by Clara Stone
I blink. Another wave of heat shoots up my spine, and I drop my gaze, peeking at him from under my lashes. “Um, thanks?”
He smiles and leans back. I grab the glass of beer he’d set before me and take a sip. My vision blurs. I’m not sure if it’s because of the thick, sticky air, or if all the exhaustion is finally catching up to me. Brushing it off, I tilt my head to the side and study him.
Something about this place brings out a different side—the flirty, careless one. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to it. Because I am.
We sit there in awkward silence, staring at each other as emotions stir inside me.
“So, you said there’s a live band playing tonight?” I prod, breaking the spell. Silence isn’t an option any longer. Not with all these feelings stirring inside me.
“Yeah,” he says, tilting his glass toward the bar. “As soon as she’s off the clock.”
“Who?” I turn around, peeking over the top of the booth to catch a glimpse of the person he’s pointing at—the bartender, the girl he’d flirted with earlier. “Your girlfriend is in the band?”
He laughs, pulling my attention back to him.
“What’s so funny?” I poke at his shoulder playfully.
“That you’d think Jessica is my girlfriend.”
“She isn’t?”
He scoots closer, suddenly engulfing the space around me. His broad shoulders are facing me, blocking my view of the bar behind him, and he leans in close until his face is mere inches from mine. My heart jumps to my throat at how quickly he invaded my personal bubble and how much I don’t mind. His brown eyes study mine, and his gaze drops to my lips for a pointed second before he pulls it back up to my eyes. “If I had a girlfriend, why would I invite you to hang out? Let alone, at the same place she works?”
I gulp. My cheeks flush, and my breathing becomes unattractively loud.
“You bitches having fun, or what?” Rock’s voice cuts through my foggy thoughts.
I jump in my seat, but Vincent doesn’t move. His smoldering, hungry gaze stays on me, and a slow burn simmers in my core. I look away, picking up my drink and taking a huge gulp, wincing as the alcohol slides down my throat.
Rock has a sly smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he studies Vincent and me. When I look away, I see a girl standing next to him, her hand over his chest, playing with his shirt. She looks way older than someone who should be hanging out with a high schooler. But, judging by the way her hair is sticking out in every direction, they’ve already gone past talking and gotten right down to business. Her hand snakes lower, brazenly cupping his groin.
I half-spit half-choke on my drink and start coughing up a lung. Vincent pats my back, repeating, “Cough it up. Cough it up.”
“No shit . . . Sherlock,” I say between each burning cough. My eyes are watering so bad I can hardly see, and my throat feels like I swallowed razor blades. Ugh, I knew there was a reason I didn’t like drinking.
Once he’s certain I’m breathing again, he smiles and backs away. “You need to be careful around Carrigan. She’s a princess, and isn’t used to the rough life,” he teases.
I crinkle my nose, ignoring how much I liked the sound of my name rolling off his tongue. “You challenging me, pretty boy?” I raise my brow.
“Oh-ho-ho,” Rock says. “Dude, she just called you ‘pretty boy’.”
Vincent doesn’t waver. He continues to stare into my eyes, almost like he’s sizing me up for the challenge.
Over the past three weeks, we’ve built a kind of awkward friendship, and I’ve been accepted into their little group. I’ve even met some of Vincent’s friends.
“I so am, princess,” he finally says. He scoots out of reach and opens his arms like an invitation. “Pick your challenge, sweetheart.”
A little hum-type flutter rises in my chest. The way his eyes turn dark when his tongue darts out to lick his lips makes me consider my challenge carefully.
He waits, careful not to push me. But only just.
“You backing out, princess?” he mocks, a sly grin coloring his gorgeous lips.
Right. Challenge. Ignoring the nickname, I consider my options carefully. Drinks. He’d wipe the floor with me. Pool. I’ve been told I’m really good, but I don’t know how he plays. He could be a pool-shark, for all I know. Darts. I chuckle. I’m more likely to poke my eye out than hit the board. That only leaves one option.
I point to the corner of the room. “Bull ride.” My heart stops. Oh God, what did I just get myself into?
Rock whoops with laughter, while the girl in his arms giggles, looking confused. Vincent’s eyebrows go missing.
“You afraid to get your ass handed to you by a ‘princess’?” I goad Vincent, sliding out of the booth. I walk backward toward the corner, gesturing with my hands for him to follow. “Watch and learn, pretty boy.”
As I get closer, shouts and hollers from the encouraging audience get louder. I feel my heart rate pick up, and my palms sweat. The alcohol in my stomach sloshes unpleasantly.
Really, Ace? What the hell were you thinking?
I’d taken horseback-riding lessons as a kid, with Emily—we were inseparable—until about ten years ago. I’m really hoping that’s going to give me the upper hand. How hard could it be? I just straddle and hold on, right?
Easy, peezy.
I watch the last contestant get thrown off the bull; the crowd goes wild. I gulp. Okay, if a man twice my size gets knocked off that fast . . . I’m soooo royally screwed.
I wait as the announcer points to the bull and calls out, “Who’s ready to take Buck by his horns?”
“You getting nervous, sweetheart?” Vincent’s alcohol-filled breath fans across my cheek, and goose bumps rise over my flesh.
I shake my head to rid the butterflies threatening to make me feel all mushy, and turn to him, narrowing my eyes. “No!” I stomp off toward the entrance as the last rider limps his way out of the arena. I wipe my hands on the back pockets of my jeans and step in.
“Ah, here comes our next contender.” The announcer makes a big show of it and the crowd cheers. Vincent walks into the arena behind me.
What is he doing?
He heads straight to the announcer, who places his hand over the mic. He listens, smiles, and nods as Vincent steps away.
“Ladies and Gentlemen . . . we have a little contest going on here. Apparently, Ms. Casper has challenged Mr. Gallo to a bull ride. And what’s a competition without a little wager?” he says as the crowd goes wild. My jaw hits the floor. He raises his hand and signals for the crowd to calm down. “And what’s a wager if the winner doesn’t get what they want? So, whoever stays on the bull the longest gets to name their prize,” he declares.
What the hell? I didn’t agree to any prizes. I take a step away from the bull before Vincent’s eyes find mine, boring holes of mockery through me. “You fold, princess?” they seem to say. With newfound determination, I climb onto the bull, get a good grip on the rope loop, and take a deep breath.
The ride starts off slow. Seconds pass, perhaps minutes, or even hours. All I can think about is holding on to the bull for dear life. My grip loosens and my left arm flails as I try to find my bearings. I’m whipped around, and I find myself sympathizing with the ice in a cocktail shaker.
The strength in my arm deflates, and I know I can’t hold on any longer. The muscles in my thighs burn from trying to grip the bull’s sides. After what seems like an eternity, I give up, sliding off and onto the pillow mat below. I push up to my knees and hands, heaving. Blood rushes to my temples, and I feel a trickle of warmth at the corner of my nose. My vision blurs for a second. I breathe heavy, trying to force air into my lungs. I hear the crowd cheering and shakily push myself to a standing position. I wipe the corner of my nose with the back of my hand and see a slight streak of blood smear, but nothing too alarming.
A pair of arms wrap around me, and I get a hint of a citrusy-fresh, musky smell. I look up. Vincent pulls m
e into him. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just a little wobbly.”
His lips thin, like he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m okay.” I pat his arm.
He smiles. Like a real, genuine smile. “That was . . . wow. Will you marry me?” he teases. “You stayed on for almost five seconds.”
I frown. “Only five seconds?”
He runs his finger between my brows, smoothing the frown lines. “That’s a really amazing time. Now, I just need to stay on longer than that so I can kiss you.”
My heart leaps. “K-kiss me?”
“Ever since that first day, I’ve wanted to kiss these lips.” He frees my bottom lip from the clutches of my teeth with his thumb. Then his eyes drop to it. “And maybe even take a little bite.”
“Bite?” I ask.
He lets go. “Just a tiny . . . tiny bite.”
Heat courses through my body, and it’s not because I just finished a fight with a mechanical bull. No. It has to do with him. I watch him lifting himself up and over the bull, his muscles taunting under his black t-shirt as he flexes and moves. I let out a shaking breath and feel my body come alive in a new way. I don’t know if it’s because of the way Vincent was talking to me or the adrenaline from the ride, or maybe . . . damn, I really don’t care. I like it.
I walk over to stand behind the wooden fence and take another shaky breath. Rock throws his hand over my shoulders and pulls me into an awkward, sideways hug. “That was fucking awesome!”
I grin back. “Let’s hope he doesn’t beat my time.”
Vincent winks at me right before the bull starts. I cross my fingers, hoping both that he will and won’t beat my time. My body and head are asking for two different things. I’m not sure why there’s so much confusion stirring inside me. What am I so afraid of? It’s not like I’m committing to marriage, or even a relationship. It’s a kiss. A kiss from a guy that I’m without a doubt attracted to. A guy that makes me feel butterflies with a simple look.
Almost like the way Heath’s been making me feel these days. Hot and bothered with just a glimpse. That thought makes my heart trip over itself. I shake my head and look at Vincent. What am I thinking? Heath’s my best friend, I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. God knows, he doesn’t see me that way. But Vincent obviously does . . .
I need to take a chance.
My eyes connect with Vincent’s as he lets go of the bull. The buzzer goes off. Did he just beat me? I hear the thud of my heart in my temples as I glance at the clock: five seconds.
We tied!
He effing tied our challenge. He might not admit it, but I know he let go on purpose. I watch him walking over, his face a stoic, unreadable mask.
What’s going through that head of his? Do I even want to know?
“We’re tied,” he says, breathing slightly harder. “I guess we’re both amazing!”
The crowd starts chanting, “Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” Vincent doesn’t pay attention to anyone else. It’s like all he sees is me. And, in this moment, maybe all I see is him. His brown eyes pierce into me and my breath hitches. But somewhere deep inside, I feel guilty. I don’t know why.
“You don’t—”
I press the tip of my finger to his lips, silencing him. I slide my hand around his neck as my heartbeat pulses at the base of my throat.
Take a chance.
My other hand presses against his chest and I feel the thump of his heart:
Lub-dub, lub-dub.
My gaze travels to his. His pupils are dilated, and his nose flares slightly. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him, our bodies colliding against each other. I suck in my breath as a shiver jolts through me, traveling from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair.
My heart hammers against my chest, and my gaze drops to his lips. I swallow. I close my eyes and push up on my toes. He pulls me closer, holding me even tighter. With our mouths so close, his breath fans over mine. I hear whistles and cat calls all around, and . . . and . . .
I stop as a cold breeze whizzes past me, touching my skin softly. The smell of my favorite cologne seeps into my nostrils. I open my eyes and turn my head, glancing toward the door.
Heath.
My heart just about explodes at the look on his face—naked emptiness . . . ? And I finally understand the guilt that had gnawed at me.
MY MOM ONCE TOLD me that living doesn’t hurt until you think about all the things you’ve lost because you let them go.
And in this precise moment, it hurts. It hurts like the mother of all hells. Because right now, I feel like a man that’s lost everything. And it’s ridiculous. Ace is a beautiful, smart, sexy woman, and no one deserves to be happy more than her. So why does it hurt so much to see her in someone else’s arms?
Am I afraid she might get hurt? Or am I afraid I’ll be pushed aside as her best friend when someone new comes into her life . . . ? Someone that’d mean more to her than me . . .
I’ve never felt this kind of insecure, gut-clenching feeling that’s rolling through every pore and muscle of my body. Not when I’d lost my mom to cancer, or even when I’d learned how narrowly Hudson and I had escaped being victims in drive-by shooting when I was ten; the night I’d met Ace—the night she’d saved me . . . the very first of many times.
“So, that’s why you wanted to come here?” Lisa’s voice cuts through my emptiness.
Jason, Troy, and several of my teammates shoulder past us, heading into the bar like they own the place. I turn to face her. She keeps her eyes trained on Ace, like she would do anything to be her. I don’t blame Lisa. There’s been many times when I’ve brushed her aside to answer Ace’s call, or dropped her to pick Ace up because her dad was being a douche.
I never thought of my need to be there for Ace as anything unusual. But maybe, just maybe, that’s where my confidence comes from. From being needed and wanted by Ace.
“No,” I finally answer Lisa. “That’s not why I wanted to come here. I thought a change from the same old boring crap-shit would be nice.” I lie through my teeth.
And surprisingly, I don’t feel like shit about it. Maybe because I’m already there, feeling like the ground beneath me has fallen away, dropping me into the fiery pits of Hell. I need a drink.
I shove past others to get to the bar, wave the bartender over and order a shot of Whiskey, straight. The bartender asks for ID and I provide a fake a second later. Eying me warily, he hands the ID back before slamming a shot glass in front of me and filling it with amber liquid.
“Thanks,” I say when he walks away. I pick it up and tilt my head back to down it in one quick gulp. It burns as it sizzles its way down my throat. I let out a loud sigh and shake my head.
Damn, I’ve wanted to try that for so long. Too bad it doesn’t live up to the hype. I hear Lisa asking for Vodka and a bottle of water, flirting her way into getting it on the house.
“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from behind me, and I school my features before looking over my shoulder. A hesitant, yet confident smile appears on Ace’s face. Vincent stands close by, his hand gripping her shoulder. “What are you guys doing here?”
Her voice is laced with curiosity. My gaze flickers to stoic Vincent, then back to her. She worries her bottom lip and opens her mouth, like she wants to say something more, but doesn’t.
“Apparently, we’re here to save you from impending doom,” Lisa says as she shoulders past us, heading toward the pool table.
I sigh. “Don’t mind her. She’s just pissed.”
Ace’s brows knit together, and she shoves a piece of loose hair behind her ear. I’d be a fish out of water if I could get a glimpse of her mind. I don’t have a clue what she’s thinking, and that terrifies me.
“You didn’t have to, Iceman.” Her casual response is painful to swallow.
Vincent leans in to whisper in her ear. She smiles gently at him and nods. He gives me a warning look before walking to where Lisa is downing a shot.
I turn m
y attention back to Ace. Our eyes connect and, as usual, we communicate without the need to say anything out loud. Her hand nestles in mine, and I thread our fingers together. I glance at our linked hands and notice just how perfectly snug they look. Warmth builds from deep inside me. I need to talk to her. Alone.
She follows close behind, letting me lead her through the growing crowd and out the door. Once outside, I continue to walk past the bikers hovering a few feet from the entrance. It must be around ten p.m. Time for the coyotes to come out and play. I could kill Vincent and Rock for bringing her to this dump. I’ll be surprised if a fight doesn’t break out before we leave.
The music from inside thumps so loud, the vibrations shake the gravel below our feet. I continue to lead the way, until we reach my Wrangler. Letting go of her hand, I open the tailgate and help Ace up, then I do the same, settling next to her.
We sit there silently. It’s nice. We used to spend hours on the swings at the park, just like this—in silence. I’ve lost count of the number of memorable moments I’ve spent in silence with Ace. I’ve never felt the need to fill our time with meaningless words, but this time, it’s different. The silence weighs on me.
“So, you and Vinny-the-pooh, huh?” I finally say.
She turns to me, her eyebrows knitting together.
I crinkle my nose and clarify. “Vincent.”
She shrugs. “It’s not like that.”
“That’s not what it looked like,” I mumble, too low for her to hear. “If he hurts you, promise you’ll let me pummel the asshole.”
A smile curves the ends of her mouth. “There’s nothing between us, Heath.” She chews on her lip, teasing it between her teeth. “I . . .” She lets out a puff of breath and her cheeks tint. “I lost a bet.”
She looks down at her lap, fidgeting with her fingers. I reach over and tuck her hair behind her ear. A visible shiver rolls over her and a slight shade of pink creeps into her ears, then her neck, blending with her already blushing cheeks. I lean in and stop myself just short of kissing her temple. God, do I want to kiss her. But with these damn feelings churning inside me, I don’t know if that’ll be enough; if I can stop with just an innocent kiss and not want more.
