Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

  As Ava Grace lifted her head, Amelia pointed to an oval tray piled high with puffy marshmallows. “Can you take that outside and put it on the s’mores station?”

  “Sure.” Quinn evaluated the tray’s contents. “These don’t look like your average marshmallows.”

  “They’re gourmet. Three different flavors: vanilla bean, caramel swirl, and peppermint.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened with anticipation. “Now I wish I hadn’t eaten so much lasagna at dinner.”

  He slid the tray off the counter and sauntered out of the kitchen. Ava Grace brought her attention back to Amelia, who was staring at the doorway where Quinn had disappeared, a love-struck expression on her face.

  Ava Grace had never looked at any man the way her best friend looked at her husband. She’d never been in love or anything close to it.

  In fact, she’d never experienced more than mild attraction for any man … any man except Beck. There was nothing mild about the way she felt about him.

  Beck was constantly on her mind. If she were fifteen, she’d characterize her feelings as a crush. But she wasn’t a boy-crazy teenager. She’d celebrate the big three-o this year, so maybe obsession was a better word to describe her feelings.

  “This is ready to go,” Amelia announced as she picked up the graham-cracker-filled tray.

  Ava Grace took the tray. “What else needs to be done?”

  “Nothing.” Amelia tucked a coppery ringlet behind her ear. “I’m going to load up the skewers and chocolate, and I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ava Grace headed toward the deck, and as she stepped onto the wide redwood planks, Amelia called out, “AG!”

  Still moving forward, Ava Grace glanced behind her. “What?”

  “Can you make sure the little chalkboard food signs are in the right places?” Amelia requested.

  Ava Grace nodded. Before she could bring her head front and center, she slammed into something hard and unyielding. She gasped as the tray was whisked from her hands and a strong male arm wrapped around her waist.

  Instinctively extending her arms, she pushed against the broad chest with her palms until she realized it was Beck who held her. She let her arms relax, and as she looked up into his dark eyes, her stomach somersaulted.

  “You should watch where you’re going, sugar,” he advised in his rich southern drawl, his face only a couple of inches from hers.

  He was so close she could see the inky striations in his coffee-colored eyes. He was so close she could see the grain of his sooty stubble and the faint laugh lines around his eyes. He was so close she could see the smooth texture of his lips.

  He was so close…

  But not close enough.

  She sucked in a deep breath, and his scent enveloped her. Thanks to the knowledge she’d gained while working with a perfumer to create her own fragrance, she could identify the crisp, intoxicating notes of amber and cedarwood along with something just Beck.

  They stood there, their gazes locked together. Time seemed to slow, the seconds stretching like saltwater taffy.

  Finally, she said the only thing she could think of that didn’t involve his body or hers. “Thanks for saving my crackers.”

  Amusement sparked in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth kicked up in a sexy smile. “It would’ve been a crushing disappointment if you’d dropped them.”

  “A crushing disappointment?” She tipped her forehead to his chest with a heartfelt groan. “That was so lame,” she grumbled into his soft wine-colored sweater.

  He laughed quietly, his warm breath stirring her hair. His arm tightened around her waist, and he drew her closer. Leaning down, he placed his mouth against her ear. “It’s impossible to make s’mores without crackers. Wouldn’t you have felt crumb-y if you’d ruined everyone’s night?”

  She groaned again, both from the feel of his body against hers and his terrible pun. She turned her head, oh so slowly, letting his mouth skim over her cheek. She wanted his kiss so badly, but to her disappointment, he drew back before their lips touched.

  She lifted her head until she could see his face. “Beck—”

  “It’s time for s’mores,” Amelia called out.

  Beck jerked in surprise and dropped his arm from her waist. He stepped back, the tray of crackers in his big hand, and stared down at her for a heartbeat before he turned and headed toward the s’mores station on the far side of the deck.

  She watched Beck as he walked away, his tight backside covered by faded Rileys. If Amelia hadn’t interrupted her, she would’ve begged Beck to kiss her. The thought was appalling. She’d never begged any man for anything, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Amelia stopped beside Ava Grace, holding a wooden serving tray. A dozen or so skewers rested on top, along with several colorful bowls overflowing with chocolate pieces.

  “Would you take this to the s’mores station while I explain how all this is going to work?” Amelia asked.

  Just as Ava Grace reached for the tray, Beck nudged her out of the way. “I got it.”

  Amelia flashed a smile at Beck. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied before turning on his heel.

  Amelia elbowed Ava Grace in the ribs. “He likes you.”

  “Why? Because he carried a tray for me?” She scoffed. “We’re not in high school, Millie.”

  Amelia glanced at Ava Grace, her eyes round with surprise. “Your panties sure are in a bunch tonight.” She smiled ruefully. “I never ever thought I would say this, to you or anyone else, but you need to get laid.”

  “Obviously,” Ava Grace replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

  Even before American Star, Ava Grace found it difficult to trust a guy enough to let him into her life, her bed, and her body. A good therapist would say she had abandonment issues, first from her mom dying and then from her dad dumping her on her grandmother.

  Yes, Ava Grace was a country star, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have insecurities. She wasn’t like a lot of women who lacked confidence in their looks. She didn’t believe in false modesty, and she knew exactly what she looked like.

  Mother Nature had blessed her with a face and form that embodied today’s standard of beauty. They were a gift, and she appreciated them, just as she appreciated her musical gifts.

  Ava Grace’s insecurities were rooted in the need to feel worthy—worthy of esteem, worthy of friendship, and most of all, worthy of love. She’d wondered if she’d ever overcome her past, but Amelia’s relationship with Quinn gave Ava Grace hope.

  Amelia had just as many scars from her childhood, maybe more. Yet she’d found the strength to trust a man enough to fall in love and marry him.

  Of course, Quinn O’Brien wasn’t just a regular guy. He was solid.

  A solid guy did what he said he was going to do. He took care of the people he loved. And most important, he had staying power. He stuck around, even when things got ugly.

  Ava Grace wanted a solid guy like Quinn. Unfortunately, solid guys were a rare breed, kind of like snow leopards.

  Right now, Amelia’s solid guy stood next to Beck, eyeing the s’mores station like a jewel thief at Cartier. Ava Grace laughed under her breath as Quinn snatched a caramel swirl marshmallow from the tray and surreptitiously shoved it in his mouth. A second one quickly followed.

  “Quinn O’Brien!” Amelia shrieked. “Get away from those marshmallows!” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, everyone, gather ‘round.”

  The little group converged on Amelia, and she explained the s’mores-making process. When she finished, she pointed to the s’mores station. “Everything you need is over there. Let the s’mores begin.”

  Ava Grace waited patiently for her turn at the s’mores station. By the time she’d filled her plate, most of the Adirondack chairs surrounding the fire pit were taken. Only two were available, one on each side of Quinn.

  “I saved this seat for you, AG,” Quinn announced loudly, pointing to the chair on his left—the
one right next to Beck.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Beck’s marshmallow had turned a nice golden brown, so he pulled it from the fire pit and carefully removed it from the skewer. Hot to the touch, the melted marshmallow oozed over his fingers as he placed it on the chocolate and graham cracker stack.

  “What kind of s’more are you making?” Ava Grace asked.

  As he pressed a graham cracker on top of the marshmallow, he thought about ignoring her question. He didn’t want to be drawn into conversation with her. It was bad enough he had to sit next to her and pretend not to notice the lacy waistband of her pastel pink panties when she leaned forward to toast her marshmallow.

  Good manners eventually prevailed. “I’m a traditionalist. Plain graham crackers, milk chocolate, and vanilla marshmallow.” He sucked the marshmallow from his fingers before asking, “What about you?”

  “I’m a non-traditionalist,” she answered with a smile, rotating her skewer over the fire pit. “Chocolate graham crackers, dark chocolate, and peppermint marshmallow.”

  “That’s adventurous,” he gibed.

  She glanced at him, the flames of the fire bringing out the gold in her eyes. “Under the right circumstances, I can be very adventurous.”

  “Hmm,” he replied noncommittally while his cock demanded to know two things: what were the right circumstances, and how adventurous was very adventurous?

  He looked toward the fire pit, and when he noticed her marshmallow was getting a little too done, he tapped her forearm. “Your marshmallow’s burning.”

  She immediately pulled it from the flames and began to ease it from the skewer. She hissed when gooey marshmallow got all over her hand.

  “Dang, that’s hot,” she murmured, raising her fingers to her mouth.

  As she licked the pink stickiness from them, blood rushed to his groin, his cock throbbing with every beat of his heart. He mentally reminded himself to avoid situations that involved Ava Grace and sticky or creamy foods.

  In fact, he needed to avoid all situations that involved Ava Grace. Period.

  He couldn’t think straight with her around. Earlier this evening, he’d almost kissed her, and a crazy, stupid part of him—his dick—wished he hadn’t pulled back. His dick wanted to know if she tasted as good as she smelled … if her petal-pink lips were as soft as they looked.

  Trying not to think about her mouth and all the adventurous things she could do with it, he took a big bite of his s’more. As he chewed, he tried to recall the last time he’d eaten one. Probably back in high school, before everything turned to shit.

  “You seem to be an expert marshmallow toaster,” Ava Grace noted, a teasing lilt in her husky voice. “How’d you gain that experience?”

  “I went camping a lot when I was little, and we always toasted marshmallows over the fire.”

  The memory made him a little sad. Even after all these years, he still missed his dad. Nothing could fill that void.

  “So you learned by example,” she said as she built her s’more.

  “I guess you could say that.” He leaned back in the Adirondack chair and propped his ankle on his knee. “Did you go camping when you were a kid?”

  “No. I’ve never been camping. But I’d like to go someday. Sleeping under the stars sounds so romantic.” She flashed a teasing smile at him. “Maybe you can take me.”

  Strangely, the thought of taking Ava Grace camping sounded like fun. He had no doubt she’d have plenty to say about the outing, and she’d deliver those observations in that sexy, wry tone that both amused and aroused him.

  And after the sun went down, he’d build a blazing fire and stretch out under the stars. He’d pull her on top of him and watch her as she rode him, her head thrown back, her eyes shut, and her thick hair streaming behind her.

  Fuck.

  “Sleeping under the stars is not as romantic as it sounds,” he growled, trying to convince himself. “The ground is hard, and the bugs are vicious.”

  Her smile widened. “How else am I going to achieve your level of marshmallow-toasting expertise?”

  He lowered his voice. “I’ll let you in on a little secret that might help…”

  “What?” she asked eagerly.

  “Toasted marshmallows are even better when you douse them in bourbon before you put them on the fire.”

  Her eyes widened. “Isn’t that dangerous? Don’t they catch on fire?”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes. But usually the fire just caramelizes the sugar in the bourbon and the marshmallow. Kind of like using a kitchen torch on crème brûlée.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I get it. That does sound yummy.” She pursed her lips. “You know, there are all kinds of marshmallow flavors now. Lemon meringue, cinnamon, coffee. I wonder how a bourbon marshmallow would taste?”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it would taste pretty damn good.”

  “I think I’ll play mad scientist and come up with a bourbon marshmallow recipe to include in our cookbook.”

  Our. He liked the way that sounded. Like they were a team.

  They finished their s’mores in silence, the fire crackling in front of them. Conversation buzzed, and music drifted through the night air.

  Ava Grace rose from her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her as she walked away, letting his gaze wander from her platinum blond ponytail to her navy-blue suede flats. She wore skinny jeans the color of pistachio ice cream and a form-fitting striped sweater in coral, navy blue, white, and pistachio green.

  Earlier, Quinn had mentioned Amelia had designed Ava Grace’s outfit. It was part of Riley O’Brien & Co.’s line of women’s clothing.

  Over the past couple of years, Ava Grace had been involved in several ad campaigns to market the company’s apparel. According to Quinn, she’d been willing to do it for free, simply because it benefited Amelia. When he insisted she receive compensation, Ava Grace donated the money to charity.

  Ava Grace’s willingness to help her best friend hadn’t surprised Beck. It was obvious how much she adored Amelia.

  But Ava Grace’s philanthropy had surprised him. Now that he knew her better, he wasn’t surprised at all. She was generous, not only with her time and her money, but also herself. Her generosity was just one of the things he admired about her.

  Moments later, Ava Grace returned with a couple of bottled waters. She held one out to him, and he took it from her, murmuring his thanks.

  Ava Grace sat down with one long leg tucked under her. “Wesley.”

  “What?”

  “Your middle name is Wesley.”

  Laughing, he shook his head. “Nope.”

  “So who did you go camping with?”

  “My dad and Grandpa Joe.”

  As she twisted the plastic cap on the water bottle, she asked, “What about your mom? Did she go camping with y’all too?”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “No.”

  “She didn’t like spending time outdoors?”

  His mouth opened, and words spilled out before he could swallow them. “She didn’t like spending time with us. She had better things to do.”

  Beck had no idea why he’d shared such private information with Ava Grace. He didn’t like to talk about his mother, yet here he was, spilling his guts over s’mores.

  Ava Grace melted his brain just like fire melted his marshmallows. If he didn’t watch out, he was going to turn into a puddle of goo.

  “Do you ever see your mom?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t seen or talked to her since I was eighteen. I don’t even know where she is.”

  Or if she’s alive.

  “That’s sad.” She sighed softly. “I feel sorry for her.”

  He snapped his head toward her. “Why the hell would you feel sorry for her?”

  Ava Grace met his eyes. “Because her son grew into an amazing man, and she missed out. I pity her because she doesn’t know you.”

  A shiver chased over him, and he b
roke out in goose bumps. You think I’m amazing?

  “Yes.”

  He winced when he realized he’d asked the question out loud.

  “If I had a son like you, I’d probably call him every day.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’d be one of those mothers.”

  He was suddenly curious about her parents. None of the articles he’d read about Ava Grace had mentioned her mother or father.

  “What was your mom like?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. She died in a car accident when I was two.”

  Her answer surprised him. He’d had no idea she had grown up motherless.

  “So it was just you and your dad?” he asked, studying her face.

  Her lips turned down at the corners. “My grandmother raised me.”

  Again, her answer surprised him. “What about your dad? Where was he?”

  She didn’t reply for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I guess you could say he was in and out of my life. His job took him away from home for months at a time, and when my mom died, he left me with Grandma June.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was a roughneck on offshore oil rigs. I only saw him every couple of years.”

  “You only saw your dad every couple of years?”

  She nodded.

  “Why didn’t you see him more often? Those jobs don’t last two years, do they?”

  “No, they’re usually three- to six-month gigs.” She smiled sadly. “He just didn’t bother to visit.”

  White-hot rage rushed through him, the intensity of the emotion catching him off guard. Her fucking father had washed his hands of the responsibility of his daughter, leaving Ava Grace to fend for herself. If Beck had a daughter, only one thing would keep him from her: death.

  “I guess he didn’t think it was important to see me,” she added softly.

  Beck could hear the pain in her voice … the kind of pain that came from knowing the person who was supposed to love you the most didn’t care about you at all. He understood her pain because he’d experienced the same thing when his mother left.

  “When was the last time you saw your dad?”

  She took a drink of water and screwed the cap back on the bottle. “A few days ago. He lives with me in Nashville.”