by Cait Jarrod
“As long as you want, buddy. Free of charge. It’s the least I can do for finding my dog.” Allen chuckled. “Especially since you convinced my wife that I found her mutt. I haven’t had sex like that since…”
The only sign slim and fit Allen was almost seventy years old. The way he talked about sex gave men of all ages hope their love life wouldn’t die. “Maybe I should fake a rescue.”
His wife’s male Bichon Frise disappeared after chasing a female Yorkie Terrier. It took two days to find the small dog wedged in the rocks. Glad to help a friend, he wanted no parts of putting a person in the position to think he or she lost someone or something. “If you do, you’re on your own.”
Allen kicked a loose pebble on the pavement. “I’ll think of something.”
“I’m heading to Venture Seekers. Want to go?”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Travis grabbed his knapsack off the ground and nodded to a few familiar ground workers as he crossed the lot. With his lifestyle, he didn’t stay in one place long. Occasionally, he hung out at Matt’s in Montana or his childhood home in Maryland. For the most part, he went wherever the work took him. It’d be nice to keep his feet planted for a while.
He opened the restaurant’s door. The scent of grease zinged his nose, radio static irritated his ears, and smoke stung his lungs, just like every time he visited. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The non-smoking establishment didn’t enforce the non-smoking law. Well, they did if they happened to catch someone smoking inside the restaurant. Most patrons burned a cigarette outside, near the rear exit. When the door opened, smoke drifted in from the push of the industrial size fans cooling the air conditioning units.
He noted the handful of filled tables and made his way to the bar. “Hey Phil, the usual,” he said and stowed his pack on the floor near his barstool.
“You got it,” Phil yelled from the other end of the bar and disappeared through the swinging door leading to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned holding a filled glass topped with a mint leaf and set it on the bartop in front of Travis.
“Where are the customers? You scare them with your ugly mug?” he teased.
Phil swiped a hand over his crew cut. “It’s not me who scared them off.”
“It’s the alien music then.”
Phil glanced at the radio nailed to the far wall and shrugged. “It’ll fix itself in a minute. Always does, but that’s not the problem either. A well-liked woman in the community died earlier. Mrs. Fries.”
His mouth went dry. He hated hearing about death. “Never heard of her.”
“I don’t expect you would since you don’t leave the airport.”
A Search and Rescue mission was the only time. It kept him meeting women on a surface level. At the smaller airports, he encountered only the regulars: women who didn’t mind a one-nighter with no attachment. They knew his game and weren’t looking for anything more than a good time. “Nope, and I won’t.”
“One day, a woman will walk into your life and knock your socks off.”
“Doubtful.” He chuckled and gulped the ice-cold liquid moistening his palate. Just because he didn’t think he should get involved with someone didn’t mean he didn’t want it. He dealt with too many deaths. Watched too many broken hearts, and had his life ripped apart when his dad died then his mom. If he fell for someone, he’d be marked for more pain.
Phil rested his elbows on the bar.
“Damn, you gonna go all bartender-shrink on me? I’d rather have my food and be gone.”
“Come to think of it, you have met the lady who passed,” Phil said, not paying any attention to Travis’ rantings. “A few weeks ago, she came in to check out my new job. You talked to her. Bebe.”
The woman who wore her long gray hair in a ponytail talked for hours, asking endless questions about his job and Montana. “Nice lady.”
“Kept an eye on everyone. I imagine she dug into your life. It’s what she does … did.”
No talking sad. “I’m heading to Big Sky Country tonight,” he said as an unfamiliar kick raced through him.
“Tonight? It’s a long flight in the dark.”
“You scared for me?” He chuckled.
“Phft.” Phil straightened. “Not hardly. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Out of everyone, he didn’t figure he’d have to worry about Phil or Pete trying to set him up on a date, considering each brother enjoyed the bachelor lifestyle. “Not interested.”
The kitchen door swung open, and a woman Travis recognized as one of the regulars placed his order in front of him. “Thank you, darling.” He grinned and bit into a fry. This he could handle, easy, no sparks to set his insides on fire.
“Anytime, sugar cakes. I get off at nine.”
A missed opportunity. “I have to leave before then. Next time.” They talked about having sex as if a meeting, a catching up of friends. In essence, it was—lonely people comforting each other without giving their hearts.
She sent him a pinch-faced smile and scooted into the kitchen.
“Sugar cakes?” Pete’s laughter boomed behind him.
Pete showing up at where his brother worked didn’t surprise him. Irish twins, born within a year of each other, Pete and Phil stayed hooked at the hip. “Eavesdrop much?” He kept the censure out of his voice. Being obnoxious wasn’t his thing, but he’d had an odd feeling all day as if something life changing would happen that he hadn’t planned. The sensation probably hit since he performed his last Search and Rescue mission. Change was hard, he didn’t wear it well, and it showed in his aggressive responses that he tried to keep control. Phil and Pete knew him well enough to ignore him.
He bit into his steak and cheese sandwich, let the flavors of provolone, onions, peppers, and mushrooms quench his appetite. For the past few days, he had consumed MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—and craved hot food. He’d assisted in a rescue of a teen lost in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Other than a little dehydrated, the teen was fine. “You two go to the bathroom together, too?” he asked between bites.
“Sometimes.” Pete dropped onto the barstool beside him. “We’re the dynamic duo and this is,” he motioned to the person standing beside him and slipped a hand around her waist, “our good friend…”
Whatever Pete said faded. A willowy woman with her hair pulled back sloppily on the sides, clipped at her crown. The long locks fell past her shoulders. A bracelet enclosed around her bicep with some sort of snake on it. He noted her see-through black shirt, black bra, blue jean shorts frayed at the edges, and her hiking boots. A loner, not his type, but parts of his anatomy wasn’t on board with his attribute list and went rock hard.
Light, electrifying gray eyes rounded on him while her mouth parted. Thoughts of learning every inch of her rushed through his mind. Damn, the heat in the place increased.
Her chest heaved and her breath hitched. For a long beat of time, neither of them moved until she evidently gathered her senses since she let out a throaty groan. “This is the guy you expect me to hitch a lift with?”
Travis blinked, his faculties rushing back under control from the momentary sex-lust-brain-fart. “Lift?” he asked Phil, who decided working on the radio was top priority and turned to Pete. “Clarify.”
“She needs a ride.” He gave his brother the death glare. “You didn’t talk to him?”
“Nope. Travis is acting batshit.”
“Batshit,” he said, louder than he meant, producing a smirk from Pete.
Phil slid him a sideways glance as if the conversation bored him and returned his concentration on turning the knobs on the radio. The crackling noise went from inaudible to pieces of lyrics. “Yeah. It’s your go-to method whenever a woman is mentioned.”
“Not true. Hell, I told the cook next time.” He grimaced for shouting across the bar.
“No one says you weren’t a man-whore.” Phil’s agreeing tone pissed him off.
“Man-whore! No, thank you!”
The willowy woman he lusted over yelled at Pete and jabbed her hands on her hips, looking fiery and ready to do some damage. What a turn on. “I’ll hitchhike to Montana before riding him.”
A wave of heat shot down his body and stirred his groin at the image flashing in his mind. Her on top of him, his hands on her hips as she ground into him. The lack of voices snapped his attention to the patrons smiling. Her face turned red and her mouth dropped open. She thrust her hands up, palms forward. “You know what I meant!”
“Here you go, honey.” Phil surprised them from behind the bar and dropped a filled beer mug on the counter in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing Travis and upending the mug until she swallowed the last drop. “I’m not riding with you anywhere.”
Her wet lips and a drop of beer sliding along her chin to her throat made his mouth water. “I just say no to PIA women with an attitude,” Travis growled and bit a good half of his sandwich instead of licking the droplet off her skin.
“You’re narcissistic. There’s a pill for that.”
She had no idea how far from the truth she was.
“Thanks anyway, guys.” She swiped a hand over her neck, oblivious to what that bead did to him, “but I’ve got to go.” Rising on her toes, she braced her hands on the counter next to him and leaned across the counter to kiss Phil’s cheek.
Because being a glutton for punishment fueled him today, Travis lowered his gaze to her breasts straining the top of her bra and glimpsed her flat belly. Man, he’d give his right nut to lick his way down her smooth, silky skin.
She dropped to the balls of her feet, didn’t give him the time of day, and pecked Pete’s cheek.
“No-o-o.” He grasped her arm. “You can’t hitchhike. Come on, man,” he said to Travis, punching his shoulder. “Give her a ride.”
The-riding-him-image took over his brain, exactly why he couldn’t do his friends this favor. The woman possessed more than the regular attributes. She possessed spirit, a quality he admired. “No.”
“Told ya he acted batshit,” Phil said.
Time to go before they guilted him into giving a lift to the woman who charged his engine more than anyone had in a long time. “Yep. Catch you men later.” Travis finished his water and back stepped off the barstool to escape right into Phil’s rock-hard, linebacker chest. “What the hell? Are you guys aiming for an ass-whooping?”
“Take her,” Phil pleaded, throwing up his hands. Travis nailed him with a glower until he retreated and moved behind the bar.
“Quick ride to Montana,” Pete said. “Easy.”
Easy for him to say. “Why Montana?” he asked the woman eyeing him as if he were the alien inside the radio.
“None of your business,” she snapped. Since the beer scene, she’d kept quiet. Pete moved close and whispered something in her ear that had the vexed woman softening her expression. “Can you give me a ride?” Her voice dropped to syrupy sweet. “I shouldn’t hitchhike.”
No. She shouldn’t. He’d be guilt-ridden if she did. In close proximity … with her … for hours… No way. The woman would suck him into a vortex of no return. Hell, she already did. To say she’d go for a one-nighter, like a regular, would be like saying the sky wasn’t blue. It wouldn’t happen, but the guys’ protectiveness gave him an idea on how to get out of the situation. “You up for being a regular?”
“Really, man?” Phil wiped off the bartop from where he removed Travis’ plate. “That’s a low blow.”
Pete’s jaw dropped, his face turned red, and his hands fisted. “Don’t go there.”
He evaluated the men, and since Pete seemed the most offended, he asked, “She yours?” The out-of-character comment should win him enough space to get the hell out of there alone.
“Wait a minute.” She shoved Pete’s shoulder to give her access to stand in front of Travis and stumbled right into him. He instinctively grabbed, his hands falling to the slight curves of her hips. For a long moment neither of them moved. His mind cleared of everything as it focused on the electrifying eyes in front of him. He should treat her like dynamite, shove her off him, and run for cover, but his newly out-of-control-body didn’t listen.
Good ole Pete touched her shoulder, nudging her gently to the side. She stumbled then regained her composure by crossing her arms and finding something fascinating on the floor.
Uneasy from her sweet perfume and the unexpected chemistry transpiring between them, he slumped onto the barstool and tapped his knuckle on the counter. “Another.”
“Something stronger?” Phil asked, arching an eyebrow as if he understood his internal battle.
Yes! He shook his head. Phil disappeared through the kitchen door and returned with a full glass. He downed the drink, hoping the liquid would cool his body. It didn’t work and he tapped the glass again.
“You’ll be pissing the entire trip to Montana,” Phil said as he retrieved the glass and headed into the kitchen.
She sighed, a disgusted sound that begged his notice. Don’t make eye contact, imbecile. The memory of her sweet body pressed against his, and the belief that the heat wasn’t one-sided, elicited fantasies of throwing her over his shoulder and breaking down a hotel room door, like a freaking caveman.
Phil dropped the glass in front of him. “Last one.”
He chuckled. “As if I’m an easy drunk.”
“Cut the crap! I’m not with you,” she snapped at Pete and bit her lip.
What did I miss? He felt sorry for the guy the way she’d jumped him, but damn, her nibbling on her lip captivated him even more. He did what his fucking head told him not to, but his dick demanded, and peered into her face. Those glorious grays focused on Pete.
“Sorry. I’ve had a rough day,” she said. “Come on, you know I don’t like anyone speaking for me or forcing me into anything.”
His caveman idea vamoosed.
“You’re referring to Bebe,” Phil said. “The rough day.”
Travis looked closely at her red-streaked eyes watering and her pink nose. His heart cracked a little. Having lost his parents, he knew how rough it was to lose someone close. “Sorry for your loss,” he said, keeping sentiment out of his tone. He wouldn’t sympathize, not with the vibes passing through him to grab onto her and hang on tight. She could rock his world and then some.
“I have to get out of here. The whole town will watch my every move.” She touched her arm bracelet.
Pete and Phil both nodded their heads in understanding.
He didn’t. If she had a bond with this woman, why wouldn’t she wait to leave until after the funeral? Saying she acted selfish for not staying wasn’t his place or any of his business.
The skin around Phil’s eyes tightened as the brothers worked her so she’d make the decision to stay. “You’re the one she would want there.”
“She understands. Trust me.”
“Of course she does, but think about it. No matter what she said, staying here is the right thing to do.” This came from Pete.
Crap! They tag teamed her. When the brothers teamed up, which happened often, they possessed a force that weakened the best debaters. This he experienced firsthand. Stuck defending himself for his decision to hang up Search and Rescue, the brothers had worn him down. In the end, he’d won, but the relentless conversation lasted hours. “It’s her decision no matter how selfish.” He hadn’t meant to speak the last part.
“Uh-oh,” Pete said and stepped back, way back, and so did Phil.
The chicken shits. Did they think she would hit him? They would brawl? Though getting in her face would have rewards. Her luscious body touching his again, her mouth close enough he could kiss it without moving.
He turned forward to grab his drink at the same moment she kicked his barstool. “I’m not one of your regulars!”
“Seriously?” He snagged her ankle by her boot. “You up for this game?” He rose and pushed her backwards. She hopped. The girl was flexible, he’d give her that, but trying to kick h
im? What the hell? He moved until she hit a supporting beam. Still holding her ankle, he inched his hand upward until he gripped her thigh and squeezed her leg into his side, his arm holding her in place. The sassy gleam in her eyes held more life behind them then he’d seen in anyone’s in a long time.
Excitement rampaged through him. She was toxic, made him think things he’d never considered, like laying in his yet to-be-built house in front of the fireplace. “What’s your problem?”
“You are, obviously.” Her words husky, not forceful as she considered her position. “Let go of me.” She jerked her leg, not hard but gave a little tug, and his fingers went dangerously close to touching the soft area inside her leg. The place he loved to place his cheek while he did … more desirable things.
“I’m not your problem. The guilt is for not attending the funeral. If you wanted to get away, you would have fought me.”
“I did,” she said, her voice lowering an octave, crossing the line from innocent to dangerous lust.
Phil and Pete stood close; he smelled their stink of protection. They knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t do anything stupid to her or anyone. She did, yet she didn’t, struggle.
“No, you haven’t.” And why did he care? Why get in this conversation with her? Why not drop her leg? His body took his liberties away, stuck him in a time-trap of rationalization versus want. Rationally, he shouldn’t get close, shouldn’t sympathize. Yet, his on-the-spot lust for her brewed strong and prevented his mind from controlling his movements. His body seized and locked onto its yearning, the caveman scenario playing in his mind like a blissful flick.
Pete cleared his throat, the warning sign he, and no doubt the line-backer-brother, would step in and break them apart.
