Oh, fuckety-fuck-fuck. I’d forgotten how protective he was. My plan to push him away exploded in my face. I’d have to change my line of defense.
We needed to be somewhere public. Public and full of distractions. So I wasn’t tempted to jump his bones, and those unreal muscles. “Your cooking sucks,” I said, pushing from the table and grabbing my plate. “You wanna help? Take me for a burger. Where’s your shirt?” I dropped my plate in the sink, and he followed right behind.
“In your washer. You know, on account of the snot and tear stains.” He laughed and smacked me on the ass before heading for the laundry room.
I NEVER WANTED TO BE A FRENCH FRY so bad in my life. Lost in thought, or some kinky food fantasy, Slade rubbed a potato stick across her bottom lip, her glossy eyes aimed somewhere over my shoulder.
“You gonna eat that?” I teased. “Or is that a new lip gloss trend?”
“Hmmm?” She continued with the slow rub across her mouth.
Dear God, I wanted to jump across the table and lick the grease off her fingers. I’d chosen a booth in the darkest corner of the bar, for privacy, and because I was selfish and didn’t want to share her with anyone. Damn dress made it difficult to remember what I’d wanted to discuss. The floral print fabric squished her tits into two perfect, succulent mounds. It well and truly sucked that someone else had tasted those glorious breasts. That thought alone filled me with murderous rage.
“Slade.” I flicked a chunk of ice at her chest, hitting her cleavage dead-center.
She jumped and dropped the fry on her plate. “Sorry. What?”
“Where were you just now?”
“Oh. Um.” She dabbed her breasts with a napkin, unconsciously sliding her foot against mine under the table. “Do you remember the first time your mom caught us making out?”
“We were hiding in the utility closet.” I’d never seen Mom look so disgusted with me. “She told Dad to take you home, but you said, No, thank you. I’ve got my own ride, and then you stole my bike.”
“Borrowed,” she corrected. “Yeah. How old were we? Eleven? Twelve?”
“Twelve.” I remembered that day well. I’d jerked off in my room three times that afternoon. A new record.
Her eyes danced. “When I got home, Mom was laughing hysterically. She said Marta had called and told her to keep her whore of a daughter away from her son.”
I cringed. Slade had never shared that story with me.
“My mom hugged me and said, ‘He’s a keeper, sweetie. Even I can see that. You hold on tight to Tango. Marta Rossi can kiss our white-trash asses.’”
“Your mom said that?”
Slade nodded and gestured to the waitress for another beer. “Do you want to know why we never locked our front door?”
I nodded and sat back in my chair. I’d always assumed they’d left the door open because her mother was too inebriated to care. Or, that she’d left it open so her nightly visitors didn’t have to ring the doorbell and wake Slade.
“She left it open for you. She knew we couldn’t stay away from each other and didn’t want you hurting yourself by climbing through the window. That’s why she left the door unlocked.”
“No shit,” I mumbled. A dull ache rolled through my stomach and rose to my chest.
“Part of me always thought you’d come back. Hoped, maybe, that you’d sneak back into my room in the middle of the night and make everything okay. I never got into the habit of locking it.” She shook her head and fiddled with a napkin. “It’s stupid, I know. We could’ve just given you a key.”
She may as well have stabbed me with a jagged knife. After I’d ripped her heart out, in a drunken, self-pity fueled tantrum, then disappeared, she’d still wanted me to come home to her. Fucking hell.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s a good thing. I mean, not the way it happened, but the fact that you left. I relied on you too much. You were my everything. You would’ve taken care of me, and I would’ve let you. I would’ve always been your girl and would’ve never known who I could be on my own.”
The waitress brought our beers, and I drew a long drink, waiting for her to clear earshot before calling bullshit. “That’s a fucking lie and you know it. I tried to look after you. You took care of yourself, your mom, that piece of shit house you live in. You even took care of me. If anything, you made me want to work harder.” I shook my head and took a cleansing breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep up with you? To be worthy?”
“Worthy?” She leaned forward, pressing her chest against the table. “Are you kidding me? You were king of the high school. The town’s golden boy. Football star, valedictorian, mister popularity, Carlos Rossi’s son. Nobody understood why you wasted your time with me.”
That pissed me off. I clenched my fists under the table so as not to break my glass. “You understood why, and that’s the only thing that matters. Everyone else can go to hell.”
She glared at me for a long, uncomfortable spell. “Seems they were right all along.”
“Don’t say shit like that. We loved—”
“We were young,” she interrupted.
“We were lucky,” I countered, then shook my head. “Not lucky. Blessed. We were fucking babies, and we knew. We knew we were it for each other.” I stopped there, because arguing was pointless, and I was only making myself angry. I’d fucked everything up. Nobody but me. Being home, facing my demons, only confirmed how desperately I needed to win her back.
Slade turned her head and chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes fixed on something behind the bar. I averted my gaze, too. The longer I stared at the blonde beauty, the more savage my hunger grew.
“I’ll be right back,” Slade interrupted my downward spiral of thoughts. “Need to use the ladies’ room.”
She got up, and I watched her sway, with her natural sexy glide, toward the restroom. I wasn’t the only one appreciating her, either. She didn’t seem to notice any of the lewd comments directed at her as she passed between tables of drunk assholes.
I heard buzzing and looked down. Her cell phone sat next to her plate, lit up with a picture of the large blond douche holding Rocky upside down by his ankles. Seeing a picture of another man on her phone made my blood boil. The fact that he was holding her son downright pissed me off. Naturally, I did what any responsible dickhead who needed to size up the competition would do, and violated her privacy. I pressed the answer button but didn’t say a word.
“Mom?” Rocky’s raspy voice cut straight to my heart. Hadn’t expected him to be on the other end of the call.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Rocky.”
“Uncle Tuck. Uncle Tuck. You dialed the wrong number,” Rocky shouted, panic in his voice.
“Rocky. It’s me, Tango,” I said, trying to calm him.
“Tango?”
“Yeah. Your mom went to the bathroom. She’ll be right back. How’s it going, buddy?”
“Oh.” Short breaths blew through the receiver.
“How’s camp?”
“Grandpa said we can’t go camping, but he’s taking me fishing.”
My heart rate spiked. “Grandpa?”
“I’m at Grandma and Grandpa’s house with Uncle Tucker.”
A man’s voice ordered him to hand over the phone.
“No,” Rocky shouted. “It’s my friend, Tango.”
I heard a door slam, then pounding.
“Guess what, Tango. I brought my football with me. I can throw it through the tire swing now.”
“That’s great, Rocky. Listen. I gotta hang up, but I’ll tell your mom you called, okay?” I tapped the end button and squeezed the phone.
Secrets. Lies. I fucking hated them. Coming from Slade? Betrayal had never cut so deep.
After disassembling her phone, I dropped it on the floor at my feet, smashed it under the heel of my boot and kicked it across the floor. I slipped the battery behind my seat and tucked the SD card into my pocket.
“Camp, my ass,” I grumb
led under my breath. Grandparents? Uncle Tucker? Far as I knew, Slade had no living relatives.
What the fuck was she hiding? What was she afraid of?
I would get to the bottom of this shit if it killed me. I owed her that much.
When she returned from the bathroom, I met her halfway and dragged her to the dance floor. She didn’t protest, but judging by the grimace she wore, she wasn’t too pleased either. I didn’t give a shit, honestly. Other men ogled her like the star attraction at a strip club. She was with me. I’d make that clear to every dumbass in the place.
Then, I’d make it clear to Slade.
I’d prove to her that side by side was the only place we belonged.
Even if it took the rest of my life.
Life certainly had a way of slapping you upside the head with ugly reminders of the past. Growing up, I’d hoped to be Tango’s dance partner during his mother’s classes. To make him proud. To make her proud. I’d worked extra hours to afford the lessons. I didn’t love ballroom dancing—too many rules. Nonetheless, I’d loved dancing and I’d loved Tango. His mother had made him assist after school in her studio. Where he’d been, I’d wanted to be. I’d also hoped that if I’d participated and worked hard, Marta Rossi would see past my social status and fall in love with me as her son had.
What a naive fool.
Marta had never let Tango partner with me during class. She would scold me for wearing the wrong shoes, or some days ignore me altogether. She had made me dance with Donnie Simmons, the kid with the perpetual cold and runny nose. She had forced Tango to demonstrate with Kaylee over and over, saying in her heavy accent, “See Slade. That’s how you do it. Good Kaylee. Very good.”
It was only after Tango had threatened to stop dancing that Marta had backed off. He had jeopardized his relationship with his mom for me. I had never asked him to, had never voiced how much she’d hurt me, but he knew and had put a stop to it. That was how he had loved me. That was the kind of boy Tango had been.
As I now did with Rocky, Tango had never let a day pass without stealing a moment for a dance. Despite his mother’s attempts at keeping us apart, he had always found a way to sweep me off my feet. Sometimes slow and close, but most days wild and crazy.
He had often surprised me in the hallway between classes, sneaking up behind me and whispering, “Have you danced today?” Then he would make a show of it, for the world to see, kiss me, and be on his way.
I stood on the dance floor of Jackson’s Pub, in the arms of the only man I’d ever wanted to dance with, pulled tight against the hard planes of his body. It was home. My home. Painful emotions taunted me. The more we danced, the more those bad thoughts faded, and before long, I was filled to the brim with nothing but good memories. The games we’d played. Dancing on the docks under the moonlight. Stolen kisses in the bleachers of the football field. Our marathon study sessions in my room. Swimming, laughing, planning our futures.
Heavy techno music played on the speakers, but Tango held me close and moved to a rhythm all his own, rolling his hips, guiding me through the tangle of sweaty bodies. Power. Grace. Sexuality. He was all those things and more. So much more.
I could let go for one night. I could pretend, for a few hours, that I, like most people my age, didn’t have the weight of the world on my shoulders. Right then, right there, I had my best friend back, I had a buzz, and I was surrounded by people who just wanted to dance. I needed to let loose. I deserved a night of mindless bliss.
I pushed away from Tango, not too far, and let go—of the worry, the fear, the sadness. I danced, like I did when alone at The Stop. I closed my eyes, absorbed the harsh beat, and I fucking danced. I didn’t care what I looked like, who watched, who I bumped into or ground my ass against.
When I looked up at him the first time, Tango stood with arms crossed, shock and awe on his face. I didn’t care. When I looked up again, he was right there with me. Moving like he needed the release as much as I did, wearing a carefree smile full of teenage charm. Before long, I was in his arms again, his lips were on my neck, his hands tangled in my hair, and then he kissed me. Hard and rough. Sweaty. Hungry. I fisted his shirt, pulling him closer. I didn’t care. Fuck being the good girl. I wanted bad, lustful, greedy passion. Needed him. Ached to be wanted by him again, to show him that I wanted him, too.
The music stopped. The DJ announced he was taking a break, and Tango’s lips left mine. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and led me back to our table.
The waitress brought two shots of dark liquor. “From your fan club.” She nodded to a table of girls.
Tango had always been a chick-magnet. It had never bothered me. He was the kind of beautiful that made your heart ache. He had also been the kind of loyal that never gave me cause to question who his heart belonged to.
Until prom night, anyway.
I didn’t ask what the shot glass was filled with. I threw it back and ordered more.
“Take it easy, babylove,” Tango warned.
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped at him. “You don’t get to call me babylove anymore.”
I ordered another round of drinks, and Tango handed the waitress a fifty-dollar bill. “Bring water too, please. Bottled if you have it.”
When she returned, I grabbed the hard drinks, while she set the bottles of water in front of Tango.
“Don’t worry, I know my limit,” I lied. I’d never been drunk, but I liked the way it made me feel brave. I cared about nothing but the here and now. I stood and moved to his side of the table. I straddled him and settled on his lap, my knees pushing into the vinyl of his bench seat. His hand slid around my waist, and he pushed the table back to make room. Then he gripped my ass and squeezed.
“What are you doing?” he moaned, tilting his chin to bring our mouths dangerously close to touching.
“We are going to toast.” I handed him the shot and clinked our glasses together. “To our past. To our futures. You’re going to kiss me. Then you’re going to take me home and you are going to make love to me. I need you. Just once, to get you out of my system.”
“Slade,” he whispered, shaking his head. His erection swelled beneath me. I imagined what it would be like to take him there, in our dark corner of the bar. No one would be the wiser. I could unbutton his jeans, pull my panties to the side, and slide his cock inside me. No one would know.
I pressed my finger against his thick, moist lips. “Shhh. Please, Tango. Do this for me. For goodbye.”
“No.” He brushed my hand away. “Not when you’re drunk.”
I slammed my drink, choking on the burn, and dropped the empty glass on the floor. He set his aside, untouched.
I watched the inner struggle play out on his face. Lips drawing tight, brows crinkling, gaze darting from my eyes, to my chest, to my lips. He wanted me.
He cupped my cheeks with large, warm palms, and pulled my face closer to his. “I’m going to drive you home now. I won’t come in, and I will not kiss you, because if I taste you again, I won’t stop at your lips. But I’m not saying goodbye. Not yet.”
His noble rejection was a hot poker to my chest. I slid off his lap and helped myself to his shot glass. The liquid burned my throat, my stomach, made my head spin. I knew I’d regret behaving irresponsibly, but I didn’t care.
I smiled at the boy, the man who owned my heart and soul, and backed away, narrowing my eyes at him. The music started back up, and I wanted to be young and free for a while longer. I blew Tango a kiss and made my way through the sweaty, sexed-up bodies to the center of the dance floor.
I’d make him regret telling me no.
What man in his right mind would tell that girl no? It was obvious Slade was shitfaced, or well on her way, but she wanted me, and were I not certain she’d regret it in the morning, I could’ve taken her right there in our dark little corner. My every fantasy come true.
My plan was to watch her dance until my dick deflated, then take her home before she passed out drunk, but the horny ba
stard wouldn’t cooperate. Damn, the girl could move, and neither one of my heads worked right when she stood front and center.
The vultures circled her on the crowded dance floor. One had already swooped in for a peck. She’d held her own and swatted him away. I waited and watched, from my dark perch, my heart swelling every time she glanced my direction. She danced for me. My own private show.
A commotion at the bar’s entrance drew my attention away for a nanosecond. People gathered around, but the bouncers seemed to have things under control.
No way was I about to take my eyes off Slade. The way her hair fell around her neck and bounced along with her tits made my balls tighten. When she smiled, I swear it was like Christmas, my birthday, and winning the State Championship all rolled into one. My heart damn near exploded in my chest.
I had to get her home, tuck her safely in bed, and get my ass far away. I needed to screw my head on straight. I wouldn’t hurt her again, but shit, how long would I be able to resist my blue-eyed beauty? I was a man, after all.
Giving zero fucks about my erection, I rose from the chair. As I made my way toward her, a tattooed motherfucker stepped behind Slade, wrapped his arms around her middle, and pulled her ass against his groin. The room around me turned red, as I watched her struggle to push his arms off. My inner switch, the one I hadn’t engaged since my last fight, toggled from calm to nuclear rage.
His hands slithered higher, and when she tried wiggling free of his grip, he pressed his mouth to her ear. Fear darkened her gorgeous features, and I charged, fury slamming through me. Blood was about to spill.
One strike knocked him to the ground. Unfortunately, the dick was nothing but coward, pulling Slade down with him, using her first as a shield, then a cushion. Her cry of pain sent a whirlwind of blind rage from my core to my limbs.
Before he could gain his bearings, my fingers tightened around his throat, and I pulled the fucker off my girl. Slade rolled out of the way, clutching her right hand to her chest.
Truck Stop Tango Page 8
