“I’m crazy good at resisting temptation.” He cups my shoulders and drags the back of his fingers down the skin of my bare back. “Correction. I was crazy good at resisting temptation. But here you are, in my room when I should be on the road bringing you home.”
My heart had been warming like a surfers’ contained bonfire, but his words are the gasoline that’s exploded it into an arsonist’s wet-dream.
“What do you want?” My voice scratches out of my throat desperately.
“You.” He cups his hand under my chin and rubs the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip.
“This is stupid.”
My sad little voice barely registers at a whisper because his thumb plus my lip equals debilitating brain chaos.
“This is too fast.”
His other hand holds the side of my face, and he traces his thumbs in sweeping crescents over my cheekbones and around the curves of my ears.
“We tried this, and it was worse than a royal fucking mess,” I remind him and myself.
I need a ruler slap to my brain, because I might be falling way too hard and fast under the wrong guy’s spell.
“Try again?”
His mouth closes in on mine, and that single second before our lips meet spins out for an eternity. And it makes graphs and flow-charts and PowerPoints underlining all the reasons we should absolutely not be doing this.
But we are.
We so completely are.
Winch walks me back to the bed and lays me down, his entire body pressed long and perfectly weighted over mine. He kisses me with gentle, coaxing pressure for a few minutes, like he’s taking my temperature, gauging my heart rate, and determining if I’m in.
I’m all in.
I vice my arms around his ribs, clamping him close, and his kiss deepens, his tongue slides into my mouth and moves sweet and quick over my tongue and the inside of my lips before he pulls back and sweeps in again. I arch my spine and can feel how hard he already is against my thigh.
His thumbs trip under the straps of my dress, and he pulls his mouth away so he can kiss my shoulders where the cloth was. His mouth follows up and down my shoulder and the curve of my clavicle. He presses his mouth to my breastplate and leaves a soft, warm trail of kisses up to my neck and back down until I’m digging my heels into the mattress and straining against him.
His hands reach up to find mine, lock around my wrists, and twist my arms over my head, gently pinning me.
His face is so close, I can see the olive black of his pupils, round and hungry, and the way his mouth is held tight, like he’s working hard not to lose control.
“I promised we’d just talk.” He swallows hard and licks his lips. “This isn’t just talking.”
“We can just kiss.”
I want him to press his mouth back on mine. I want his hands under my clothes, I want to peel away everything he’s wearing…but I know that’s all sprinting when this is a marathon. It needs to be a marathon, because I feel a funny pinch of panic when I imagine that this will end up a repeat of last week, with Winch turning into a pumpkin with no contact information at midnight.
He lets go of my wrists slowly and bends his head back down until our lips find each other, and this time it’s a heart-hammering, blood-pounding, body-shaking tempo.
“Evan,” he moans, pulling his lips away and kissing my temple and the side of my ear.
I stroke one hand through the soft strands of his dark hair, and wedge the other between us so I can open the line of buttons that run down his shirt.
“Evan.” This time his voice is a plea. Or a warning. His eyes flicker down over my hand, flattened on the hard muscles of his chest. “I want to take this slow. And you’re so damn sexy. Seriously, you’re beating the shit out of my willpower.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not a virgin or anything,” I inform him, and his eyes shutter. He pulls back just a fraction, and I sit up on my elbow, surprised at how quickly the sexy got sucked out of the room. “What’s the problem?”
“We just met. We’re not having sex yet,” he declares, then shakes his head. “And, you know what? Here’s my other problem. What the fuck is going on with you? You need to give yourself more credit, value yourself more.”
I can’t keep the snort back, and he goes full-blown scold-mode. “You took a ride out to the middle of nowhere with that scumbag Jace. What were you thinking?” His mouth presses into a long, flat line and his nostrils flare. “What if he took you to some shithole where they were doing meth? Do you know how violent those assholes get?”
I sit up and yank the straps of my dress back onto my shoulders.
“Jace is harmless,” I huff. I have no clue if I’m accurate, but I do know that I don’t need Winch getting all parental on my ass. “I had my cell phone.”
“You can’t be serious.” This time when he grabs my shoulders, it’s definitely to full-on lecture me, and I angle my face away, determined not to pay attention to this condescending crap. “Listen to me. You need to take better care of yourself. Don’t trust people so easily.”
I purse my lips and examine his face, so serious and intent, it rubs away some of my moodiness.
“What about you? Do I trust you?”
“Yeah.” He kisses my lips softly, and that brush feels more astoundingly erotic than the full-on makeout session we just had. “You can trust me because I care about you, and I always watch out for the people I care about.”
My heart leaps into my throat, the way it feels when an elevator drops too fast from too high a floor.
“This is weird. Really weird. I went this whole entire week thinking that you didn’t give a damn what happened to me, and now all this?”
He leans his forehead on mine and runs his hands up and down my back in slow, even swipes.
“This is the beginning. You make me feel crazy, Evan. You make me feel alive for the first time in a long time, and that scared the shit out of me. But I can’t risk not having you in my life. I’m so glad that douchebag brought you here tonight.”
I find his lips with mine, and we fall back on the bed. I know it’s getting late. We both have community service in the morning. Gramma probably called to check on me. I should be headed home.
But all I can concentrate on is the feel of him, Winch, the guy I haven’t been able to shake out of my head for days, kissing me and telling me how much I mean to him, how he wants to hold my hand and plunge off the edge of the highest, scariest cliff I’d ever seen. I’m so ready to take that flying leap with him, and I shouldn’t be.
I really shouldn’t be.
His hands are warm and big on the length of my legs, along the waistband of my barely-there thong and over the skin I’m so glad I shaved extra smooth. His breathing is harsh and sharp, and I love the things he murmurs while he touches me: gorgeous, beautiful, Evan, mine.
The entire night is about to implode in a way he says we’re not going toward but I want, when there’s a crash from the room next door.
Winch’s hand stops right where it is, his fingers tangled around the lacy waistband of my thong, ready to yank it down. He squeezes the skin at my hip and, when he looks up, his eyes are soft with apology.
“I have to check on Remington.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
I pull the straps of my dress up again and try not to sigh when he buttons up his shirt, covering all the gorgeous expanse of his chest, and walks with quick, decisive direction out of the room.
Then I listen.
I hear what sounds like someone crying, low, keening moans and loud, choked sobs. Those are offset by the tenor of Winch’s voice. I don’t know what exact words he’s saying, but his voice is calm, slow, in-command.
Winch watches out for the people he cares about.
The minutes tick by, and when he finally comes back, his face is lined and grim.
“I should get you home. My brother needs me.”
He bites the words off as if he’s angry at them.
/>
“It’s no problem.” I stand up and attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of my dress with the flats of my hands. “I need to get back anyway. My grandparents will be waiting.”
For a split second, life tilts back, and I don’t know where to put my hands or how to hold myself in front of him, and it seems highly probable that everything we went through in the last few hours was a trick of my socially-starved imagination.
Then he closes the gap between us and pulls me into his arms. His mouth relays a trail of kisses down along my hairline.
“I wish I could stay with you tonight, Evan. I feel like I might fuck this up again if I don’t hold onto you.”
“You won’t.”
I let the words slide out with a lazy cool I don’t feel at all.
“Can I call you?” He runs his hands over my arms and squeezes at random intervals, like he’s checking to be sure I’m really in front of him. “Feel free to tell me no. It’ll probably be really late.”
“Oh, trust me, I have no problem at all telling you no.” His smile makes my heart buzz like a hive full of bees. “But I don’t want to tell you ‘no’ tonight. I’ll sleep with my phone under my pillow, like some sappy lovesick girl.”
His smile widens and sweetens his entire face, a spoonful of honey in a tall glass of iced tea.
“I can’t lie. I’m loving the idea of you getting all sappy and lovesick over me.”
His arms twine around my waist and noose me tight. My face is tilted to his, lips ready, tongue ready, all ready for him when another low, long moan rips through the house like a horror movie ghost’s.
“You should check on your brother, and then we can go.”
I give him one last kiss before I watch him walk down the hall and to the darkened bedroom, his face grim as a reaper’s.
Winch 6
Evan was so cool about Remington, I actually started to think I could pull this whole thing off.
We both went to our community service tired as hell, but the dark circles under her eyes only made her more gorgeous to me. They were there because she spent time with me. In my bed, in my arms, on the phone for a good three hours talking about a thousand things, and the funniest part is, by the time I was so zombified the phone was slipping from my hand, it still felt like there were so many more things we needed to say to each other.
But I had to ditch her after community service for family time, and I could tell she wasn’t happy about the fact that we weren’t going to get to spend any time together again. Which made me so damn happy on one hand, and made me consider fratricide on the other.
Fratricide with my bare fucking hands.
As the endless afternoon wears on, my mother won’t leave me alone about my ‘mood.’
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve had that face on this whole time.” She sloshes some of my beer when she hands me the bottle.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I take a long pull. “Seriously, Mama. Same face as always.”
“Not the same as always.” She hands beers to my brother, who’s already half in the bag, my father, my uncles, my grandfather, all leaned forward, practically falling off the edge of their seats as they scream at the UFC fight on TV. “You haven’t smiled in I don’t know how long. I can’t remember the last time. Tobar, do you remember the last time Winchester smiled?”
My father looks up from the fight and pinches my mom on the ass. She squeals and he smiles at her, then frowns in my general direction.
“Sure. Just the other day. He was wearing that pink bonnet with all the bows on it, and he smiled so pretty, I wanted to take a picture. Look, the boy says he’s fine, Jazmin. I’m sure he’s fine. Leave him the hell alone.”
He pats her backside and refocuses on the game.
My mother clucks her tongue and scratches my head with her long, sparkly silver fingernails. Pissed as I am, I love when my mom scratches my head like I’m a kid again.
“It’s not like you. You’re usually happier.”
“I think you’re thinking of Remy,” I gripe, eyeing my brother, who’s sitting on the couch with a boozy, oblivious smile on his face while our cousin shows him some stupid card trick he just learned.
Remy looks up at the sound of his name, and his happy smile skids a little. “What’s that?”
“Your brother!” Mama’s voice rises to compete with the jubilant yells of the guys as the pummeling on the screen gets more intense. “He doesn’t look happy.”
Remy squints at me. “Same ugly face as always.” He shrugs and adds, “I think he’s just lovesick.”
I grit my teeth. This is payback for the other night. Undeserved on my fucking part, since I mopped up his puke until his guts were empty, but that’s another thing with my brother. When he gets blitzed, he conveniently forgets all the stupid shit he does.
Though his memory for my fuckups is totally sharp.
Mama leans closer, her dark hair falling over my shoulder.
“You could have asked Lala. I know this is a guys’ thing, but she would have been so welcome to stay with me and the girls.”
One unintentional dickhead comment, and this is my punishment? I glare at Remy, who blinks with slow, unconcerned triumph.
“Mama, c’mon. Lala and I are done. How many times do I have to tell you that? Remy’s just being a jackass.”
The slap on the back of my head is swift and brutal as always, despite how soft and small her hands look.
“I’ll wash your mouth out in that sink, I don’t care how big you think you are. Don’t use that language about your brother.”
My cousins snicker and I rub the egg I know is already forming on the back of my head.
“Sorry, Mama,” I growl.
Thank God, she moves back to the kitchen, where I can hear all my aunts and sisters and female cousins laughing and screeching. Lala always fit in perfectly. She was usually the one who brought me my game beers, and sometimes she even perched on the edge of my chair and watched the fight, commenting coolly now and then so she could soak up the approving smiles of the other guys.
I have no idea if Evan would fit in, and I don’t really want to find out. I want her to be separate from this part of my life. I want Evan to be all mine. And I don’t want my family passing judgment or making comparisons.
I count down until the fight is over, then all through dinner. It’s so loud and chaotic at the table, nobody notices how quiet I am. Except Benelli. She parks herself at my side, all ninety-eight intimidating pounds of relentless sister, and, just like I thought, Lala called and outed me, which puts Benelli in high gear.
“Lala was pretty upset last night.” Her voice is low, her eyes on her pecsenye, this traditional pork dish every girl in my family learns how to make when she’s in, like, kindergarten.
I wonder if Evan cooks.
“Winch?” My sister’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “She said you were with some girl from town.”
I scoop up a big mouthful of food so I can get my anger under control before I answer. My sister’s long, girly eyelashes bat fast, making those blue eyes of hers look all wide and innocent, and I want to tell her that she can save herself the trouble of attempting to use them on me. We’ve been close since we were kids, and I know every damn trick in her book. None of them work on me anymore.
“I have no idea how Lala noticed anything. She spent the night dry-humping some professor.”
This time when Benelli’s eyes go wide, it’s because I shocked her, not because she’s trying to manipulate me.
But Lala and my sister have some kind of girl treaty going. She brushes her hair back behind her ears and dives in for another round.
“She misses you, Winch. She knows she messed up, and she wants to make things right. I don’t understand how a few weeks ago you could have been so in love with her, and now, over nothing, she’s just cut out of your life?” Benelli grabs my hand and squeezes it hard, all her sharp little glittery rings biting into my skin. “You guys are meant for each other. Don
’t give up on what you had.”
I shove my plate away, my already crappy appetite completely gone.
“You have no idea what the hell Lala and I had. And what we had is over anyway, permanently. No questions.”
I’d excuse myself, but there are too many damn people here for me to make a scene, so I sit it out while Benelli alternates between scowling at me and texting under the table.
Good. Maybe she’s telling Lala I’m an asshole and she should keep her distance.
As soon as I can, I grab my keys and start to head out. My dad stops me with one strong hand on my shoulder.
“You headed by the shop? I need something out of the safe.”
“I can go if you need.”
That’s what I’m officially around for.
Whatever anyone needs.
I move to the driveway and my dad follows, I know so he can sneak a cigarette while my mother’s busy cleaning up after dinner.
My father was always a giant in my eyes. Now I have two inches on him and his sagging stomach slows him down a little. It’s not as bad as the feeling I get when I’m around my brother, but I hate that the giants of my youth are shrinking.
He squints at me. “Look, I don’t want to nag at you. Your mother does enough of that, God bless her. Is everything alright?”
I nod. “Everything’s fine,” I lie.
“If you were thinking about getting a ring for Lala, use my guy on Bleak. He’s got a hard nose, but he owes me a favor.” My father rubs his hand over his chin in thought. “If you need a raise—”
I hold a hand up. “No, it’s fine. Lala and I aren’t together.”
I’ve said it so many times, everyone should be pretty clear on it, but, for some reason, no one seems to hear what I say.
“You aren’t together today.” My dad chuckles, the crows feet next to his blue eyes deeper than I remember them being. “Young love, boy, it’s a funny thing. Your mother is the single best thing that ever happened to me. I hope…”
His voice goes low, and he leans so close I can smell the smoky cling of the Marlboro he snuck before dinner. “Just, look what not having a woman’s touch has done to Remington. Boys will be boys for so long, but men need women to make a full life. Lala is a good girl, she’s got her priorities straight, she fits in, she’s loyal to you. She’ll make you happy in the long run, and that’s what really matters. Don’t wait too long, or someone else will scoop her up.”
Fall Guy Page 10
