. He was quite a bit younger than her, that much was obvious, but she liked his confidence, his curiosity. And, judging by the way he returned her gaze, he liked her, too.
If he let her, she’d show him a thing or two tonight.
And she’d let him fuck her straight into forgetting.
“Do you have a car?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Ready to take me home?”
His eyes widened again, and he swallowed hard, trying to hide his surprise with a smirk. Sage zeroed in on his bobbing Adam’s apple; she imagined her teeth grazing his throat and heat rushed south.
“I, uh…I have roommates.”
Damn, he’s cute when he’s nervous. “Pity. So do I.”
She held his gaze, her mind spinning with the possibilities. She chewed on her bottom lip, knowing how that drove most men wild. An idea came to her. “Let’s go.” She dropped a couple twenties on the bar, winked at Henry—who frowned, but fuck him—and grabbed the guy by the hand, leading him to the parking lot out the side door.
When the door swooshed closed behind them, she rounded on him, pressing him up against the wall. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, his top lip, then reached down between them, and ran her fingertips up the length of his already growing cock. She smiled against his lips.
He twitched against her hand.
“Where’s your car?” she purred.
He swallowed. “Over there. The Escalade.”
She closed her eyes. “Mmm, plenty of room.” She opened her eyes once more, looking at him through her lashes. “Tell me you’re at least eighteen.”
He nodded, a smile pulling at his lips.
“Tell me you’ve had sex before.”
He nodded again. With both heads.
“Good answers. Now, don’t say another word. I’ve had a shit-filled day”—she shook her head—“no, I’ve had a shit-filled month, and I want you to make me forget. Can you do that for me, Escalade?”
He nodded once more, his gaze now on her lips. She ran her fingertips against the bulge in his pants again, the lightest of tickling sensations. She hoped he wasn’t lying about his age.
Or his sexual experience. She really needed this distraction.
“Now take me to your car.”
He wasted no time, and seconds later, they were splayed out in the back seat of his tricked-out Escalade, his pants down around his ankles, and her jeans and panties hanging from one foot. She perched on the console between the two front seats, legs spread, gazing down at the hard length of him. His size was big enough to excite her, and with the remaining haze of drunkenness, she was even turned on—something she didn’t think would ever happen again after Brand.
Dammit, Brand! Get out of my head!
She leaned forward, wrapping her lips around his shaft, then slid down slowly, taking her time, swirling her tongue around his cock as he filled her mouth and throat. His garbled groan teased her senses, and with every press of him against the back of her throat, she pushed Brandon Tiggs from her mind. Or tried to.
Reaching down between her legs, she slid her fingers through the wetness, smiling around a mouthful when s
he realized she’d coated the center console. She hummed against his skin, and his hands slammed into her head, holding her in place as a moan sounded deep in his chest. Right as he was about to come, Sage pulled back, a wide smile on her face.
“Mm-mm, shame on you. Never first. Never before the woman.” She’d at least leave him with that knowledge tonight. See? Give and take.
He cringed, his leg muscles twitching as she made him wait, his abdominal muscles as taut as her nipples. His cock stood at attention, hard as rock, and begging for her to ride him to oblivion.
She tenderly rubbed her fingers between her wet folds, careful not to open her legs too wide, careful not to let him see the real her. When he’d collected himself enough to move, he pushed forward, grabbing her face in his hands and slamming his lips against hers. The force with which he plunged his tongue into her mouth nearly knocked her into orgasm—the hesitant guy she’d met in the bar had been replaced with someone who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.
And by God, she was going to let him take it. Anything to push Brandon Tiggs from her mind—
Dammit, Brand!
He reached between her legs, rubbing her clit with the fumbling fingers of someone who still had no idea what to do with a vagina. She rolled her eyes as all excitement flew out the window. He may have known what he wanted, but he had no idea what she required.
When she’d had enough of the awkward hand-job, Sage pulled back, worried he might rub her most precious part right off her body. She looked him in the eyes, then licked her lips. “Do you have a condom?”
He didn’t even answer, just groped for his jeans until he pulled his hand back with that telltale foil square between his long fingers. Damn, if only you knew how to use those fingers. She debated teaching him, but didn’t want to waste the time.
Sage grabbed and unwrapped the condom, then slid it down over his hard length. There’d be no more misused foreplay tonight. Sage had to take matters into her own hands if she wanted to fuck Brand’s image from her mind. Something had to kill his memory.
She climbed on top of her single-serving friend, straddling him in the back seat of his car like a teenager—Sage giggled; he probably was a teenager—then slowly positioned herself down onto him. He was long, but he didn’t fill her like—
Fuck you, Brand!
Escalade grabbed her ass, gripping each cheek as she moved up and down on his dick. Up and down, up and down, she’d ride him like a fucking pony until she forgot about Brand. Forgot about the way he touched her like he’d done nothing but study the constellations of her body for the past nine years. Forgot about the way he’d made love to her with his tongue nearly as well as he’d made love to her with his cock.
Made love…ha!
Up and down, up and down. Up and down until Brand is gone.
The friction caused heat to pool, her wetness soaking both his legs and hers. Her tits bounced against his hard chest, and she wished she could take her shirt off, feel skin on skin. But she’d only ever been able to expose her arms with—
Up and down, up and down. She gripped the back of the seat, spreading her legs out further until her clit rubbed against that hard spot just above his dick, then she began rocking with each up and down movement. He gripped her ass tighter. She gripped the seat tighter.
The way she felt while riding him…she could almost forgive his complete ignorance when it came to her lady bits.
“Holy shit,” he moaned.
She silenced him by thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He reached up, wrapping one hand in her hair and twisting it around his fist, then pulled her head back, breaking the kiss. She gasped at the painful memories his hair-pulling induced as his other arm wrapped around her waist, gripping her hip and fastening her body to his.
“Please, not my hair,” she whimpered, looking away.
He didn’t say a word, just released her hair and gripped the back of her neck as he continued to pound into her.
Lackluster foreplay or not, this kid was a fucking prodigy when it came to finishing.
Her body tightened on his long, hard length, and she flooded around him as he twitched inside her, coming hard and heavy into her body like he’d been sent to put out the fire that raged inside her soul.
And yet….
As she fell forward, her orgasm still rocking the shit out of her body, and this gorgeous guy bucking beneath her and moaning into her neck, hand still wrapped around the base of her throat, a pungent, too-familiar scent tickled her nose. Her heart stopped….
A tear slid from one eye.
Drinking to oblivion wouldn’t push Brand from her mind. Casual sex clearly hadn’t done the trick.
And this asshole smelled like chlorine.
What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
Sage smoothed her skirt, attempting to dry the sweat from her palms. She’d stood outside the gym for twenty minutes, trying to muster any ounce of courage within her.
Turns out, she had none.
She walked away, heading back to the main building, then stopped. Not this time. She turned back around and marched to the door of the gym.
Then she stopped. Again. Tempted to flee. Again.
She’d only done this dance routine, like, five, maybe six times in the past two weeks.
One of these days, Brand was going to walk outside and catch her pacing back and forth talking to herself. She couldn’t believe that hadn’t happened yet.
Sage inhaled a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door. No more pacing, no more wasting time. She owed Brand an apology—for more than he knew—but Sage would at least apologize for what she’d said that night at the bowling alley. What she’d done afterward was none of his business.
She stepped inside the gym; the old familiar scent of vinyl wrestling mats, stinky socks, and lacquered floors filled her lungs, tossing her right back to when she’d been a student here. The memories slammed into her psyche, and she paused to let everything absorb. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t been back to the gym in the nearly three months she’d been a nurse at Lorimar.
“What are you doing in here, honey? You lost?”
Sage opened her eyes, then focused on the man standing near the far door of the gym. The football coach. What was his name…Coach Simpson? Simmons? Shoot.
She smoothed her skirt and stepped forward, the sound of her heels clicking against the basketball court, echoing through the room.
As she neared the Coach, she noticed the way he eyed her. Gross. She wanted to check the buttons on her blouse, make sure they didn’t bulge out, but didn’t want to tempt bringing his focus more thoroughly to her chest.
“Hi,” she said with a fake smile and the sweetest voice she could muster for someone ogling her. She extended her hand, remembering her manners. “I’m Sage Shepard, the school nurse.”
“I know who you are.” His hand was clammy, and he held onto her for about two beats too many.
When he finally released her hand, Sage resisted the urge to wipe it on her skirt, then his eyes flicked to her chest, widened, and she figured to hell with politeness. She dried her hand on her lavender skirt, hoping the action wouldn’t result in a sweat stain, and wishing for hand sanitizer. She quickly scanned the interior of the gym, hoping for a wall-mounted dispenser like hospitals often had. No such luck.
She plastered the smile back to her face. “I’m looking for Coach Tiggs. Could you please direct me to his office?” The man leered at her chest a little longer, so she cleared her throat, drawing his gaze back to her face. “Coach Tiggs? His office? A little help?”
The man frowned. “Now, why would you want Tiggs for? I’m the football coach.” He puffed up his chest as if that was something to be proud of.
Sage narrowed her eyes. “Hmm, yes, coach of the football team that hasn’t won a game since before I was a student here. Thank you for your time.”
She didn’t wait for his retort, figuring his stunned expression was rewa
rd enough for his shameless gawking.
And, please, like she didn’t know where Brand’s office was. Even if she hadn’t once attended school here, she swore she could smell him from down the hall—the softest of musky scents mingling with too much time in the pool, drifting on the air, tickling her deep down in her belly, and pulling her to him. The desperate moth to his irresistible flame.
If she imagined it, she’d lose her mind.
Sage stopped in the open doorway to his office, breath catching in her throat at the sight of Brand so absorbed in the work before him. His hair hung down over his eyes, still wet from this morning’s swim.
Tig froze, ears perked—the sound of those heels clicking through the gym, then down the long hallway to his office had been impossible to ignore. Sure, the woman sauntering through the athletics department could have been any female faculty member, but something in Tig’s chest told him it was her.
Her poorly concealed intake of air made his pulse accelerate and his heart soar with hope. He remained focused on the scholarship recommendation he wrote, but every other sense awakened in him, drawn to everything that was Sage Shepard.
His ears tuned in to her breath catching in her throat, then each soft inhale and exhale that followed.
His mind conjured images of her chest rising and falling.
His eyes, though not looking at her directly, caught the familiar way she smoothed her skirt—the nervous habit she’d had since high school.
His nose detected the faint wisp of a fragrance she wore—that signature sunshine and lilies smell he loved so much. He wanted to press his nose into her neck and breathe her in.
His mouth watered, as if remembering the sweet taste of her lips.
His fingers twitched to touch her.
But she owed him an apology, and he wanted to hear it.
Tig forgave Sage for what she’d said at the bowling alley—almost immediately after it happened, in fact. She’d been drunk, had acted in anger. He’d known in that moment that she gave a damn and hadn’t come back to fuck him and leave him for revenge, but he also knew she needed time.
Chlorine and Chaos Page 9
