by Sabrina York
Kristi laughed and nodded at Cam, who was snoozing on the sofa. “Nothing. Wanna watch a movie?”
No. She didn’t. “I, ah, thought I’d go to Darby’s.”
Kristi’s eyes glimmered. “To Darby’s?”
“Yeah.” She looked down and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “Or next door. Devlin might be there.”
“Hmm.” Kristi took a sip of her drink. Cocoa, judging from the pouf of whipped cream on her nose. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind. You probably shouldn’t be wandering around alone at night.”
“It’s safe here.”
“I know. But I’d feel better if we came with you.”
“We?”
Kristi nudged Cam awake. “Wh-what?” he sputtered.
“Get up. We’re going to Darby’s.”
“I thought we were staying in.”
“Tara’s here. We’re going to Darby’s.”
“Or next door,” she murmured under her breath. But they both missed it.
“Hookay.” Cam heaved himself off the sofa and got ready to go. And for Cam, the process of getting ready to go consisted of brushing off his shirt. “Let’s hit it.”
It was a nice, moonlit night, so the path was clear. “I really didn’t need company,” she said, flicking a quick glance at Ash’s house as they passed. It was dark. Okay. Maybe the bar was a good idea after all.
The lights of town appeared in the distance. Music and laughter and the crack of a pool shot reached out to greet them. As they neared, butterflies arose to clash in her belly. Seriously? Who knew butterflies could be so violent.
And why she was so nervous, she had no clue.
There was no reason to be nervous. None at all. She was going to Darby’s with her friends—something she’d done a thousand times—and she might see a guy she knew.
Lordy. Definitely nervous.
She stepped inside and scanned the crowd. She saw Devlin’s friends in the back with two women, but of Devlin there was no—
There he was. On the other side of the restaurant by the bar.
Her heart leaped. Then thudded once. Then seized.
Devlin wasn’t alone. He was talking to Charmaine, leaning in close. Too close for a casual conversation.
Then he hugged her. Hugged her tight.
And if that weren’t horrifying enough, he rubbed against her like a jungle cat in heat.
Charmaine pulled away and then led him into the shadows, into a back room.
The door closed behind them.
“Tara? Tara, honey, are you okay?” She was vaguely aware of Kristi’s presence at her side. She tried to make a noise, but it came out like a wheeze. She was paralyzed. Pole axed. Devastated.
How could he? How could he?
Oh, a nasty voice in the back of her head mocked, he could. They’d never made a commitment to each other. Never promised to be monogamous. The topic had never even come up.
Casual sex. Fuck buddies. No relationship. No strings attached.
What idiocy.
She didn’t understand the hot wind whipping through her. Or the red tide clouding her vision. Was utterly unfamiliar with the sudden blinding urge to snatch a blonde-headed bitch bald. But she knew what it was, this emotion.
It was jealousy. And it was fierce.
“We need to go. Now.” Kristi, again, from the fog.
“What?” Cam squawked. “But we just got here.”
Kristi ignored him and put her arm around Tara, leading her back into the shadows of the night. Tara followed, because she couldn’t not. Couldn’t even function without her guidance. Behind them, she heard Cam blow out a breath and mutter, “Oh, all right.”
And that was the last word any of them spoke until they reached the house.
“Here you go. This will make you feel better.” Kristi thrust a mug at her. Tara stared at the pouf of whipped cream.
“It’s cocoa.” Cocoa wouldn’t make her feel better.
“I know.”
“I wanted gin.”
“Try this first. It will warm you. You’re like ice.” She was cold. She didn’t know why, except for the fact that her heart had frozen up like a Popsicle.
Obediently, she sipped. Warmth flooded her, but not enough to defrost that wedge of ice in her chest.
“Isn’t it yummy?” Kristi was a firm believer in the recuperative powers of hot chocolate. Apparently, she’d never tried gin.
“Mmm.”
“Oh, Tara. I am so sorry,” she said, dropping down on the sofa beside her.
She’d sent Cam out to the lone grocery store on the island to pick up some coffee. He’d thrown up his hands and muttered, “We just got back,” but he’d gone. And they were alone.
“I’m okay. Really.” If she ignored the tear trying to escape the corner of her eye, maybe Kristi wouldn’t notice.
She did, and dabbed it with a thumb. “He’s a jerk. You’re better off without him.”
Tara sighed. “It’s not his fault, Kristi.”
“What do you mean it’s not his fault? I saw what was going on there. You can’t deny what we saw.” She didn’t add, what’s happening right now in the back room of Darby’s Bar and Grill, but it skulked behind her words.
Tara pretended her shudder was from the cold and took another sip of cocoa. “We don’t have an understanding.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t have an understanding. He’s free as a bird. Free to do as he pleases…” The horror of that thought racked her. She should have pinned him down. At least a little.
Kristi shook her head and wrapped her arms around Tara’s shoulder. “Oh, honey.”
“It’s okay. Really it is.” She hiccupped and then realized it was a sob.
“It doesn’t look okay. Do you…”
Tara sniffed. “Do I what?”
“Do you have feelings for him?”
Such a simple question should not cause her to puddle up so, but it did. Before she knew it, tears were falling and falling hard. One fat drop landed on her hand and she brushed it away.
“Do you?”
“K-kind of.”
“And are you going to let that waitress have him?”
Tara blinked at the fervor in Kristi’s voice. “What can I do? He’s a grown up. He can do what he wants…”
Kristi sprang to her feet. “For heaven’s sake woman, if you really like him, you have to fight for him. You have to go over there and tell him that you want him, that you want something more from him. You have to tell him. You have to show him.”
“Show him?” Tara asked plaintively. She peeped at Kristi over the lip of her mug as she took a sip of her cocoa. A pouf of whipped creamed clung to her nose. “How?”
Kristi quirked a brow and sent her a naughty smile. “How do you think?”
Chapter Twenty-One
As determined as she was, it was still mid-morning before Tara could drum up the courage to go next door and face Devlin. For one thing, she was an out-and-out coward. For another, she slept in. She hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning and agonizing over how to tell him that she wanted more than just casual sex.
He hadn’t asked for anything more. Hadn’t pushed for a commitment of any kind. Hadn’t even opened that door. When she’d suggested he work off his debt to her with meaningless casual encounters, he’d simply agreed.
Never once had he given her any indication that he wanted a relationship beyond their dare dates which, if one were completely honest with oneself, were nothing more than incredibly satisfying and occasionally outrageous booty calls.
Would he balk if she asked for more?
Could she survive that?
There was only one way to find out.
So, steeling her spine, she marched over to the house next door and knocked. When no one answered, she nearly turned tail and scampered away. She reminded herself to be brave and knocked again. Lou
der.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard heavy footsteps approach. But then, when the door swung open to reveal one of his friends—and the creepy one to boot, grinning like a loon—it sank.
“Well hello there baby.” Blech. She hated when guys called her baby.
“Yeah. Hi. Is Devlin here?”
The creep raised his arm and leaned against the doorjamb. “Devlin? What do you want with Devlin, sweet thang?” Really? A twang? Did that work? Ever?
“I would like to talk to him.”
He offered an oily smile. “Well, come on in. I’m Richie, by the way.”
She grunted in response and followed him into the house, trying not to think about the last time she’d been there. She bit her lip as they passed the spot where she and Devlin had tangled for the very first time. There. Up against the wall.
Surprisingly, there were no scorch marks.
They emerged from the hall into the airy great room and Tara glanced around. It was empty. “Where’s Devlin?”
Richie strode to the bar and pulled out two glasses. “Let me make you a drink.”
A drink? “It’s not even noon.”
He shrugged and opened a bottle and sloshed two fingers into each glass. “Just one drink. Don’t be such a party pooper.”
Oh. Was this a party? “No drink. I need to talk to Devlin. Where is he?”
Richie prowled across the room toward her. She took the proffered glass and set it on the table. He frowned at her and licked his lips and, for some unfathomable reason, leaned in way too close. “He’s not here. But I am.”
Comprehension dawned as a pair of fishy lips hovered nearer. Tara’s hand shot out and wedged against his chest, forcing him back.
“Hey baby. Don’t be so cold.” He pushed against her hand, looming.
“Don’t call me baby. And back off, buster.”
He didn’t. In fact, he advanced. “Come on, baby. You get the picture. A hot number like you coming by, dressed all sexy and shit. Looking for a man. And here I am.”
“I’m looking for Devlin. Where is he?”
Richie shrugged. “Who knows. He didn’t come home last night.”
Her heart plummeted at that. He must have spent the night…with her.
“Don’t look so sad. You must know Devlin will fuck anything in a skirt.” He laughed and edged to the side, boxing her in. He reached around to tug on her ponytail.
“Quit it.”
“It’s not like you’re his woman. Besides, I’m just tryin’ to be friendly, baby. ”
Friendly?
Friendly was not forcibly backing her up against the wall. Friendly was not grabbing her boob.
Also, friendly was not goring a guy in the nuts with a sharp knee, but she did it anyway.
His eyes crossed and he doubled over, wheezing like a rusty bellows. “Jesus, woman. What the fuck did you do that for?”
“I am his woman, baby. And when I tell you to back off, back the fuck off.”
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Relief hit her like a tsunami as Devlin’s irate bellow shook the room. She whirled around to face him and—
And he looked like hell.
“Devlin.”
“Tara.” He opened his arms and she went to him. She had to step over Richie’s prostrate form to get to him, but she did. And damn, it was nice being in his arms again. “Richie, what the fuck did you do?”
“Nothin’.” The douche picked himself up off the ground, adjusted his dented package and glared at her.
Devlin growled. A little. “Did he hurt you?” He stroked her hair.
“No.”
He glowered at his friend. “Good. You get to live.”
“Jesus, Dev, don’t be such a—”
“Out.”
“What?” A warble.
“Get. Out. Get. Out. Now.”
Something in Devlin’s tone must have resonated in his meaty skull, because Richie did just that. He grumbled and muttered as he made his way up the stairs, but he left. Thank God.
“You have the worst taste in friends,” she said.
Devlin snorted. “He’s not my friend.” Then his gaze fixed on her. “Did you mean what you said?”
She tapped her lip, as though trying to recall. “What did I say?”
“That you’re my woman.” She liked the way his voice dropped an octave, rumbled through her.
“Maybe.”
He blinked. “Maybe?”
“Did you spend the night with Charmaine?”
His lips opened and closed. “No. I slept on Darby’s couch. I had way too much to drink… Why would you think I stayed with Charmaine?”
“I saw you two together. Last night. At the bar.”
His brow wrinkled. “Oh. Yeah. She helped me into the office. Did I mention I had too much to drink?”
“And that was it? That was all?”
“Not exactly.”
Her belly flipped. “What else?”
“She gave me some advice.”
Tara pulled back and studied him. “Advice?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me I should tell you.”
“T-tell me what?”
He swallowed and sucked in a deep breath. “She told me I should tell you how much I lo— like you…”
Her heart leaped, danced at his near slip. She knew what he’d been going to say. She could see it in his eyes. It didn’t bother her that he wasn’t ready to say the words yet. She wasn’t ready to hear them. She certainly wasn’t ready to admit she might feel the same. But she was close.
To admitting it.
“Oh?” She sidled closer and fingered the neckline of his t-shirt. “And how much do you lo— like me?”
A grin broke on his face. “A lot. A really, really lot.” Their gazes met and tangled. And heat rose. “So…” He nibbled his lip. “Did you mean what you said? About being my woman?”
“I did.” She peeped up at him. “Does that make you feel uncomfortable?
“Uncomfortable?”
“I know you dislike being tied down as much me.”
“I kind of like being tied down with you.”
“You…do?”
“I wouldn’t mind being tied down by you as well, but that’s a whole other discussion.”
She snorted a laugh. “That would be pretty awesome.”
“You are pretty awesome.” His Adam’s apple worked. “But I… I would like…more with you.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said. Don’t start retreating.”
“I’m not retreating.” But she was. She could feel it. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath and pushed the old fear away.
It was time for an entirely new fear.
“I will probably always be a little…skittish.”
His hold on her tightened. “I know. I understand. But Tara, we deserve a chance. What we have is something special.”
“I know.” It was. It was something worth exploring.
“So will you do it? Will you give us a try?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” She never expected such a look of joy at so simple a declaration.
“For real? As in a relationship? A real live relationship? With strings and everything?”
She nodded and bit her tongue to keep from making a joke about ropes as well. This was probably not a good time to be flippant.
“Say it.”
“Yes. I will be your girlfriend.”
“Woo hoo!” he whooped and swung her up in his arms and twirled her around. “You are my girlfriend.”
She laughed because he said it in a sing-song voice.
And then her heart thudded hard, because he set her down and leaned closer. His playful expression changed into something hot and intense. “Prove it,” he said. “Go on. I dare you.”
Epilogue
“What are you doing?”
Devlin’s fingers fr
oze over the keyboard as a soft, warm, fragrant presence wrapped itself around him. He leaned back into her, unable to stop his grin. He’d dared her to prove she was his girlfriend, and man, did that woman take her dares seriously. She’d nearly girlfriended him to death. It had been awesome. Afterwards she’d fallen asleep, and while he’d wanted more, he’d decided she needed her rest. So he’d padded naked over to the desk to do a little work and ended up deleting some old photos from his phone. He didn’t want them. Not anymore.
“What am I doing?”
“Umm hmm.”
He tapped in a few words. “Right now?”
“Of course right now.”
“I’m writing a review.”
“Blech. Don’t you ever stop?”
He spun around in his chair to face her and barked a laugh. She was wearing his jeans. They were way too big. And obstructed the view. He tugged them off and pulled her into his lap. Her silky skin rubbed against his. He couldn’t help but explore…a little. “I like writing reviews.”
“Do ya?” She kissed him. Her mouth was delectable.
“I do.”
She ran her palm over his cheek and up to his forehead, riffling his hair. She studied him and frowned.
“What?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. There was a flicker when you said that.”
“A flicker?”
“Yeah. Like you almost didn’t believe it. Or you were trying to convince yourself it’s true.”
Damn. She was observant when she wanted to be. “I love writing reviews.”
Her brow arched. “Flicker.”
“I do…” Her scrutiny of him was ruthless. “Okay. Don’t get me wrong, I do love what I do but…”
“But?”
“But don’t you ever dream about doing something more important? Something meaningful?”
She shrugged. “Pastries are important and meaningful.”
“This is true.” He knew better than to argue with her on that point. “But I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Ah. Metaphorically. So you meant ‘you’ as in you.”
His smile might have been a little sheepish. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Well, what kind of meaningful and important thing do you dream of doing?”
“I don’t know.” He pulled her closer and tucked her head into his shoulder. She toyed with his chest hair in a most distracting way. “My brother did something very important. He joined the Army. Fought for our country. Sacrificed his legs for national security. And I… I write pointless reviews.”
