“Didn’t want it, huh? I’m calling bullshit on that one.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks and continued walking.
My friend wanted to pry. I changed the subject. “I hear you’re assistant coach now. Pop says you’ll be top dog in a year or two.”
“It’s a great gig, T. I love those boys. If you’re sticking around for a while, you should come by. Summer practice is in full swing.” He stopped and turned to me, head hung low.
I knew what was coming. Knew it would sting.
“I haven’t heard from you in, what, six years? What the hell, man?”
I ran a hand over the top of my head. “I had shit to work out. I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. He wouldn’t understand why I’d left and never returned. Hell, I didn’t understand completely.
“Sorry? Six fucking years. Not one word from my best friend. No goodbye. Nothing. I only knew you’d gone to New York because I overheard your mother talking to my mother, and then I was sworn to secrecy.” His gaze dropped to the grass, then lifted back to my face. “You talk to Slade yet?”
Ouch. Okay, maybe he did get it. “No.”
Our subject matter needed to change. And fast.
“She’s got a kid, you know. Bitch got knocked up the second you left town.”
My left hand found his throat, and I raised my right fist to strike. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
His laugh and crooked smile set my blood on fire. Brett batted my hand away. “There you are. Thought I’d lost you for a while.”
“Fuckin’ prick.” I huffed and headed toward the fifty-yard line.
The guy had always known how to rile me. Great skill on the field. Dangerous when it came to Slade.
“I saw her this morning. The kid, too,” I confessed, swallowing hard. “Is she married?”
“No, man. Single mom. She left town a couple months after you took off. Came back almost a year later with the baby. Mom had seen her hanging with Addy and her uncle. You remember that creepy fucker, right?” he asked, crossing his arms.
How could I forget? Drug dealer, racist. Ran around with a scary-as-fuck MC. “Yeah, I remember.” The Satan’s Slayers stayed at his place when they came through town.
Brett nodded, dropped his gaze, and sucked in a breath. “Rumor was, Slade had hooked up with one of those douches. Mom had seen her on the back of one of their bikes more than once.”
Envy choked the air from my lungs. Regret weakened my knees. I dropped my ass to the cool grass. Shit. I was supposed to be the one. The only fucking man to touch her. Should’ve been my kid. I buried my face in my hands and scrubbed the seething anger away.
Brett’s cell blared an annoying ring from his pocket.
“Gotta get this, give me a sec.” He rolled his eyes as he walked past me to answer.
That was when I looked up, and the earth fell away from me.
In an instant, I was pulled back to my glory days. Me on the field, Slade in the bleachers. Same row. Same bench. Same damn smile on her face.
Slade lay in her favorite spot. The seat she’d claimed as her own, during my first high-school football game, a million lifetimes ago. Stretched across the top row of bleachers, legs crossed at the ankles, her head and feet bobbed in sync to a tune I couldn’t hear. Her hair bounced in a mess of waves splayed across the bench. Large white headphones clung like headgear to her ears.
Through the dark sky, the moon appeared to shine only for her. I jumped to my feet. Brett turned and caught sight of her. He nodded her way, sporting a smile too big for his face, then waved me off. “Good luck, tiger. I’ll catch ya later.”
I took off at a jog that turned into a sprint. My fucking palms were sweaty, my face burned like a son of a bitch, and a loud boom, boom, boom bounced between my ears. Good God, what she did to me.
I took the stairs two at a time and paused to catch my breath before stepping closer. Who was I trying to fool? I could never breathe right when she was near. We’d done things, shared things on those bleachers, on her special bench, that were forever scorched into my memories.
Eyes closed, voice barely a whisper, she sang along to words I couldn’t decipher. Probably some sappy ballad. She’d always had a thing for those cheesy love songs. Her lips were moist, pink, and full. I could still taste them. I needed to taste them again. Her bright red flip flops matched the polish on her nails. Slade and her flip flops. I never understood her love affair with those hunks of rubber.
Bending low, I studied that gorgeous mug. Flawless. Soft. Feminine. Peachy. Fuck, how I’d missed her organic beauty. “Slade,” I said, bringing our faces inches from each other. I ran the back of my finger down her cheek.
Her scream was punishment enough for the sneak attack, but she followed through with a punch to the face and a simultaneous foot to my knee. Thank fuck she hadn’t worn real shoes.
Wild-eyed and bewildered, she jumped to her feet. I opened my mouth to speak, but she silenced me with a hard slap. Followed by another. I let her have those strikes. Hell, she could hit me all night, as long as I got to stare into those stormy eyes.
“Tango! You fucking bastard!” she yelled, ripping off her headphones. “You scared the shit out of me.” With hitched breaths, she pounded at my chest.
I couldn’t contain my smile. Feisty as always. One of my favorite things about her.
Before I had time to process my thoughts, Slade dug her fingers into my shoulders, pushed up on her toes, and crushed her lips to mine. The way she kissed me? Hot damn. I could’ve taken her right then and there, a million different ways.
A million different scenarios had played through my head, in preparation for the possibility of his return. I’d practiced a speech. I’d considered leaving town, or going into hiding until he’d gone back to wherever he’d been living. I’d imagined emotional, drawn-out conversations, most of which ended with me crying and making a fool of myself. None, not a single one, had ended with me kissing Tango Rossi.
Dammit! I was such a girl.
After the shock of finding him towering over me, in the last place I’d expected to see him, I was drawn straight back to my seventeen-year-old self. Pre-prom. Like that night had never happened, and he’d never ripped my heart and guts out and left me to bleed.
My Tango was home. Years of bottled anger, hurt, and frustration disappeared as if they’d never been there. It came naturally, pulling his lips to mine, pressing my body tight to his. That connection was what I knew, what I needed, more than explanations or apologies, more than atonement.
I kissed six years into his mouth, hugging his neck to pull him closer. His groan made my soul dance. Strong arms, bigger than I remembered, snaked around my middle and hoisted me off the ground. My legs, reacting to muscle memory, wrapped around his waist. I was dying inside, yet never felt more alive, like I had fallen into a coma and his touch jolted me back to life.
True, I’d instigated the lip-lock. By no means, though, was I in control of it. Tango had my full compliance. His tongue slid across my own, tangled, invaded, explored. Dear God, I’d missed his mouth.
I wasn’t sure how long the exchange lasted, but when he pulled away and pressed his forehead to mine, I squeezed my eyes closed. I’d be lost forever if I looked. I didn’t want to accept reality. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a choice. There was too much at stake. My heart, for one. I had to protect that, for my son.
I clung to him like a frightened child. Held on longer than I should have. Earlier, I’d been afraid to face him. After that kiss, I feared letting him go again.
“Have you danced today?” he asked with a rasp. His voice, deep and rich, was a harsh reminder of the years that’d passed. He was no longer the boy I’d known. Tango Rossi was a man.
Have you danced today? If he only knew.
I sighed, lacking courage to meet his gaze, but forcing eye contact anyway. His words hurt, but I loved hearing them, craved them, clung to them.
“Look at me, please.” A pain
ed set of eyes stared down at me.
“Hi,” I whispered, because that was all I could do.
“There’s so much I need to say to you.” His brows drew tight, and he shook his head. “But I can’t think straight right now.”
Gulp. “I know what you mean.” I studied the curve of his full lips, the slant of his nose, the thick brows framing his deep green eyes. His lashes, so long and thick, gave the illusion he wore eyeliner. They’d always been the feature on his face that had fascinated me the most. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t avoid getting sucked into the heady gaze he’d mastered not long after puberty had struck.
A fading bruise surrounded his left eye, enhancing his beauty.
His mouth curved to a crooked smile. “It doesn’t help, having you wrapped around me like this. Makes me want to keep kissing you.”
Oh, crap. A wicked heat swelled in my cheeks, and I unclamped my legs from around his waist. Tango held tight until I found my footing, then pressed a kiss to my forehead before letting me go and taking a step back.
He dropped his butt to the metal bench. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
I studied the sky above his head. My eyes burned. Dammit, I could not let him see me cry. “I’m sorry about your mom,” I muttered. “Why aren’t you with your family?”
I plopped my rear next to him, pressing our thighs together. From the first time we had met, it had always been a thing with us, touching, whenever we were within touching distance. Bumping shoulders, rubbing feet, hooking pinky fingers.
“I had to get away. Needed room to breathe. I know I should be celebrating her life with the rest of them, but it didn’t feel right.” He slid his hand over my thigh and draped his long fingers over my knee. “It didn’t feel right without you there.”
I didn’t know if he was fishing for an explanation. I wasn’t about to give him one. His mother was dead. I wouldn’t talk ill of her.
“How long will you be in town?” I asked, steering the conversation another direction.
He turned, straddled the seat, and pulled my hand into his own. “That depends. How long will it take you to forgive me?”
“I forgave you years ago. We were stupid kids. It’s ancient history.” Truth was, I hadn’t forgiven him. I should have. What I’d done in those weeks and months after prom night was unforgivable. I knew holding a grudge made me a hypocrite. His sin had been no more damaging than mine. Still, I was human. I’d been hurt, with the kind of hurt that was difficult to let go of. “I don’t want to talk about that night, Tango.”
“I need to talk about it.” He searched my face with a curious scowl. “You may have gotten over it. I haven’t.”
I had never been able to lie to him. I’d mastered the art of fooling my mother at an early age. Hell, I’d fooled everyone in town for years, but if Tango probed, he’d discover things that would destroy me and Rocky. I couldn’t let him dig.
I pulled my hand from his grip and cupped his cheeks, drawing his face closer. “That’s your cross to bear, not mine. Too much time has passed. Don’t you see? Nothing you can say would make a difference now.”
My hands tingled, sending bursts of giddy energy down my arms and straight to my damn female parts.
The man was beauty. Plain and simple. Every part of me ached to connect with every part of him. I let go of him and stood to back away. I’d thought my heart had healed. Apparently not. A wave of pain rushed through me, flooding me with fear, hurt, confusion, and suddenly I was drowning. Drowning in magnificent green eyes, memories of lost youth and broken promises. Suffocated by guilt, anger, and fierce, protective motherly instinct.
I wanted him. Still. After everything. But because I’d been greedy, and jealous, and because I’d sold my soul to hold on to one little piece of him, I’d lost any chance, any hope, of ever getting him back.
I would get her back. Didn’t have a choice. The girl was my missing rib. How the hell had I forgotten that?
I watched the spark fade from her eyes—the brilliant energy that danced and sizzled and filled whatever space she occupied. I hated being the one to extinguish her fire.
Slade took a step back, slipping away, away from me again. Fuck, it hurt watching her retreat. That woman still had the power to bring me to my knees. She said she forgave me. What a crock of shit. Why lie? She’d never been able to pull the wool over my eyes.
I leaned forward, elbows to knees, hands clasped, and studied her expression. She was working something out in her head, and, by the look on her face, it wasn’t tipping in my favor. I had a fight on my hands. Good. I loved a challenge.
“Slade, I—”
“I have a son,” she blurted, nibbling on her thumbnail.
My gut shifted. “I know.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I need to go. He’ll be home soon.”
No way in hell was I letting go yet. “I’ll walk you.”
She stared long and hard at me. My chest, my shoulders, my forehead, my nose. When she found the courage to look me in the eye, she nodded and offered a hand to help me up.
“I’ll be fine. You should go back to the party. Be with your dad.”
She was right. Pops needed me. It wasn’t cool to slip out the way I had. Now that I’d talked to Slade, the party didn’t seem so daunting. “I’ll go back. After I walk you home.”
Hand in hand, we headed down the bleachers, across the field, and started toward her house.
“How’s your mom?” I asked, squeezing her fingers, appreciating how soft and delicate they felt between my own.
Slade stopped, releasing her grip, and studied me, brows pinched. “She died. Three years ago.”
Aw, fuck. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
With a sigh, she continued walking. “Car accident. She’d been drinking.”
“I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know.” Because I’d never asked. Because asking, and hearing, and acknowledging that she’d survived without me would’ve meant facing demons I hadn’t been ready to confront. “Mom and Dad never said a word to me about it.”
Her cheeks turned crimson. A low, angry chuckle escaped her lips, and after a long pause and loud exhale, she continued, “As you know, there was only one thing Mom loved more than men.”
Our eyes locked, and we spoke at the same time. “Vodka.”
A sad smile graced her face. “She died with a man at her side and a belly full of Grey Goose.”
Ah, yes, there she was, my brave girl. Smiling. Even when she’d been kicked in the gut. Her mom had always been a drinker. A functioning alcoholic, and a floozy, for lack of a better word. There wasn’t a night I could remember that she didn’t bring a man home. Even after working a double shift.
Slade deserved better. She’d never complained, though. All the years I’d known her, she’d never spoken ill of her mom.
We walked in silence most of the way, making small talk here and there, avoiding personal bits. The smack of her flip flops against her feet soothed my jagged emotions more than the liquor had earlier. Or maybe it was just Slade. I’d been back in town for two days, but I hadn’t come home, not until she’d kissed the hell out of me.
I walked her up the steps of her front stoop, ignoring the tightness in my chest. When she opened the door, without a key, I nearly lost my shit. “You didn’t lock your door?”
“I’ve never locked it. You know that better than anyone.”
Yeah, I knew. How many nights had I slipped through the unlocked door, tip-toeing past her mother, who was otherwise occupied, or passed out? How many times had I chastised her for leaving it unlocked? It wouldn’t have kept me out. However, it would’ve been fun to have to sneak through her bedroom window once in a while.
I raked my fingers through my hair and pulled at the roots. “Jesus. We’re not kids anymore. It’s not safe.”
Wrong thing to say, apparently, gauging by the daggers shooting from her eyes and aiming straight for me.
“Really? Thanks for that
bit of information.” She jutted her chin at me and crossed her arms. “You’re abso-fuckin-lutely right. We’re not kids anymore, are we? You were a stupid boy when you left.” She stepped closer, fury brightening her eyes. “You gutted me, then you disappeared. Now here you are, all grown up. A man of the world. And here I am, a small-town hick who doesn’t know better than to lock her own door.” She poked a finger into my chest, stepping even closer. “Fuck you!”
I grabbed her wrist. With a grunt, she tried wrenching free. Silly girl. Fighting was useless. I wrapped my other arm around her waist and hoisted her up. “God, I’ve missed that spunk.”
“Let go—”
I smashed her mouth to mine, maybe a touch too hard. She whimpered. My blood warmed. Her lips parted for me, despite the wriggling to free herself. Damn, the woman could kiss, and that was what she did. Kissed me hard, then soft, then ate my mouth with hungry lips. My cock hardened between us. I pulled her tighter against my hips, because damn, she felt good.
That was when her teeth sunk into my flesh.
I dropped her, shocked but even more turned on. “Holy shit. You bit me,” I half-laughed, half-yelled, wiping blood from my lower lip.
She pushed away and found her footing. “Like I said.” She slipped backward through the door and poked her head out. “Fuck you.” With impressive dramatic flair, she slammed it in my face.
I stood, dumbstruck, and stared through her window into the dark house. Couldn’t see a damn thing, but I heard angry footsteps clomp up the stairs.
My heart swelled when she stomped back down, then deflated when she turned the lock and disappeared into the darkness.
I scratched my head, lifted my hand to knock, then changed my mind. “Game on, babylove,” I mumbled to myself.
Not a chance in hell she’d forgiven me. I had work to do.
Frustration, elation, and arousal—mostly arousal—pumped through my veins, inflating me with wicked energy. I pulled out my cell, trotted down the steps and across the lawn. I dialed the number of the only other person on earth I wanted to talk to.
Truck Stop Tango Page 3
