“Yes, when you put it that way, I suppose I did.”
Ben’s eyes moved to the bar’s owner, Michael Olerson, whom everyone knows as “Oilie.” “How many times has Oilie tried to hit on you?”
“He doesn’t. He hasn’t.”
“He will.”
“And if he does?”
“Shouldn’t I ask you that?” Ben moved his attention to Jonah, who was just a few feet from them, causing Ben to lower his voice. “What if he does?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“What I would do if he did. He’s a nice enough guy.”
“You and Oilie?” Ben erupted into wicked laughter.
“What’s so bad about that?”
“He’s a meat head.”
“No he isn’t!”
“Defending your man’s honor now?”
She could feel that he was beginning to take back his control. She knew that he wouldn’t allow her to win for long. He would only let it go as long as he was entertained by it. No one could ever really win with Ben.
“Why are you standing here bothering with Dylan?” Jonah’s voice called. “There are people here that want to see you, man.” Jonah pulled Ben’s arm and lead him away.
As they moved toward the crowd of old friends, Ben raised his bottle into the air and winked at Dylan, a gesture she would take as a signal that he meant to finish aggravating her later.
She was pulled out of burning a hole in his face with her eyes by the eruption of screaming testosterone that made her jump. The Phoenix Suns were playing on TV and, for the fifth time in the first half of the game, a bad call was made.
Through the crowd of hollering men peered Hugh, another Mathews boy to add to the long list. He smiled when Dylan realized he was there. Only about a year older than the twins, he was sometimes confused as Jonah or a triplet to add to their pair. He was the one that came into town the least. He lived in Washington, never having a steady job, but always seeming to get by, possibly on his good looks and flighty personality.
“When did you get in?” Dylan asked, leaning over the bar to hug him.
“Just now. I haven’t even unpacked,” Hugh answered. He looked around and smiled. “Where’s the crew?”
“Where else?” Dylan joked, pointing to the swarm of girls that Jonah and Ben sat in. “Do you want a beer?”
“I just came to say hello.” Hugh shook his head. “I partied way too hard last night. I almost threw up on the plane.”
“Wow. I’m shocked, Hugh,” Dylan began with widened eyes. “Are you losing your touch? Are you pregnant?”
Hugh put his flat hand up and smiled. “Hey, my touch is not lost and, if I’m pregnant, God is playing one cruel joke on me that I just may deserve. Don’t you worry about me, little sister; I’ll be back tomorrow night with every intention of drinking you under the table.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dylan teased as he stepped away.
Dylan watched her brother join the others and felt a frown cross her lips. She was stuck on the other side of the bar, serving and tending, as usual. Most of the time she didn’t mind the restricted area she dwelled in, but tonight she felt restrained, unable to join her sibling reunion that was going on right in front of her face.
“Dylan, get out of here,” Michael’s voice yelled from the kitchen.
Michael “Oilie” Olerson grew up with Charlie Mathews. Once upon a time he was Phoenix’s football star, but an injury in college ended his career. He finished college a sports legend with a degree in business and opened “Oilies” when he was twenty-three. He felt overjoyed when Dylan asked for a job a year later.
“You don’t need to stay all night,” Michael said, walking toward her. “Why don’t you get off when the game is over? Have some fun for once.”
“Who says I’m not having fun?” Dylan flirted with Michael, only because she knew he liked her. Ben was absolutely right about that. She could never say that she hadn’t ever considered Michael, but she didn’t think it would be fair of her to force feelings she just couldn’t seem to conjure up, no matter how right he would be for her.
“Go hang out with your brothers.” Michael rubbed her shoulders as he stood with her behind the bar. “Finish up back here with the NBA crowd and then I’ll close the place down tonight, okay?”
Dylan tried to act nonchalant about her release to freedom. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Michael cringed. “I hate when you call me that.” He rubbed the top of her head as he headed to the beer cooler in back.
“Weed, grab me a beer, would ya?” Charlie asked with an inquisitive smile. “Oilies still got a thing for you, huh?”
Dylan handed Charlie a beer, ignoring his comment. “Where’s your wife tonight?”
“No wife yet, baby sister.” Charlie took a large swig from his bottle. “Only a fiancée, who’s home at the moment.”
Charlie was easy going, a polar opposite of the oldest brother, Brandon. He was a football hero in high school that, with reasons not a soul could understand, dropped out of college and became a construction worker after not even a year’s time. He carried huge loads on his tan shoulders all day long and enjoyed every minute of it. He simply loved the hard labor and the hot sun on his back.
The biggest surprise to the family was when playboy Charlie came home to say he was engaged. Dylan and her mother had only met Meredith once, making it hard to take him seriously for a while. Now, six months later, with a wedding set for the spring, it seemed as though he wasn’t kidding after all.
“When are you going to get a boyfriend?” Charlie asked, half smirking at the thought.
“When men aren’t pigs,” Dylan answered, raising another shot of tequila into the air. “So I guess never.”
Charlie watched his tiny sister throw her shot back like a pro. “Anyone in particular we’re talking about right now?”
Dylan only glanced Ben’s way. “Nope.”
Ben could feel Dylan’s glares without even getting a solid good look at her. He positioned himself in such a way that he could watch the bar from the corner of his eye, a way to see every movement that she made without being obvious about it. After watching Michael Olerson drool all over her, however, Ben was beginning to rethink his decision to spy.
He cringed as Dylan fluttered her long lashes at Michael, and thought, Look at me like that. The only thing he found remotely entertaining in the grotesque display behind the bar was that, despite her girlishly stupid smile, he knew her well enough to know that she was completely uninterested in Oilie and his attempts to flirt.
He still knew her well enough to read her like a book, he noticed. He had to laugh at his ability to unconsciously infuriate her. He enjoyed irritating her for reasons that he couldn’t even explain to himself. It was a turn on, perhaps.
There was a wit about her that enthralled him to no end. Even her strange little quirks puzzled him. From her fear of birds to the strange way she despised the feeling of chalk in her hand. He still remembered clearly how much trouble she got into in fifth grade when she refused to write on the board. She stubbornly sat with her arms crossed until the teacher could no longer legally hold her after school. Perhaps he found it adorable. Though, he wouldn’t dare admit it out loud.
Ben nodded along to the redhead that remembered his name, but for the life of him, he could only remember her lopsided chest. He was a champ when it came to appearing as though he was listening. Throwing out an “uh-huh,” an “oh?” and a nod every few minutes seemed to satisfy this one very much.
He had been standing there for what seemed like two NBA games worth of listening to the chatty girl with whom he had the unfortunate luck of being stuck with. A quick glance above Dylan’s head to the flat screen on the wall proved him wrong when he realized the Suns were still playing, but long into the fourth quarter.
Charlie finally stood up, leaving the path perfectly clear to Dylan. Ben took
his chance the moment it presented itself and left the lopsided girl in mid-sentence.
“How’s the legend Michael?” Ben asked, as he slid onto the stool in front of Dylan, praying he didn’t sound jealous.
“He’s fine.”
“You know there are laws about sexual harassment that he should probably look into.”
“Oh?” Dylan smiled. “I thought sexual harassment only applied when it was unwanted.”
“Are you saying you like it when he rubs your shoulders and pats your head?” Ben felt ill at the thought.
“I don’t dislike it.”
“You like being a barmaid that gets love taps like a dog then?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“I suppose I do.”
“Well,” Ben leaned forward, “then you work for the right man.”
“Well okay.” Dylan shrugged her shoulders and flashed him a smirk.
“Could I get two shots?” he asked, smirking devilishly in return.
“Make it three,” Jonah called from behind him.
Defeated on his moment alone with Dylan, he obliged with a smile. “Make it three.”
Dylan poured the shots and slid all three over to Ben. “She doesn’t look like a tequila girl. This should be interesting.”
Ben slid one back to her while he watched her with one mischievous eye. “I actually wanted this one for my favorite tequila girl.”
Jonah laughed. “Quit hitting on my sister.”
“I would never.” Only Ben knew that he was. He figured, Jonah would never expect it and, even with it in front of his face, he would more than likely shrug it off for a harmless, drunken joke.
Jonah lifted his shot. “Here’s to the sexy brunette over there.” He slammed his glass down to the bar and staggered drunkenly to his newest victim.
“Your girlfriend over there looks upset,” Dylan teased, clearing away the empty shot glasses. “You might want to go back to her.”
Ben told himself to walk away. The worst part of himself refused to listen most of the time and, when there was liquor involved, the devil on his shoulder had a way of taking over.
“I don’t even know her name,” he said through a deep chuckle.
“I’m sure every girl in here could say that they’ve made out with you, Ben. I truly believe that you couldn’t tell me half their names.”
Ben leaned over the bar with his elbows. “I know your name.”
“I said girls you’ve actually kissed, smartass.” Dylan crossed her arms and shot him a warning look.
“What do you mean?” He let his eyes scan the room to make sure that Jonah was far enough away. “We’ve made out before.”
Dylan’s face flashed with anger. “No. We’ve never made out before, Ben.” She threw back her last shot and slammed the glass back down onto the bar. “For you to say otherwise is just insulting.”
Not really all that thrown off by her reaction, he watched as she closed down her register and grabbed for her bag.
“Are you leaving?” He wanted to chase after her, but he realized he wasn’t that drunk yet.
“Michael said he’s going to close up tonight and, quite frankly, I have no reason to stay.”
As Brandon Mathews stepped into the bar, Dylan pulled him right back out the way he came. Brandon was the oldest sibling of the group and, to no one’s surprise, the most successful with a career as an architect in California. He never really held back on the idea that he was the man of the family.
“Drive me home,” she ordered, yanking him along with her.
“What?” Brandon’s confused eyes narrowed on Ben. “What’s wrong?”
“I just want to leave,” she hissed, and stepped outside.
“Okay.” Brandon turned and followed his little sister’s lead.
“What did you say to her, McKenna?” Michael asked Ben from behind the bar.
Ben refused to turn around to look at him. “Bag it, Oilie. You just worry about getting me another beer.”
Michael sent an unopened beer sliding down the bar. He intentionally left the cap snuggly placed on the mouth of the bottle in the hopes that it would irritate Ben. Amused by Michael’s attempt, Ben smirked as he slammed the bottle against the side of the bar, scratching the wooded edge and sending the metal cap flying.
“You know what, McKenna?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know that I care, Olerson.”
“You’re still an asshole.”
“What’s wrong with Weed?” Jonah asked as he stepped to Ben’s side.
“Who knows?” Ben answered innocently. “Brandon’s driving her home.”
“I think it’s time to follow. I’m drunk,” Jonah slurred. “I wish we would have caught a ride with them.”
“Lightweight,” Ben teased.
“I had more shots than you. Shut up.”
Ben wanted to leave, as well, but he couldn’t let Jonah know his motives. “I’m crashing at your house tonight.”
“No shit.”
The two paid their enormous bar tab and hopped into the first cab they could find. As they rode back to the Mathews’ house, Ben quietly hoped that Jonah didn’t take too long to pass out.
Dylan flipped around angrily in her bed, frustrated not only at herself for allowing Ben to get to her again, but for the mere thought that he didn’t remember something she thought about on a regular basis.
Why do you keep letting him do this to you? she thought, as she pulled the pillow over her head.
She had gone on just fine without him around and now his beautiful face was not just in her mind and memory, it was real and saying things that her imagination had not allowed before.
This was his game and she would always be the fool that let him win her over. Even five years later, he still managed to aggravate her, hurting her more than anything. She had always wondered what a run-in with Ben would do to her and now she knew. He was the same Ben that he always has been with no glint of hope for a change.
Dylan pictured him talking to the redhead with her cleavage flopping out of her shirt in front of his eyes. She thought of herself on the other side of the spectrum, ordinary and the weed that she had always been known as. Ben had always wanted the perfect girls, the fake bimbos that knew more about lip-gloss than they did about art, culture and the environment.
She promised herself that the next day would be different. She would ignore him for the next three weeks and hopefully she would be stronger when she saw him again in another five years.
From the moment he understood that he was attracted to Dylan, Ben wanted nothing more than to touch her skin and smell her hair. She acted nothing like the girls he dated. She was so much more beautiful, interesting even, and she didn’t even have to try.
He didn’t care that she wore loose-fitting clothes and could run faster than every kid in their neighborhood growing up. There was something about Dylan that no one else held. She was just as beautiful in her baggy jeans as she was in the tiny boy shorts she slept in when she thought no one would see—anyone but Ben, of course. It remained an unanswered mystery. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to mind when he saw her body.
Cursed with the knowledge of how perfectly built she was, he would let his imagination run untamed with thoughts about her. He was almost certain that he fantasized about her since he realized the pleasure and, at the same time, the guilt that came along with it.
To put it simply, his penchant for Dylan was hard to resist, even more so at night.
He loved to sneak into her bed. There was something soothing about being next to her. He would wrap his arms around Dylan and align his body along hers, molding himself against her. There was something about the nighttime that made him bold, never caring if she was awake or not while he slept beside her, holding her.
Of all the times he did this, there was only one time that he knew Dylan was aware. It was the night before he left for school. His mother had been crying, her final attempt to guilt him into staying with her in Phoenix. H
e left to quiet her sobs and, more than anything, to be near the only person who made him feel alive.
On that night, five years before, he crept into the Mathews’ home. There was so much movement there that he knew no one would ever tell the difference between him and one of the loud Mathews boys. It was safe to come and go in that house, not that anyone would care if they did catch Ben walking around at three in the morning.
He had to be next to her one more time before he left for school and he prayed that she was asleep. He needed to spend his last night in Phoenix beside her. He needed to touch her and bask in the arousal it gave him.
Ben opened her door and stepped into Dylan’s dark room. He removed his shirt and slid under the sheets. He moved close to her, barely enough that he could feel her breath on his chest. He let his arm relax over her body and moved his hand into her soft hair.
Dylan moved closer to him and flipped onto her back. Ben could feel her bare skin beneath his. The bottom of her breast rested against his arm and it nearly sent him into a pleasure induced coma. It was obvious she was awake and even more that she was happy he was in her twin bed.
His mind didn’t think. He couldn’t let the better part of his brain remind him of why it was wrong. He let his hand move under the fabric of her shirt, traveling over her warm skin. It was a sin against nature for something to feel this good. Before he could even stop himself, his hand was on her breast.
He had startled her. He realized this only when he heard her hiss into the air above them. A gasp escaped from her mouth while she lifted her head and quietly sighed back into his arm.
He moved his mouth to her hair. He barely allowed his lips to touch the skin of her neck while he inhaled her beautiful scent. He imagined all the things that he could do to her and with her.
Dylan kept her eyes closed as she pulled him on top of her and welcomed his hard body between her legs. The shift in control was too much for him and he didn’t know why. He shouldn’t have thought and he was angry at himself for allowing his brain to function. He had to stop. This wasn’t Dylan, and he certainly couldn’t allow meaningless sex to be the last memory with her.
Under the Orange Moon Page 3
