The man at the door greeted Wyatt like an old friend, clasping his hand, bumping shoulders, and engaging in a brief discussion about sticky pistons. Throughout the exchange, the man’s gaze kept wandering from Wyatt to her in a way that raised her awareness and hackles.
“Later, Butch.” Was she imagining Wyatt’s cooler than normal tone? She glanced over her shoulder at the man.
“Come on back out and see me if you get bored, sweetheart.” The man perched himself back on the edge of the stool and winked.
She whipped her head back around and leaned closer to Wyatt. “Was he coming on to me?”
“He’s obviously desperate.” His dismissive tone dented her badass biker-chick persona.
A wall of noise hit her on her first step into the tavern. Unintelligible music overlaid with the buzz of conversation and laughter and the click of pool balls. A haze of smoke ringed the lights, but the smell was faint, and she noticed only a handful of people with cigarettes. She took a step toward the pool tables, but Wyatt steered her in the opposite direction.
“How about a drink first?” He led her to a long, dark-stained bar and raised two fingers to get the attention of the lone bartender.
Unlike at the bonfire, she fit right in with the rest of the women, most of whom were in shorts or jeans.
“What’s up, Clint?” Wyatt extended a hand for a quick shake.
“Wyatt, my man. You want to start a tab?” From a distance and with his long beard, she’d thought him older, but he appeared to be close to her age.
Clint’s smile was friendly, but not in a creepy way like the bouncer’s had been. She returned his smile, folded her arms over the bar, and relaxed.
“Yep. This is Sutton, by the way.” Wyatt tilted his head toward her, and the bartender mimicked her stance on the other side of the bar, his arms folded, a smile crinkling his dark eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Sutton. What’s your poison?”
Besides indulging in an occasional glass of wine, she’d never been much of a drinker and had missed out on the requisite college parties by living at home. She studied the rows of bottles over his shoulder, but didn’t see a single bottle of wine. She racked her brain for a drink that wouldn’t make her sound totally dorky.
“A Jack and Coke, please.” It was the drink Wyatt had ordered at the pig picking. She knew she liked Coke, at least.
“Coming right up. You want your usual, Wyatt?”
Wyatt raised his chin in answer and shifted to prop his elbow on the bar, facing her. Clint slid a long-necked Coors Light in front of Wyatt and poured a healthy amount of whiskey in a tumbler, topping it with a squirt of Coke.
“Cheers.” Wyatt clicked the neck of his beer against her glass.
She took a small sip and ran her tongue over her upper lip. Alcohol mixed pleasantly with the familiar bite of Coke, and she smiled around the rim. She could drink Coke mixed with whiskey all night long.
A few sips in and warmth bloomed from her stomach through her body, driving out any lingering nerves. She wouldn’t think about anything but the superficial. She was out with an attractive man at her side. It was all about casual fun.
“So, you come here often?” she asked and promptly burst into giggles. “That was not a cheesy pickup line. I meant, you seem to know everyone.”
His smile went all the way to his eyes. “I either went to school with them or church or worked on their cars. I’m sure it’s like that over on your side too.”
For some people it was, but it had never been like that for her. Her web of connections was skimpy and involved the women who frequented the boutique or ladies in the Junior League. She took a bigger sip to avoid answering.
“You ready to try pool?” he asked.
She drained the rest. “I think I want another.”
He didn’t say anything, only lifted two fingers and Clint was there with a fresh drink. She followed Wyatt across the bar to the pool tables. The buzzy feeling in her body was pleasant, and the glances tossed in her direction only bolstered her confidence.
The only free table was in the back corner. She set her drink on a high table and fumbled her way onto a stool to watch Wyatt corral all the balls into a triangle. He leaned over the table, and her gaze went to his butt. Lordy, he had a really nice butt. Not that she was a butt connoisseur, but she was pretty sure his would make a “best of” list.
He turned around. Now her eyes were on his crotch and the formerly pleasant heat ignited into a wildfire. Feigning casualness, she forced herself to look to the side while taking another sip.
“You want to break?” he asked.
“Break what?”
He laughed. “And here I was thinking you had an evil plan to hustle me. Come here and I’ll show you.”
The drinks had left her joints lubricated. Behind his obvious amusement was a hint of something darker. Something that buzzed through her like the whiskey.
“I racked the balls into a triangle. You hit the white ball with the blue end of the stick to break them apart.” He handed her the pool stick and set a white ball over a red mark on the green felt. “Lean over and let me help you get lined up.”
She leaned over and put her palms flat on the felt. His body curled behind hers, their thighs touching. She canted farther down, barely stopping herself from wiggling back against him.
“Grab the stick with both hands.” His voice was close to her ear and she arched up. The part of her brain still functioning properly took up the pool stick. He positioned her hands and fingers. “Take a smooth, confident stroke.”
Her brain combusted. Who knew pool could be so sexy? Somehow under his guidance, she moved the stick enough to hit the white ball into the triangle of balls at the end of the table.
She turned her face, her nose an inch away from nuzzling into his cheek. “So that’s how you break balls.”
* * *
His balls might not be broken, but they were definitely in a state of upheaval. The attraction between them had tipped from simmering to explosive and he could only assume the whiskey was to blame. Apparently, Sutton Mize was a lightweight.
He glanced over at her. A mistake. Her gaze was on his mouth, and the way her teeth and tongue were worrying her lips made him feel like a rabbit being stalked by a fox. He threw himself backward and grabbed his beer from the table.
She took up her drink and shook it, making the ice tinkle. “I’m going to get another drink. You ready for another?”
“Naw, I’m good.” He’d worked on enough wrecked cars from drunk drivers that he limited himself to one drink when he was out and driving.
Where in the stew had that walk come from? Her hips swung, her legs long and sexy in her tight jeans and high heels. Male heads turned as she headed to the bar.
“What’s going on, Boug?” The man’s voice came from behind him, but the lilt and Cajun slang identified him like a photograph. His distant cousin Landrum Abbott, from a branch of the family tree that was populated by offspring between an Abbott and a free black woman before the Civil War. It had been a not-so-secret scandal.
“When did you sneak in?” Wyatt turned, and they hugged.
All the same age, Wyatt, Jackson, and Landrum had all come up through school together. While Wyatt and Jackson’s obsession was cars, Landrum’s was football, and he’d earned a scholarship to LSU. Instead of entering the family crawfish business when he’d graduated, he opened a car dealership in Baton Rouge, cashing in on his fame.
“Didn’t sneak. You were otherwise occupied.” Laughter danced in Landrum’s hazel Abbott eyes. “I thought for sure Daddy was fibbing.”
This thing with Sutton was growing more complicated by the hour. His family hadn’t shown interest in his love life for years and now all of a sudden, everyone was all up in his business. Alarms had been echoing for a while now, but he could no longer ignore the blaring.
Last night at the bonfire had seemed more like a real date than anything he could remember. And tonight … when she’
d stepped out of her house in that shirt and those heels, he’d been unable to come up with a suitable compliment. Not to mention the way she’d bent over the pool table brought to mind the dirty dreams he’d welcomed every night since he’d met her. They’d become a clear and present danger to his sanity.
Wyatt debated the merits of trying to throw Landrum off the scent, but he knew Wyatt almost as well as Jackson did. “We’re hanging out. That’s all.”
“If you’re just hanging out, you won’t mind the Harrison brothers making a move on her.” Landrum pointed the neck of his beer toward the bar and shook his head. “Those boys are too competitive for their own good.”
Wyatt whirled and sure enough, the Harrison brothers had flanked Sutton. They were nice and decent-looking and charming in an aw-shucks, good-old-boy way that drew women like bees to pollen. The three of them had partied together more than a few times, and Wyatt considered them friends. The Harrisons were harmless.
Sutton had another Jack and Coke in her hand, and a smile on her face. She was meeting new people and having fun. Exactly what he’d promised.
Except the whys and wherefores had grown fuzzy and indistinct. She didn’t belong to those boys, she belonged to him. Check that—she didn’t belong to anyone. Indecision when it came to women was like wandering a foreign land. He’d always held the upper hand because he made sure not to care too much.
Clint set three shot glasses on the bar. Sutton took one, clinked glasses with both brothers, and tossed it back, tapping the bar with her fist and laughing. One Harrison gestured toward Clint with two fingers for a refill.
Aw, hell no.
Not taking his eyes off her, Wyatt handed the pool stick to Landrum and stalked toward the trio. She killed the second shot and gave each brother a high five, turning her back to the bar and propping her elbows on top. The stance pulled the fabric of her T-shirt taut across her breasts.
He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the expansive view. Both Harrisons were sightseeing. Wyatt’s hands twitched, ready to remove the brothers’ heads in a fashion that involved blood and broken vertebrae.
Her gaze snagged on him, blazing a path from his head to feet and back again. As soon as he was in arm’s length, she grabbed him and pulled him close enough to be granted the same view the Harrisons had enjoyed. He had a hard time being any more gentlemanly than they had been.
“I made some new friends.” Her smile held the simple joy of a kid finding a friend on the playground the first day of school. “Jimmie and Jason. This is Wyatt.”
“We’re acquainted.” Wyatt gave both brothers a look that he hoped read as “back the fuck off before I break your faces.”
“Sorry, dude.” Jimmie’s lips twitched, but he hit Jason’s arm with the back of his hand. “Let’s scoot, bro. Nice to meet you, Sutton. See you around, Wyatt.”
Wyatt grunted and transferred his attention to Sutton now that the immediate threat had receded. She resumed her position against the bar, and with any other woman he might suspect the showcase was on purpose. But her glassy eyes and soft mouth had him suspecting she needed the support. He propped his hands on either side of her.
“You’re playing a game without knowing the rules, sweetheart.” He kept his voice low.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen how those boys work.”
“Oh really? What do they do for a living? We didn’t get that far in the conversation.” Her voice was vague and her gaze was locked on his, but her hands walked up his chest, playing in the fabric of his shirt. She glided her fingertips down his flanks and across his ribs. His body, already on heightened alert, sent blood rushing south. Was she even aware of what she was doing or the effect her touch had on him?
“I meant they were working you. Flirting. Looking to get you home with one—or both—of them.”
“Flirting?” Her bemusement drove his ire off the cliff.
“Why do you think they were buying you drinks and staring down your shirt?” His gaze dipped deliberately, attempting to incite some embarrassment on her part.
Instead, she drew her hands into fists around his shirt and tilted her face, exposing the line of her neck. “You bought me drinks and are staring down my shirt. Are you trying to get me home?”
Caution tempered the hot poker of lust beating at him. What was happening? Was this real or for the benefit of the milling crowd? He glanced to either side of them. No one seemed to be paying them any attention in the crowded bar, and Sutton was laser-focused on him.
Even if it was real attraction, he wasn’t like the Harrison brothers. He didn’t use alcohol to manipulate a woman home with him. Didn’t need to.
“Have you ever been drunk before?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I lived at home during college, and I was a good girl.”
“Good girls can get drunk, you know.”
“Not according to Mother. And heaven help me if I went home with a guy from a bar.” Her eyes were wide, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.
The woman was entirely too concerned with what everyone else thought. What would happen if the natural sexiness lurking behind the puritanical philosophy her mother had hammered into her was unleashed on the male species?
“Lightning wouldn’t strike you down.” He ran his hands down her arms and leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Good girls can have sex too. And enjoy it.”
More of her weight seemed to be pulling at his shirt as if she were hanging on for dear life. He’d never had a problem with self-control, but somewhere on the walk from the pool table to rescue Sutton, it had gotten waylaid. What would happen if he stepped up and took her home? Would she wake with regrets? Would he?
He pulled away from her, untangling her hands from his shirt. “Your shot.” At her look of confusion, he added, “We have a pool game to finish.”
“Right. Yes. Balls and sticks and breaking things.” She led the way back to the table, looking more wobbly in her heels than she had earlier.
Landrum had taken up the stool, his grin conveying exactly what he thought of the unfolding scene.
“Landrum, this is Sutton.” Wyatt killed the last of his beer, grimacing at the lukewarm, pissy taste. Everything seemed to have soured.
While Landrum and Sutton shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, he took a shot, sinking two balls.
“So Sutton, what are your intentions with my boy here?” Landrum asked as Wyatt came up behind her. Wyatt gave him a dirty look, but Landrum ignored him, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Wyatt is teaching me to have fun.” Sutton propped her elbow on the table and cupped her chin.
“I’d say you picked the right man for the job,” Landrum said.
“I think so. He’s funny and laid back and stuff.” Her standard assessment of his character had Wyatt shaking his head and ready to interrupt, when she leaned closer to Landrum and tapped her chest. “But, you know, he’s got depths. Really deep depths.”
“Does he now?” Landrum darted a meaningful look over her shoulder to Wyatt.
“Your shot, Sutton,” Wyatt said.
“Excellent.” She slid off the stool, took the stick from his hand, and sashayed to the table. She rocked her feet shoulder-width apart and bent at the waist. His gaze trailed down her legs to her heels, the denim molding to her curves. She tossed her hair and looked over her shoulder. “Which ball am I trying to hit again?”
“Hit the white one into one of the stripey balls.”
She nodded and turned back to the table, taking a stab at the cue ball but whiffing it. She straightened with a muttered, “Well I never.”
Landrum whistled under his breath and slapped Wyatt’s back, his wink saying more than Wyatt wanted to hear. “I like her. I can’t wait to hear how all this works out.”
All this could end only one way. With him and Sutton resuming their lives on opposite sides of the river. Whatever they shared would soon be memories. Whether those memories would
be tainted with bitterness or nostalgia or forgotten entirely remained to be seen.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Wyatt asked Landrum.
“Not really.” Landrum took another pull off his beer before meeting Wyatt’s narrowed eyes. “Oh wait, actually I do need to go over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the bar, got up, and took Sutton’s hand in his. “I hope I’ll be seeing lots more of you.”
“That would be lovely.” Her smile was warm and genuine.
Once Landrum had gone, Wyatt gestured toward the table. “Try again.”
She draped herself back over the felt, her bottom shimmying as she set her feet. If he didn’t know her better, he would guess she was toying with him. Or torturing him, more like.
He positioned himself behind her but maintained a buffer between their bodies. “Look at the cue ball.”
The sweet scent of her hair was at odds with the smoky bar. “The white one, right?”
He hummed an agreement. “It’s all about angles and trigonometry. You remember that from school?”
She invaded the neutral zone and notched her bottom into his pelvis as she took her stroke. The cue ball bounced against the side of the table and missed hitting anything else.
Foolish thoughts like spinning her around and lifting her on top of the pool table circled his addled mind. That would give both sides of Cottonbloom fodder for the rest of the year. He put a few feet between them.
“I missed.” She shot him a fake pout. She seemed to have a hard time focusing on him and her face was flushed.
“It’s time to go home.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m having fun.”
“Tomorrow morning is going to come quick and hard.” His last words echoed in his brain, the definition of a Freudian slip.
Her eyes had flared wider, the kaleidoscope of colors brimming with energy and light. “That’s what she said.”
Her response, so totally unexpected and cheeky, set him laughing harder than he had in a long time. Her husky laughter entwined with his.
Leave the Night On Page 16
