by J. M. Paul
I turn on him so fast, my head spins, and he steps back.
“She’s been my best friend for over twelve years. I think I understand what Cami does and doesn’t need.” I jab him in the shoulder. It’s becoming my thing. “So, don’t stand there and act like you know her better than I do because you’re wrong!” I yell so loudly a few nosy passersby turn their attention toward us. I stare them down with disdain until they move on to mind their own business.
My heart pounds in my head, and my stomach turns. If I don’t eat soon, I know the next thing to come out of my mouth will be vomit on Connor’s black Vans.
Which he deserves.
“Noel—”
I lift my hand between us. “Just stop, okay? I’m exhausted, I feel like shit, and I can’t deal with you right now.” My shoulders sag as my eyes close, and I rub at my temples to try to relieve this throbbing headache. “I’ve asked you to leave me alone, and I’d appreciate it if you did.”
He’s quiet for longer than he’s ever been quiet, so I lift my lids to see him observing me seriously.
“Okay,” he says so softly, I can barely hear him over the revving engines and doors slamming as people get in and out of their cars.
“Okay?” That’s the easiest he’s given in, although I think I had to ask about three times for him to finally agree to let me be.
“Yeah.”
“Well … good.” I climb behind the wheel and reach to grab the door, but Connor’s standing in my way.
“I’ll put your name on the list in case you change your mind.” He leans in and brushes a stray hair from my face. “Feel better, Journal Girl.” With a tender smile, he closes the door, and walks away.
Once again, I’m not sure how I find myself in a situation I don’t want to be in.
That’s a load of crap.
My closest friend’s performing what could be the biggest gig of her life, and there’s no way I’d miss it. Especially over some stupid guy I barely know.
A guy who happens to be behind the bar, trying to covertly assess me every chance he gets.
Connor was right; Black FriYAY is a popular night at Harry’s. This place is packed from wall to wall, and the mass of bodies, heat, and sex endorphins zinging through the air makes my skin buzz. If any of those hit me, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do if the delectable off-limits man-meat behind the bar is in the vicinity. My body’s not doing an honor student’s overachieving job of ignoring him.
I scribble in my notebook and try to figure out why Cami didn’t tell me how important this performance could be for her career. She understands the holidays are rough for me and that my friend skills are never top-notch this time of year, but she should realize she’s more important than the demons I wrestle.
“Lunar!” Trey slides into the recently vacated stool next to me. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“I’m not here for you,” I say without glancing up. My article for the magazine is due Monday morning, and I’m having a hard time polishing the final draft.
Trey leans closer. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll still enjoy the view.”
I release a distracted huff.
“Whatcha writing?” Trey snags the notebook from my hands.
Eyes as big as Christmas bulbs, I watch in horror as he attempts to focus on my words in this dim light. My heart starts to race, my stomach flips on itself, and my armpits and hands begin to sweat.
He can’t read that article. There’s a reason I do my freelance writing under a pen name. I’m able to tackle the difficult subjects because I have a cloak of anonymity wrapped tightly around me. It’s tough to point fingers at an invisible target.
“Give it back, Trey.” I try to make my voice sound stern and uncaring, but the quiver at the end deceives me.
“My, my, my, what do we have here, Lunar?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You look a little distraught.” He waves my journal just out of reach. “What kind of secrets are you hiding, pretty girl?”
“Trey.” It’s a warning. “Stop being a dick and give it to me now.”
“Mmm,” he hums. “I love when the ladies beg for my dick.” The corner of his mouth stretches up into a cocky smirk.
I scowl, unamused.
He laughs once and tips his head to the side.
“What’s this worth to you?” Trey jiggles the notebook.
More than you can understand.
I lower my chin and glare at him, my face as still and as hard as stone.
“Okay, Lunar, I’ll tell you what.” Trey drops my story to the bar—still out of my reach—and traps it underneath his hand.
My attention never wavers from those papers.
“I’ll give this back to you without reading, but”—he sits forward—“you’ll owe me one. A big one since the look on your face tells me, if I did read this, I’d probably learn a few dark secrets about you.”
My eyes snap to his.
“You’re not as innocent as you want everyone to believe, are you?”
I continue to stare at him, unsure of what to say. He’s right; if anyone knew I wrote the articles I pen, I would more than likely lose everything I have left—which isn’t much nowadays. I need every aspect of the good that remains in my life.
I reach around him and grab the journal out from under his distracted grasp.
“Whatever, Trey.”
My heart starts to calm slightly, and I shove the pages into my bag, zipping it nice and tight.
“Remember, you owe me.” Trey arches a brow.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll never let me forget,” I gripe.
“You can bet a Ben Franklin on that,” he whispers in my ear.
I smack him, and he leans back in his stool, chuckling deeply.
“You’re seriously demented.” I point up and down my body. “This is a no-go zone, buddy. So, keep your hands inside your cart at all times.”
“I’ve never been any good at following rules, Lune.” He winks.
I open my mouth to retort with a witty comeback, but it’s cut off by a loud smack on the bar. Trey and I both turn to see Connor standing before us, laying down a pretty good death stare.
“Hey, bro. How’s the working life going?” Trey teases Connor.
Connor’s fiery jade eyes pin Trey to the spot, and Trey’s smile broadens. Something’s being communicated between the two that I’m not privy to.
“Why’d you ask for the night off if your sorry ass was going to hang out here anyway?” Connor barks.
“Eh”—Trey shrugs—“I wanted to drink without the guilt of being on shift and to check out the fine feline findings.” He slings his arm around my shoulders. “But this tomcat doesn’t have to stray far from his stool. I’ve already found myself a warm, purring pussycat.”
“Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head. Smacking my hands against Trey’s chest, I shove him off of me and scrunch my face in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Come on, kitty, don’t play shy now.” He winks at me again.
I want to ask if he has some weird type of eye twitch, but I think better of engaging him in any unnecessary interaction.
“What do you want to drink?” Connor asks impatiently.
“I’ll have the house brew,” Trey answers immediately.
“Noel?” Connor’s attention turns to me.
“Water.”
“Not that again.” Connor stands straight and crosses his thick arms over his broad chest. “It’s Friday night.”
I cock a brow. “Do you not remember my mood earlier?”
“Ever heard of hair of the dog?” He arches a dark brow right back.
“Yes, and I’ve also heard of a throat punch,” I snarl. “Shouldn’t you go check on your lemons and limes? You don’t want them to get lonely.”
Trey’s attention swings back and forth, watching our exchange.
Connor shakes his head. “Someone’s mood hasn’t improved.”
“No thank
s to you,” I grumble.
Connor finally gets the hint and leaves.
“Damn. You could’ve cut that sexual tension with a feather.” Trey adjusts himself in his stool to face me.
“That was called animosity.” My eyes roam the filled bar in search of Cami. One look at the clock on my phone tells me she’s running about twenty minutes late. Typical.
“It’s the same thing.” Trey scratches his chest. “I haven’t seen him look at a girl the way he looks at you since—”
“Hey, bitches!” Cami drops her bag on the bar between Trey and me and sets her guitar case on the ground. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She wraps me in a one-armed hug.
“It’s a big night for you, CC. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She should know that.
Cami plants a smacking kiss on my cheek and then picks up her guitar case. “All righty-dighty. Smack my ass for good luck, so I can show these music gurus what real talent sounds like.” Cami bends over slightly, and I oblige.
“Woo-woo! That was a good one.” She shakes her bum a little. “Love you in case I die,” she says before she jets up to the stage and microphone to warm up.
“Love you in case I die,” I yell at her retreating back.
“Here we go.” Connor sets a frosty mug of draft beer in front of Trey and a glass of water and what looks to be a Bloody Mary in front of me.
“I told you, I only wanted water.” I shove the red concoction with a miniature buffet spear protruding from the glass back toward Connor.
“Just shut your trap and drink it. It won’t kill you.” Connor pushes it back in front of me. “It’ll make you feel better.”
We glare at each other without words, without blinking, and without breathing on my end. He’s so damn sexy when he’s being pushy.
Why is it always a battle of wills when we’re around each other? And why do I like it so damn much?
“Um, Lunar?” Trey asks.
“What?”
I break the staredown to turn in Trey’s direction. His attention is focused somewhere behind me. His face is scrunchy, and it looks like his tighty-whities are possibly cutting off circulation to the royal jewels. His big feet hit the floor with a muffled thump as he stands.
Trey’s panicked eyes dart to mine, back behind me, and then trap me again.
“Stand up.” He waves his arm at me several times, like it will make me unplaster my butt from the wooden seat its attached to.
“No.” It comes out like a pouty two-year-old.
“Lunar, stand up,” he says really fast. “Please.”
When I stay firmly planted on my stool, he yanks me out of it.
“What the hell, dude?” I shove at him but to no avail.
“Remember how you owe me one?” Trey asks quietly.
“Yeah, yeah.” I sweep my hand at him, brushing off the stupid favor I don’t plan on repaying.
I try to sit back down, but his grasp is too firm.
“I need you to pay up. Now,” he says in a rush.
“What are you talking ab—”
My statement is cut off by Trey plastering his lips to mine in a searing kiss.
Overcompensating
Trey tastes like beer, pickles, and desperation.
The combination isn’t horrible, but it’s not the stuff dreams are made of.
It’s been a while since I’ve had any kind of romantic action, so against my better judgment, I allow the kiss to continue for a few more seconds than it should. Trey’s lips are soft but wet and overanxious. The affection is pleasurable but not earth-shattering.
When my brain snaps out of its fog, I shove at Trey’s resistive chest. He’s going all in, and I have no idea why. This seems a little above and beyond a simple you owe me one.
“Stop, Trey,” I say against his insistent lips and push against him again. This time, he lets me break our kiss, but he keeps me firmly wrapped in his embrace. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What the fuck?” I hear Connor say from beside us.
I imagine he witnessed quite a show, and he’s about to receive the full experience for his admission.
I raise my hand to smack Trey, but he’s faster than me and catches it mid-sweep. Clasping his hand around my wrist, he places my palm over his heart and traps me between him and the bar.
“What the hell are you doing?” I struggle against him.
“Let her go, Trey,” Connor demands.
Trey’s eyes sweep up to Connor in warning. When he looks back at me, his expression is pleading.
“I apologize for taking advantage of you. I promise I’ll explain later,” he says quietly. “Just play along.”
He jerks his head behind him, but I don’t bother to peer around his bulky frame.
“What are you talking about?” I shove him.
“Trey.” That’s Connor again.
“Mind your own business, bro. This is between me and Lunar,” Trey warns.
“I will not mind my own fucking business. Noel asked you to stop. Let her go.” Connor’s tone is angry.
If the bar wasn’t separating the two guys, I’d hate to think what would happen.
Trey’s eyes beg me.
“It’s fine, Connor. Trey’s right; this is between us.” I jolt Trey back about an inch to get some breathing room.
It takes a few seconds, but I hear Connor growl and then ask a customer down the way if they want another drink. My back is to him, but I can feel Connor’s attention on me.
“Why the hell did you just kiss me?” I ask between clenched teeth.
“I have an insane stalker ex, and she’s here.” He jerks his head again to indicate a space behind him.
My eyes survey the bar for crazy, but there is a mass of women here.
“She’s the leggy blonde in the red dress.” Trey doesn’t turn from me.
At his explanation, my gaze lands on a pretty girl with big hair, wearing a skintight red party dress that screams she’s trying way too hard. Her attention is trained on me, and if her look were a car, I would be roadkill.
“Do you see her?” Trey shifts slightly, causing our bodies to graze one another’s again.
“Oh, I see her all right, and I’m being cursed with a thousand deaths.” I crinkle my forehead.
“I’ve no doubt. Sorry to make you her new target,” Trey says sheepishly.
Deciding on the spot to have a little fun, I wrap my arms around Trey’s neck and cinch one hand into his blond hair. It’s thick but crusty from too much styling gel.
Trey’s eyes go wide.
“How much do you dislike this ex of yours?” I gaze up at him, as if he were chocolate and I were PMSing.
My acting skills are Oscar worthy, if I do say so myself.
Maybe I went into the wrong profession. Instead of spending all my time and money on writers conferences, I should have gone to acting school. I could be living the high life in Hollywood with two ex-husbands already brushed to the side, a little dog I push around in a stroller, and a stint or two in rehab for exhaustion under my belt.
“I loathe her.” Trey shivers in mock horror.
“Well then, let’s give her a show she won’t forget.” I lift up onto my toes and seal my lips to his again.
This time, it’s Trey who’s taken aback by my brashness, but in no time, he loosens up. He tips his head to get a better angle of my mouth and places his hands on my butt, pulling me closer.
Again, the kiss is pleasant and warm, and Trey seems to be putting forth a little more effort this time around.
“Mmm,” Trey hums.
His tongue runs along the seal of my lips, waiting and asking for permission. I have nothing to lose, so I allow him entry. The experience is nice, but it doesn’t cause fireworks to explode in my head—or anywhere else in my body.
A throat clears loudly behind us. Trey gives me a couple of pecks on the lips before pulling back and gazing down at me with hearts in his eyes.
Shit. I never meant to
lead him on, only to help him with his unwanted stalker.
“Do you need to get a room?” That’s Connor’s angry voice behind me.
Trey tosses him a sly grin. “If we do, I know where the supply closet is.”
I shake my head and playfully smack him as I move away.
“Dream on, sucker. I was only helping you ditch the unwelcome lurker over there.” Swinging my attention in her direction, I see Blondie’s face has gone red in anger.
Blondie approaches us. “Trey.”
Trey’s shoulders drop, and his face hardens as he turns in her direction. “Lis. What an unpleasant surprise,” Trey says it in such a way that it leaves no doubt he’s not the least bit shocked to see her.
Lis’s burning eyes bounce back and forth between me and Trey and then land on him. She pops out her hip and props her hands on her tiny waist. “We need to talk,” she snarls.
“I’ve already said everything there is to say.” Trey stands tall.
“You’ve said your piece, but I deserve a chance to say mine, Trey.” Her fiery spunk turns into dejection.
Lis’s eyes seem glossy, like she’s fighting back tears. My bet would be those tears are phony. Classic girl move to get the guy.
Trey sighs and flings his arm in the air. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”
Lis’s head jerks back, and she blinks a couple of times. “Um”—her gaze lands on me and then back on Trey—“can we go somewhere a little more … private?”
Trey runs a hand down his face. “Whatever.”
He brushes around Lis and walks out toward the restrooms. She follows close on his heels.
I turn with a small smile at Trey’s torture but stop dead when I find Connor scowling at me.
“What?” I climb back onto my stool.
“Was that necessary?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Was what necessary?” I grab my water and take a long swallow.
“Playing tonsil hockey in the middle of the bar with my best friend.” Connor’s jaw tics.
I spin the straw around the frosty Bloody Mary Connor delivered earlier and debate on if I should drink it. My parents always taught me never to waste good food, and since this basically has a buffet on a stick protruding from the glass, I assume their opinions wouldn’t change.
