Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

  The thought made her laugh under her breath. Beck drew back and studied her thoughtfully. She winced, knowing she didn’t look her best this morning. When she didn’t get enough sleep, it really showed, and he’d kept her up almost all night.

  “Are you sore?” he asked.

  His eyes glinted with concern and something else. She hoped it was affection.

  She nodded, knowing her cheeks were bright red. She’d never spent the night with a man before, and she was afraid her lack of experience showed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was greedy last night.”

  She finally found her voice. “It’s okay.” She smoothed a clump of dark hair that spiked over his forehead. “I wanted you just as much.”

  “You were pretty insatiable. You damn near sucked me dry.”

  “Oh, my God!” she whispered, covering her burning face with her hands.

  He laughed softly. “Are you embarrassed?”

  Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. It seemed to echo throughout the suite, and she cringed, wondering how much more embarrassment she’d have to endure this morning.

  “Was that your stomach?” he asked.

  She dropped her hands and gave him the “death stare.” His lips twitched, and he looked toward the sofa. She followed his gaze, finally noticing the room service tray on one of the metal cubes in front of the sofa. Two covered plates were stacked on top of it, along with a silver coffee carafe.

  “Did you already eat breakfast?” she asked. “Is there any left?”

  He gave her a sheepish glance. “I was starving, so I ordered just enough to tide me over until you woke up. I thought we could have a late breakfast together.”

  His words sent a tingle of pleasure through her. He seemed perfectly content to be in her hotel suite after a long night of lovemaking, and now he wanted to share a meal with her.

  “We probably should order more room service or eat downstairs in the hotel restaurant,” she recommended. “If we go out of the hotel, the paparazzi will follow us.”

  “Room service. I sure as hell don’t want to face a crowd of cameras this morning.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t live my life under a microscope the way you do. How can you stand it?”

  “Whenever I run into them, I try to ignore them.”

  “I couldn’t do it,” he repeated, shaking his head emphatically.

  Worry stabbed into her. Could Beck fall in love with her and her career? Could he accept her fame? Could he deal with people who thought they had a right to know everything about her life?

  One step at a time, Ava Grace.

  Desperate to change the subject, she said, “I was surprised you were still here when I got up this morning.”

  His eyes cooled, and he dropped his arm from her waist before taking several steps away from her. “Should I have left?” he asked quietly.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, and she recognized the defensive posture for what it was. Her thoughtless statement had hurt him, and she wished she could press a rewind button and say something else.

  Knowing she had to do some serious damage control, she closed the space separating them and wrapped her arms around his neck. She got as close as she could with his crossed arms between them and rose on her tiptoes to press her lips against his.

  When he didn’t respond, she drew back just enough to look into his eyes. “I want you here. When I woke up alone, I was…”

  She hesitated, trying to find a word that would accurately convey how awful she’d felt. Heartbroken was the best adjective, but that might make him sprint out of the suite.

  “Disappointed,” she finally said.

  His shoulders relaxed a little, but he didn’t uncross his arms. She abruptly realized she’d have to be more open with her feelings if she wanted more than a sexual relationship with him.

  “I’m lying,” she announced flatly.

  His eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed again. He reached for her hands, clearly intending to tug her arms from his neck, but she clung to him like a barnacle on a pirate ship.

  As she stroked the fine hairs at his nape, she admitted, “I wasn’t disappointed. I was upset. Really upset. I thought you’d left, and it made me crabby.” His shoulders loosened, and she smiled at him. “When I saw you sitting on the sofa, my crabbiness disappeared.”

  He dropped his hands to her hips. “It disappeared?”

  “Just like magic.” She snapped her fingers. “Poof.” She bumped her nose against his. “You must be a magician.”

  His mouth hitched up in a smile, and she was relieved to see it was real. The coolness had disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a look she recognized well after spending all night with him.

  “Maybe I should make your robe disappear,” he murmured.

  She nodded eagerly. “And your pants.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The dressing room door finally opened, drawing Ava Grace’s attention to Mercy. The shorter woman held up the flowing skirt of the wedding dress with both hands and made her way to the platform in front of a wall of mirrors. The owner of the bridal boutique, a voluptuous black woman named Leticia, followed behind Mercy and fluffed the chapel-length train.

  “What do you think?” Mercy asked. “Do you like it?”

  Mercy hadn’t been able to find a wedding dress in Nashville, so she and Ava Grace had driven to Atlanta to visit a boutique that specialized in curvy brides, size twelve and up. Mercy had told Ava Grace that she was tired of being unable to try on dresses because she was larger than the sample sizes in all the regular shops.

  This was the first time they’d seen each other since Ava Grace returned from San Francisco almost two weeks ago. They planned to stay the night in Atlanta and head back to Nashville tomorrow.

  Mercy had picked up Ava Grace at six o’clock this morning. They hadn’t talked much during the four-hour drive because she was crabby in the morning … unless she woke up next to Jonah Beck. Unfortunately, he and his good-morning kisses were on the opposite side of the country.

  After their night together in Los Angeles, they’d flown back to Northern California and spent the weekend at his place in Dogpatch. They hadn’t left the bed except to eat, shower, and walk Chicken around the block.

  When the car service arrived Monday morning to take her to the airport, she’d been tempted to send it away. Instead, she kissed Beck good-bye and jokingly reminded him to change his sheets. He’d laughed so hard he almost choked.

  “Ugh,” Mercy groaned, drawing Ava Grace’s attention. “I hate this dress.”

  “What don’t you like about it?” Leticia asked.

  “Everything.” Mercy sought out Ava Grace’s eyes in the mirror. “What do you think?”

  This wasn’t Ava Grace’s first rodeo … er, bridal excursion. She’d gone wedding dress shopping with Amelia, and she knew the rules.

  “If you hate, I hate it,” Ava Grace said. “I love the shoes though.”

  The platform sandals were made of matte gold leather. Sparkly crystals studded the heel and platform and a gold-beige chiffon flower adorned the ankle strap.

  Mercy laughed. “You can take the girl out of the strip club, but you can’t take the strip club out of the girl.”

  Ava Grace stuck out her tongue. “I have never stepped foot in a strip club in my life.”

  “That’s what you claim, but your love of sparkly shoes says otherwise.”

  Mercy trudged back to the dressing room and shut the door with a soft click that communicated her disappointment more loudly than a slam.

  Leticia glanced at Ava Grace, her eyebrows arched in question. “Did you really hate the dress?”

  “No. I thought she looked beautiful. But it doesn’t really matter what I think. What matters is the way she feels.”

  As the boutique owner disappeared into the dressing room, Ava Grace slipped her phone from her purse. It was almost noon in Atlanta, which meant it was almost nine a.m. in San Francisco.

&nbs
p; She was surprised Beck hadn’t texted her yet. He usually texted her when he got into the office. That thought had just crossed her mind when her phone vibrated in her hand and a text popped up from Beck.

  “Good morning, sugar. Or should I say afternoon?” Another text immediately followed. “Did you make it to Atlanta safe and sound?”

  Smiling, she typed a reply. “Sitting in boutique now. Waiting for Mercy to model another dress. How’s your morning?”

  “Good.” Another text came through. “Are you sharing a hotel room with Mercy?”

  She frowned a little, wondering why he wanted to know about her lodging accommodations. Why did he care?

  “Yes,” she typed.

  “Too bad. I was hoping for a repeat of our video chat from the other night.”

  Heat immediately suffused her, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. A couple of nights ago while they had been video chatting, Beck had persuaded her to do a strip tease for him.

  When he’d first suggested it, she’d said, “No way.” But after he stripped down for her, she felt the need to reciprocate. She’d never imagined the strip tease would turn into an hour of self-pleasure for both of them.

  If someone had told her three months ago she’d have sex on a bourbon barrel and masturbate on camera, she would’ve laughed herself silly. But she had a hard time saying no to Beck, especially when he was naked.

  Another text from Beck floated across the screen. “Maybe you can go into the dressing room and send me a naked selfie.”

  She felt her eyes widen at his request. There was no way in hell she was going to send nude photos of herself to Beck or anyone else.

  Shaking her head, she pecked out, “Sorry, handsome. You’re going to have to use your imagination. Our phones could be hacked, and I don’t want any naked pictures of me floating around. They’d be on the homepage of every gossip website in the world.”

  Several seconds passed before he replied, “No selfies.”

  She gnawed on her lip, knowing her text had reminded Beck how different their lives were. He believed their lives didn’t mix, and she’d just reinforced his belief.

  After he’d described their lives as bourbon and olive juice, she’d poured that combination into a tumbler and taken a sip. It had been worse than revolting. The awful taste had stayed with her for hours, even after she swished with mouthwash.

  In Beck’s little analogy, his life was bourbon, and her life was olive juice. Bourbon complemented almost anything, from sweet to salty to sour. But olive juice overpowered nearly everything.

  Behind her, the door to the dressing room opened. When Mercy came into view, Ava Grace couldn’t prevent the gasp that escaped her mouth. The bride-to-be looked stunning.

  The strapless mermaid-style gown was a champagne shade that emphasized Mercy’s bronze skin tone. The body of the dress, which featured a sweetheart neckline, was made of widely-ruched taffeta. It hugged every curve of her hourglass shape, while the chiffon tail of the dress flared out just above her knees.

  Mercy stepped onto the platform and stared at herself in the mirror for a long time before turning to the side and then evaluating the back of the dress. Her long ponytail brushed over her bare shoulders like black feathers.

  “What do you think?” Leticia’s voice brimmed with excitement. “Is this the one?”

  If Ava Grace were in Mercy’s shoes, her answer would’ve been yes. The dress was perfect for Mercy. She would never find a better option, not even if she had one custom designed.

  Shaking her head, Mercy said, “I don’t like it.”

  The smile slid off Leticia’s face. “You don’t?”

  “No,” Mercy answered tersely. “I look awful.”

  She stomped down the stairs and rushed back to the fitting room. Leticia and Ava Grace shared a look of shocked dismay.

  “That dress was the one,” Leticia whispered.

  Ava Grace nodded. “I’ll go talk to her,” she said before heading toward the dressing room. “Mercy?” She knocked lightly on the painted wood. “Can I come in?”

  Hearing a muffled yes, she opened the door. Mercy sat on the gray velvet bench that stretched along the side of the dressing room, her torso slumped forward and her hands curled in her lap.

  Ava Grace entered the small space and closed the door behind her. “Hey.”

  When Mercy didn’t respond, Ava Grace nabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it in front of Mercy. She sat down and leaned forward to cover the other woman’s hands with her own.

  Meeting Mercy’s black-as-midnight eyes, she asked, “What’s going on, chica?”

  Ava Grace suspected her friend was starting to get cold feet about her upcoming nuptials. Hopefully, she realized her fiancé wasn’t the man for her.

  Mercy’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I can’t find the right dress.”

  Because you’re marrying the wrong man.

  “So this is just about finding the right dress? Nothing else?”

  The bride-to-be looked away from Ava Grace, turning her head to stare at a black-and-white photo of an old-fashioned church steeple. “I think Brian may be cheating on me.”

  Surprise made Ava Grace’s head jerk back. “Why do you think that?”

  “He works late almost every night. He goes into the office over the weekend and doesn’t answer my calls or texts. He changed the passcode on his phone.”

  Mercy brought her gaze back to Ava Grace. “We haven’t had sex in months. I offered to give him a blow job last night, and he said, ‘Maybe later’.” Her eyes widened. “What guy turns down a blow job?”

  Even though Ava Grace detested Brian, she wasn’t sure the things Mercy had mentioned were proof he was cheating. “I agree those things are suspicious, but maybe he’s not interested in sex because he’s overwhelmed with work.”

  Mercy shook her head. “I have a feeling it’s more than that.”

  Suddenly, Ava Grace recalled the conversation she’d had with Beck about his ex-girlfriend Olivia. They’d been together for two years when he’d found out she’d cheated on him.

  “Something similar happened to Beck,” Ava Grace told Mercy. “He thought something was going on between his girlfriend and her boss, but when he asked her about it, she said their relationship was strictly professional. A couple of months later he walked in on them having sex in her office. He wishes he’d listened to his gut.”

  Now that Ava Grace thought about it, Beck hadn’t had the best luck with women. His mother abandoned him. His high school girlfriend falsely accused him of assault. His live-in girlfriend/almost fiancée cheated on him.

  Mercy exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what to do. If I confront Brian and accuse him of cheating, he’ll lie about it—just like Beck’s ex-girlfriend.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been in a long-term relationship, and I have no experience with cheating.” She squeezed Mercy’s fingers. “Isn’t this something you need to figure out before you buy a four-thousand-dollar wedding dress?”

  Mercy looked down at her lap, where their hands were still linked. She abruptly jerked one of hers free and pushed back the cuff of Ava Grace’s powder blue shirt to reveal the fingerprint-shaped bruises encircling her wrist.

  Glancing up, Mercy said, “What the hell is this?”

  Ava Grace tugged her arm free of Mercy’s grasp and adjusted the cuff over the purplish bruises. She’d chosen this long-sleeved shirt specifically because it covered the unsightly marks.

  “What happened?” Mercy demanded.

  “Last night after dinner, Chuck got super agitated. I don’t know what set him off. He started pacing, and then he started shouting and throwing things. Kyle couldn’t get him to calm down, and I tried to help…”

  Mercy’s fierce expression softened into pity. “Your dad did that?” she asked, pointing to the hidden bruises.

  “Yes.”

  For the first time in her life, Ava Grace had been afraid of her father. He’d been so out of cont
rol and so full of rage, it was as if he were possessed by a demon. He’d seized her wrist in such a tight grip, she worried he’d broken it.

  Kyle—tall, muscular Kyle—struggled to contain Chuck without hurting him. Finally, the former Marine used his own body to trap her father against the wall, and he stayed in that position for an hour until Chuck finally calmed down.

  Mercy wrinkled her nose. “This morning when I picked you up, I wondered why you were wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Hell is cooler than Atlanta in August.” She wiggled forward on the bench. “Help me out of this dress, would you?”

  Ava Grace stood and pulled her friend to her feet. After helping Mercy gather the train in her arms, she moved behind her and began to undo the hook-and-eye closures along Mercy’s spine.

  “What are you going to do about your dad?”

  “I don’t know.” Ava Grace slipped a hook free. “I’m flying to San Francisco to perform at Trinity’s invitation-only concert this weekend. I was planning to come back right away, but Kyle thinks I should stay a while because Chuck is more agitated when I’m around.”

  Chuck’s outburst left Kyle emotionally ravaged, partly because he still struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder from his deployments overseas and partly because she’d been injured. He begged Ava Grace to either leave the farmhouse or immediately place her father in a memory care facility. She promised to think about it.

  “How long is a while?” Mercy asked.

  “Six weeks. Maybe seven. I have to be back in Nashville by early October for River Pearl’s Artist Showcase.”

  “Do you need to be in Nashville for any reason?”

  “Not really. I can write songs anywhere. And the same is true of the bourbon cookbook. It’s due to my editor at the beginning of November.”

  Mercy stood patiently while Ava Grace worked on the hooks. Finally, Ava Grace reached the last hook.

  “All done. Now how does this dress come off?”

  “Over my head, I think.”

  Working together, they managed to liberate Mercy from the form-fitting wedding dress. If only she could be liberated from her fiancé so easily.