The sound of the mower powering down excites me. Careful to calculate the number of steps he must take toward my window, I wait three long seconds before I cross my hands around my waist and slither my shirt over my head, revealing the lacy, almost see-through bra I stole from Mom's top drawer. I turn away, acting casual as if I were just getting dressed for the day, and he happened to stumble upon a glimpse.
With my back to the window, I drop my drawstring pants to my ankles, exposing the thong that matches the borrowed bra. Then with slow, graceful strides across my bedroom, I reach my closet, making it appear like I didn't realize the hotty gardener was watching me the entire time. He must not have noticed the mirror above my long dresser or the fact that it allows me to see out of the same window he's glancing into.
Just before I step into my closet, I glance over my shoulder, catching his fierce stare. He startles when our gazes meet, and for that reason, there is no smile today. Instead, I suspect there's a lump in his throat, as droplets of sweat cover his forehead. Maybe it's because the sun is overwhelming, and it's making everyone act crazy and inappropriate…or it could just be me.
I hold up a finger, mouthing, "Wait right there." He looks nervous, peering around to see who may be watching, and in this neighborhood, it's possible everyone is watching. Maybe I should also be nervous, acting like this with a man I know little about, but it's a type of excitement I’m in need of.
I yank a t-shirt and jeans from the shelf in my closet and dress with eagerness while almost tripping out of my closet.
Making my way through the long hallway while doing my best not to make a sound, I escape through the side door where I’m welcomed with summer’s pungent aroma of flowers and morning dew. With bare feet, I pad through the refreshing grass until I reach the front of our house and the vision of a Greek god. "Hey, you!" I shout through a whisper.
The gardener tears his hanging t-shirt from the waist of his pants and tosses it onto the mower before meeting me at the corner. "Are you out of your damn mind?" he grumbles with what sounds like animosity. His voice is deep and husky like I imagined it would be.
"I might be." It’s an honest answer because I suspect my mental state has not been in a great place during the past year or so.
"What's your name?" he asks. I’m kind of surprised he cares to know after the way he spoke me to me a second ago.
Up close, I can see that his eyes are chestnut-brown like a creamy coffee, and his lashes are long and dark, shadowing his chiseled features. The intensity of his glare makes me feel like I’m pinned against a wall while he interrogates me, trying to extract every piece of information he wants to know about my life.
"Haven." I offer up my name, keeping my tone pointed, refusing to reveal the angst I’m feeling toward him.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and crosses his sweat-covered arms across his glistening, hairless chest. He's squinting against the sun and breathing hard as if he were still pushing the mower, yet he’s been standing still for several minutes. Maybe I make him nervous too. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to get dressed with the blinds open?"
"Of course." I try to hide the smile threatening to form over my lips, feeling accomplished for achieving what I had hoped to.
"Well, you should listen to that advice." With disappointment clouding his eyes, I can’t help but wonder why he would care.
"Didn't you like what you saw?" I ask, gazing up at him through my lashes. Isn't this what a man wants?
With an unsettled look on his face, he glances around again as if he were checking for watchful eyes. "How old are you?"
"I'll be eighteen next week," I tell him, wondering what look he’ll give me next.
He grins with a nod and spits over his shoulder. "So, you're only kind of out of your mind." He takes a step back as if I were a hazard to be near.
His disinterest is not what I was hoping for. Not after smiling through the window at me every week. "Guess so," I tell him. Or maybe I've confined myself to the inside of this godforsaken house for so long that I'm just bored and a little cuckoo. I turn back to the side door, wishing I never came outside. I am out of my mind.
"Haven," he calls out, to my surprise.
I peer over my shoulder at him as I reach for the door. "Yeah?"
"If you weren’t living under the mayor’s roof—" He takes a few steps toward me, and the look in his eyes softens. "I'd take you out.” A small smile teases at his perfect, kissable lips and his mouth parts as if he were contemplating his next thought. “And just so you know, it's not because you felt the need to undress in front of your window. There's plenty to look at with your clothes on too." His words make my heart flutter, and they also make my stomach hurt with embarrassment. Without taking his eyes off me, he runs the back of his arm across his forehead, wiping away the newly formed sweat. I might stop breathing if I stand here for another second.
But, I have to know… "What's your name?" I ask him. Maybe it would be better if I don't know. I've spent too many nights dreaming of the day he would climb in through my window and push me up against the wall like I read in my romance books. Except, this is the first time I've spoken to him, and it’s safe to assume it will be the last.
"Raine Carson," he says. Raine. With a little drawl over the “a”. I had him pegged as a Brian or a Jared, something typical, but I like Raine better.
"And how old are you, Raine?"
His brows knit together as if it’s odd for me to be asking him a question he just asked me. "I’m twenty-one."
"You aren't that much older than me," I tell him.
“Eh, age is just a number," he says. I couldn’t agree more. "In any case, keep your damn blinds closed when you're undressing. You never know what creep is looking in your window.” With a small, crooked grin pinched between two defined dimples, he flashes a wink and turns back toward his mower.
2
Raine
"Two more, please," I shout over to Crow, my buddy and the bartender of this joint, placing my hand down on top of the sticky bar top. This place is busier than normal tonight, and Crow hasn't slowed down for even a second. I came to keep him company, but now I'm the one who's in need of a little company.
"I'm getting a little tipsy," Blondie whispers in my ear. "One more beer might push me over the edge." She giggles while drawing her fingertips in small circles on the upper inseam of my worn jeans. Damn.
I'm about to cancel the last round, ready to get the hell out of here with this nameless chick when I hear a storm of laughter rush in through the front door. What the hell is this?
A group of girls prances in, all looking like they just walked out of a hair salon, and wearing itty bitty pieces of fabric that barely passes as clothing, even in this place. Half of them are waving off the thick smoke assaulting their made-up faces, and the other half are second-guessing their decision to walk in any further. These chicks do not belong here. They must be in a sorority, and this is either a bet or they're stupid as shit—maybe both. We see this once in a while—it's the only time the girls from Cascade sleaze into our little town of Sutter.
I watch the entertainment as most of them lean up against the bar, laying their goods out on display for Crow. I'm guessing they're underage and using their tits for drinks. They picked the right place for that since Crow can be paid in breasts. He does not have the worst job in the world.
I do, though. It's either mowing lawns or starving. The options aren’t great but this is how my life has unfolded.
Taking a long pull on my beer, hoping to wash down my self-pity, I notice one of the chicks didn't join the others; instead, she's got her back up against the wall, looking around as if she's a mouse in a lion's den, which she pretty much is. It's clear all the other chicks believe the attention is on them, but I'm sure everyone has their eyes set on sweet cheeks. She's got the whole innocent farmer’s daughter look going on with her little cutoff shorts and a plaid button-down shirt tied snugly above her belly button. Th
ings aren't going to end well for her tonight; I can already predict that. Stupid girl.
Irritated by ignorance, I do my best to forget about what could happen to the mousy chick and redirect my attention back to the void-filling blonde who has removed her hand from my thigh. "I gotta get going, baby." She touches her lips to my cheek and looks down at my cock as if she knows how needy it is for attention. “Maybe some other time," she says, pressing her fingernails into my shoulder.
Just as she stands up from the bar stool, Crow slams my two beers down in front of me. Ah well, more for me. The second Blondie's out the door, my interest in, and irritation for the mouse-girl returns.
I look back at the chick with the coppery hair, eyes the size of dimes and candy-red lips that make everything inside of me ache. I can't make out much else with how smoky it is in here, but I hear what the guys beside me are saying and—I'm going to regret this. College girls are never a good idea—they get attached and shit. In any case, I stand up, taking the few steps over to her, while she does her best to ignore me stalking in her direction.
Generally, chicks approach me while I'm here, but that’s because I make little effort to offer them any attention. However, for some senseless reason, I feel compelled to save this stupid chick from getting gangbanged tonight. Walking right up to the girl, I don’t hesitate before speaking my mind. “You know, you shouldn't be in here." As the words come out of my mouth, I realize I know her. "Dammit. What the hell are you doing here, Haven?"
In response, a snarl tugs at her lips, and it’s obvious my comment offends her. "Raine?" she questions. “I—I didn’t know you’d—you were going to be here.” She straightens her posture, standing taller as if she were trying to grow more confident by the second.
“Well, since there's only one bar between our two towns and there's not much else to do, you shouldn’t be surprised to find people here from this area. I’m sure you already know that.”
“Right. That’s exactly why I’m here.” It’s obvious she’s trying to seem unfazed by what I’m saying as she presses up on her toes and glances over my shoulder like she’s looking for someone. Her friends are all lined up behind her at the bar, and I’m not sure who else she’d know in here. “I guess there’s nothing to do in this place either.” I think she’s trying to sound bored, which again, makes me wonder what would make Haven and her high-class friends believe this place is a good idea. It definitely isn’t the spray-painted brick walls on the outside of this joint, and the thirty Harleys parked out front certainly aren't advertising some kind of expensive shoe sale. They had to know that they were walking into a trashy bar full of bikers.
“Don’t you have a tea party or a masquerade ball to attend tonight?” I can’t help my sly smile that follows the question. It’s just too easy.
“Don't be an ass.” She smirks, rolling her eyes as she looks back over at her friends. Yeah, she’s too good for me—at least, that’s what she would like her friends to think.
I should let this chick learn a thing or two tonight. After all, there is a life lesson to be learned about walking into a bar like this, looking the way she does. She’s asking for trouble, and I think she knows it. "You know you're too young to be in here," I say, as if it isn’t obvious.
Haven’s friend shoves a plastic cup filled with some fruity, chick drink into her face and her fingers tighten around the plastic as she spills some of the liquid over the side. "Who cares, Raine,” she shouts at me. “It's my eighteenth birthday, and we’re at a dirty bar. What other way is there to celebrate?"
"Yeah, maybe no one informed you, but eighteen isn't the legal drinking age in this town, or the rest of the country for that matter." Regardless of how dumb she’s being, I hold my beer up and tap it against her cup. "Happy Birthday, though."
A slight smile presses across her red-tinted lips as she swallows most of her drink within a few gulps. Even though she's only eighteen, it is her birthday, and God knows I was drinking at that age. "Can I buy you another?" I ask, knowing that I will probably regret it.
She looks like she's thinking about it, pondering the stupid idea of getting plastered before heading home to her parents. Her father is the mayor of the shitty town next door, but it doesn’t come as a surprise when she bites the bait. "Sure, yeah, another Malibu with pineapple would be good." There's a slur stringing her words together, and she's moving in closer to me as we wait for Crow to bring over the next round. With her less than a few inches away, I can’t help noticing how the smell of stale smoke is now masked by a flowery scent emanating from her hair. It’s intoxicating.
"You're kinda hot," she says, loud enough to be heard over the roaring music—loud enough that several people around us turn to see who the hell would be talking like that in this bar.
"Oh yeah?" I grin, finding humor in watching the pinkness of her freckled cheeks turn red. "And you’re cute as a button." I press my finger to her nose, hoping to get more of a rise out of her.
"Why do you say that?" She hands me her empty cup and unclasps the top two buttons of her shirt, enhancing her perky breasts. "Is this better? Does this make me a little less cute?" With the rising volume of cheers and hooting laughter, I have an urge to cover her back up and drag her out of here. She doesn’t realize the type of attention she’s attracting, in addition to mine.
Instead, I dip my free hand into my pocket, holding down my out-of-control cock. "Look, if you were walking around this place naked, you'd still be too cute to be in here. It's not an insult."
She clasps her buttons back together just as Crow places the new drinks down on top of the bar. Without delay, Haven reaches her arm out past me and grabs one of the drinks. She wraps her lips around the straw and takes a long sip while glancing back up at me with her beautiful doe-like eyes. I’d love to know what’s going through her mind right now.
A long minute passes before she takes a breather and pulls the straw from her mouth. "After this drink, do you want to get some air?" Air as in, seclude ourselves in the dark parking lot in front of the bar? I can assume she plans to torture me until I cave, and I can't cave. Not with the mayor's daughter of all people.
"What about your friends?" I ask her before twisting around to see them flirting with Crow.
"They won't notice I'm gone," she says without uncertainty.
"Sounds like you have some good friends." By the looks of the other girls, I can’t say I’m surprised. I suspect they’re conceited, stuck up, and have trouble telling the difference between an ass and an elbow.
"I can’t quite consider them friends." My curiosity has been piqued, wondering more about her now because I suspect she has one hell of a story to tell. Though, by the way she’s been sucking these drinks down, I’m confident I won’t be getting much of anything out of her tonight.
"Well then, I'll make sure you get home safe and sound," I tell her, convincing myself I have control. I'm in control.
She finishes the drink in less time than it took me to finish mine, and I can't imagine how someone her size is handling Crow's concoctions and still standing. They aren't for the weak, that’s for damn sure. After Haven slaps her empty cup down on the bar, she pushes by me and grips her hand around one of her friend's shoulders. I can't hear what she's saying, but her friends look over at me, biting down on their lips with seductive smiles. Apparently, they think this is as good of an idea as she does. It's not.
Haven stumbles back over to me, wraps her small hand around my bicep, and pulls me out the door. "Put all that on my tab, Crow!" I yell over to him.
Almost the moment the door closes us out of the bar, Haven's hands fist around the collar of my shirt. "Kiss me. Right now," she demands.
Well, that escalated fast. Holy shit, this chick has balls. "Hey now, take it easy. We don’t even know each other." Her lips are so fucking pouty and plump. The red gloss she has on is making them look wet…and it's fucking hot. I already live in a cruel world, but this bullshit is just adding to it.
I f
inger the end of one of her loose curls, tugging with a gentle grip, knowing I shouldn’t be touching her. "That lipstick you got on…damn, girl, you're making this hard."
"Am I?” The small grin perking at her lips is a little devious, yet questionable at the same time. “So—so then, why fight it?" The volume of her voice softens and the confidence she’s been carrying around all night has diminished. Despite her bold words, I see insecurity in her eyes, allowing me to see right through her and this game she’s playing. Any other girl would have hit me up with a smart-ass comment about them wanting to make me hard. Not her, though. While wondering what about me and my life seems so attractive to her, I’m dying to know if she knows anything about my history. Is that what this is all about? Empathy?
With the little resistance I can manage, I curl my fingers around her ear and lean forward a little. "I don't kiss women I pick up at a bar, and I don't kiss on the first date."
She releases a sigh, looking crushed and pained—pretty much the same way the lower half of my body is feeling at the moment. Regardless, I kind of love how disappointed she looks.
"What do you do on a first date, Raine Carson?" Her brow arches with question, waiting for an answer she thinks I’m going to give her.
"This isn't a date," I tell her.
"And we didn't meet at the bar. So, you can fucking kiss me." Holy hell. She is a determined little thing.
I step in a little closer to her, leaving little space between us. "You want me to kiss you?" I run the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip and narrow my focus in on her mouth. "Where do you want me to kiss you?" Trying my hardest to cause more discomfort, I drop my gaze down the length of her body while taking notice of the quickening rise and fall of her chest. She doesn't know what she's asking for. I may have saved her from getting mauled by some of those other assholes in there tonight, but she needs to learn not to ask for things she isn't prepared to handle.
Raine's Haven Page 2
