by Racquel Reck
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "No, Wiley made me turn around. I wasn’t gonna go back for you."
Morgan
Shay flinches.
You’re a moron for telling her that. She didn’t need to know. The point is, Wiley convinced me and because he did, now she’s safe. I’m an asshole. Still, I can’t help but tell her the truth. Why? She shouldn’t feel bad about the situation she’s in. I should be the one feeling guilty.
Wiley’s acting like he has a huge hemorrhoid coming out his ass. I’ve never seen my friend this worked up over a chick before. Well, other than Renna, and that’s a page in his history I try to stay away from. I’m more ticked off at myself. That dread I felt earlier was trying to tell me that she needed help, and I ignored it, just like I always do. "I wasn’t going to come back because I’m a dick."
She sits up straight. "I don’t think you’re a dick."
“You should."
"You’re being too hard on yourself. Not many people would stop. They’d assume I had a cell phone. It’s not like I was out flagging down the first car I saw."
“Why didn’t you?”
“When I saw your Hummer go by I didn’t know it was you. It could have been anyone and I had Ben in the car.”
An image of Shay waving down a highway Jack The Ripper flashes across my mind. It was a smart move to stay in the car. Hell, if the driver was of the Bundy, Holmes, Manson, or even Gacy kind, they’d probably turn around whether she was waving her SOS or not.
It’s way past time for a blunt. I wonder if there’s one in the glove box. When was the last time I bought a bag? Did I leave one in there?
I lean over and pop the glove box. “I should have stopped.” Nothing. Only my owner’s manual, a pen, and my registration and insurance info. I wonder if Wiley has some. Can’t—the damn bet. Shit.
"You came back and got me." She glances down at my frantic search through the glove box. “Looking for something?”
“Yeah, pot.” I know it’s in here somewhere. It’s got to be.
“You smoke pot?” The sharp anger in her voice turns my head. Her brows are pinched.
Oh yeah, Tryst said she was against the reefer. Fuck my big mouth. “No, I don’t smoke it.”
It’s the truth for the most part. I’m not toking up this week. Is it bad that I don’t want her to judge me before I’ve had a chance to prove I’m not a bad guy?
“Then why are you looking for pot?’
Umm… Good question. Why am I…? “Bryan smokes it. Wanted to make sure it was out of the car before I take you home tomorrow.”
“Bryan’s not here and you thought of this now?” Her eyebrows raise.
I nod.
“One, you should never let your friends carry drugs in your car. And two,” she shrugs, “I’ll help you look for it. I don’t want it in here either.”
Fuck. She bought it. Not an asshole anymore. “Douche bag” about sums it up. What the hell is wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just tell her the truth?
Orange blossoms.
The scent carries as she leans over the seat and checks the pouch in the back of it. Her delicious ass is inches from my face. I want to bite it. Grab it. Thrust it down on—my dick throbs.
Her body goes still. She glances over her shoulder at me and tucks a stray strand of silky black hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you looking anymore?”
Lookin’ to get you out of those pants and onto my cock.
She blinks.
The ganja. I completely forgot what she was hunting for. She wiped out my urge to toke up just by turning around and giving me her delectable backside? I shake my head, again. Keep up with the fucking program. “No. If it was here it’d be in the front seat.”
“Oh.” A slow sexy smile pulls at her lips. She leans in and takes over my oxygen space. Her soft hand lands on mine. A light zap courses through me. She adjusts her position, bringing her body almost as close to me as her face. Damn she smells delicious.
That’s right, angel. My tongue rolls my lip ring and I pull it into my mouth. Kiss her. I sure as hell want too. Then I’d be taking advantage of her. She could be in shock. That would explain the weird attitude about wanting to sleep in my Hummer. Whatever it is, she’s not thinking clearly.
It’s ridiculous to stay out here. She’s cooled off by now, if this little flirtation has anything to say about it. There is a warm bed waiting for her inside the cabin. My mind wanders to the room I’m staying in, her laid out naked before me. Her lovely black-and-white hair splayed across my pillows. Her soft moans as I– No. She wouldn’t go for that. It’s too soon and she doesn’t strike me as one-nighter, or even fuck-buddy, material.
"Wiley might have a bug up his ass, but I want you here." I rub my fingers lightly over her soft cheek. Our breaths mingle in the space between us, looking like smoke from the cold that has crept into the car. My heart pounds in my chest and my throat goes dry. Her mouth looks so incredibly soft.
She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You do?"
God, I want that tongue. "Yeah, ever since my gig last Friday, I can’t stop thinking about you." My hand glides to the back of her neck and my thumb rubs just under her ear.
She arches her neck. Her gorgeous eyes are gazing at me as if giving silent permission.
I sift my hand into her hair, fisting the silken locks. Her eyes flutter closed and I lean in. Blood races through my veins, and pushes me to take what I want. A tentative brush of my mouth and I’m bathing in the softness of hers. The delicate pants of her warm breath tease me, heating my lip ring as I drag it across her tender flesh.
Her hand goes to the back of my neck and slowly travels into my hair. She gives a nice tug.
An electric zap shoots to my groin.
She sucks on my tongue and my hips flex, searching for her. She needs to be on my lap. Testing my luck, I slowly run my hands down her body, wishing her coat wasn’t in the way, and grip her waist.
The gasp she lets out dissolves into a moan. Her gentle hand travels into my coat and blazes a path down my chest. Her soft fingers glide dangerously close to the top button on my snow pants. My hands squeeze her waist, then knead their way around to cup her sweet, tight ass.
I want more.
More of her.
If I don’t get control over the situation now, I’m going to end up banging her in the back of my Hummer—something she’s probably not ready for, given the stress from tonight. I shouldn’t be kissing her. I groan and try to pull away.
She grips my hair and she moans against my mouth. "Morgan, stay."
Tap! Tap! Tap!
We jump apart.
Tryst.
Nine
Shay
Despite the cold air in the Hummer’s interior, my whole body heats with mortification. I’m thirty, not fifteen, but can’t help but feel like I’ve been caught making out behind the bleachers by a teacher.
Tryst scowls at me through the frosted glass of the driver’s side window. He doesn’t play the stare-down game with Morgan. What the hell is up with that? Some guy code or some shit? Blame the girl? Bros before hos? Tryst is supposed to be on my side. Not that there is a side, but it should be mine that he’s on if there is one. If anything, he should be death-glaring Morgan, not me.
Morgan smiles at me, arches a brow, then opens the door.
Tryst’s brown eyes are accusing, like I should feel guilty for something. "Ben’s tucked in. He woke up for a minute, but nodded back out. Are you finally ready to stop being a baby and come inside?"
Baby? This night couldn’t possibly get any worse. I hate that my cousin is mad at me, but maybe he does have a point. I should be able to handle being in the cabin with Wiley. I don’t have to see him. I’ll just go straight to my room and hopefully there is a lock on the door. Why didn’t I think of that before? Damn emotions. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have any. Or have the power to bury them, like Tryst does.
I get out of the Hummer, slam the door, and light a cigarette
. It was just a kiss. A really hot and all-consuming one. What would have happened if Tryst hadn’t interrupted? Would I have let Morgan go further? I can’t look at him. I shouldn’t have allowed him to do that. Men, kissing, and sex. That’s not where I need to be right now. My goals are more important. And God, I was all over him. Easy. Like I want to be lumped into that category with Bebe.
I nod to Tryst, then blow out some smoke. "I’ll go check on him."
"We need more firewood.” Tryst turns to Morgan.
"There’s some in the shack.”
“Might need some help. We’re pretty low on logs.” Tryst eyes us for a minute, then we watch him trek through the snow toward the side of the cabin. When the dark swallows him, Morgan turns to me.
I finally meet his eyes with mortification painted on my cheeks, I’m sure. They’re hot.
Morgan takes my hand. “You good to go inside? I need to help Tryst.”
Inside. By myself. With Wiley there. Hm… Ah, no. Silly as it sounds and as much as I don’t want to confront prick face, coming off needy bugs me more. “I’ll be fine. I’ll find the room Ben’s in and hang out there.”
“You sure?”
You’re not some dainty girl, Shay. Suck it up. “Yeah, go. I’ll be fine.”
I’ve dealt with worse situations than Wiley, and I really don’t know what I was thinking about when I decided to spend the night in the Hummer. It was really immature of me. How embarrassing.
“Okay, if you’re sure you’ll be fine.” He nods toward the cabin. “He’s in the last room on the right, down the hall. It’s the only room we weren’t using.” He leans in and kisses my forehead.
I jerk away. Shit. “Sorry, I just think we need to slow down a little.”
He nods. “Okay. Night, Shay.”
“Night.”
He heads off in the direction where Tryst went.
I make quick work of finishing my cigarette and head into the cabin. The foyer has an open narrow walkway off to the side leading into a hall. That’s where Ben is. To the other side is an open stone kitchen and dining room. In front of me, stairs lead down to a sunk-in living room. The ceiling stretches high above my head into a point.
The place is enormous. Wiley’s dad must be raking in the dough. Bucket lights line each side of the ceiling, and skylights accompany them, with a huge antler chandelier hanging in the center. It’s beautiful. The log walls add to the cozy feeling and extend to the back wall that’s nothing but a gigantic window, a big cobblestone fireplace in the center. The flames are low and add warmth to the atmosphere. If I had money I’d definitely have a nice getaway like this.
Wiley’s nowhere to be seen. Ben’s sleeping. He doesn’t need me and I’m too wired with everything that has been going on to even attempt sleep. Maybe the guys do need help with the firewood after all. First I should check on Ben. Tryst said he was asleep, but after what happened he could’ve woken up and might need me. I need to make sure he’s okay.
I turn to head down the hall.
"Off to check on your brat?"
I jump and spin around.
Wiley is standing there with a beer in his hand.
Fucking asshole. Ben’s not a brat. What the hell has this guy got against kids? Being stuck here with Mr. Moody makes my stomach turn. Maybe I should apologize to relieve the tension. I don’t want to. He doesn’t deserve my apology, but if I don’t, it will be awkward for the rest of my stay. "Sorry I crashed–"
"No, you’re not." His eyes slither over me as he takes a swig of his beer.
"Excuse me?"
"Seemed like you were pretty damn happy to be riding shotgun next to my buddy." He scowls. "But if what you told me is true about your baby daddy, you’ll leave my buddy alone."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about."
He leans against the log wall dividing the kitchen and the sunken living room. "I saw you flirting with him. Watching him as he watched the road. I get it. A lot of women like Morg. A lot."
"We’re just friends. Hell, I don’t even know if we’re that."
He shoves off the wall. "He wants to fuck you. I could tell by the way he was eying you up in your shop. Maybe he’ll like it and want to do it again. But that’s all you will ever be to a guy like him—just a fuck. If you’re fishing for a dad for your kid, you got the wrong guy."
I can’t believe he just said that to me. I’d slap him, but I’m in shock. "And if I just want to fuck him?"
He laughs, but somehow I don’t think it’s out of amusement. He moves closer to me, and my heart knocks against my ribs. "If that were the case, doll, you wouldn’t have your kid wrapping–"
The door opens and Morgan and Tryst walk in, arms full of firewood.
"What’s going on?" Tryst says and gives Wiley his death glare.
God, I love Tryst. At least that look isn’t pinned on me anymore.
Wiley takes the firewood from Tryst, juggling it with the beer bottle he’s still holding. "Just chatting with my houseguest." He winks at me and heads down the steps into the living room. "Nice talk, Shay."
Concern shines in Morgan's blue eyes. "You look upset. Did Wiley do something to you?"
"It’s okay." I rub my head to fake a headache. “I’m going to bed.” I need to check on Ben. After tonight I could use a cuddle session with my little boy.
"I’ll show you where I put him." Tryst lightly grabs my arm to usher me down the hall.
I pause and look over my shoulder at Morgan. He’s heading down the steps into the living room. "Morgan."
He pauses.
"Thanks for coming back to get me."
He half smiles then nods. "Night, Shay."
"Night."
He disappears down the steps. Now that man is dangerous to a woman's libido. He's the first guy to resurrect my womanly needs since I swore off men three years ago. Why is that? It has to be a fluke. One night with him and I'll see that sex isn't what I need. Maybe I'll become a nun after. Ha! Okay, I couldn't become one because I don’t like church. Maybe just think like one?
"Come on." Tryst's words are clipped as he continues walking me toward the room he put Ben in. The muscles in his jaw are ticking.
"Are you mad at me?"
He stops in front of a door. "Yes, Shay. I’m mad at you. What were you thinking?"
I shrug my shoulders and go for an innocent smile. "Morgan’s hot?"
He takes a deep breath. "Shay, Morgan’s a nice guy and all–"
"Don’t give me this lecture, please." I know what he’s going to say. It’s about Gary.
"I just joined his band. You’re like a sister to me, and I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to have to kick his ass."
Not what I thought he was going to say. "Maybe I just want to be with him one time. Ever think of that?"
"Consider Ben. He knows Morgan now. He likes Morgan. If something bad happens between you two, he'll be crushed."
"If I sleep with Morgan, I sure as hell won’t tell Ben. Right now, Ben only thinks he’s a customer that helped us when we were stuck on the side of the road."
"If that’s the case. Say you do have sex with him and he comes into the shop after. You’re telling me shit ain’t gonna be awkward? If you sleep with him once and that’s it, you’ll become a mark on his groupie counter. He’s gonna talk about it. It’s what guys do when they sleep with someone they don’t care about. You think I want to listen to that? You think I want to know how well you suck a dick or how good or bad you are in bed?" He shakes his head. "I don’t want to hear that shit, because I swear, Shay, I’ll knock him the fuck out."
I was just going with my feelings. But Tryst is right. I hate it when he’s right. Everything I’ve been doing since Gary got locked up is for Ben. How could one guy with smoldering blue eyes, a deep, earthy voice, and a sexy body make me forget all that?
Tryst opens the door.
Ben’s sleeping. The light blue glow from the TV bounces off the brown comforter he’s snuggled in.
"I gave him one of my T-shirts. The second he hit the bed, he was out." Tryst grabs the door handle and for a moment I wonder if he'll stand guard outside the door to make sure I stay in here and don’t sneak out to find Morgan. When did I become fifteen again?
"Thanks, Tryst."
"Don’t thank me. I would have rescued you regardless. God, Shay. When I saw it was your car–"
I give him a hug. He lectured me because he loves me. He’d do just about anything for me. I owe it to him to give this some serious thought before I go any further with Morgan. "Night, Tryst."
He breaks our hug and gives me a noogie. "Night, Shay."
Morgan
“What did you say to Shay?" I walk down the steps and put the firewood into the rack next to the fireplace. Wiley still hasn’t answered my question.
I plop down on the couch next to him. My nerves are shot. I need a joint. No, nix that. I need a big fat blunt. My body has never wanted THC so bad. I eye his beer—like that’ll help. Sighing, I lean back and put my hands behind my head. It doesn’t calm me. My knee bobs up and down like I caught Wiley’s ADHD complex.
Wiley reaches into his pocket and throws a quarter bag down on the coffee table in front of me. "You need to smoke."
Fuck. You don’t need it. It’s not worth it. You promised Bryan.
Not working.
Eyeballing the bag, all I want to do is spark up. Want the high to settle my nerves. My palms are sweaty. It’s hot in here. Granted, I’m still wearing my snow pants. I stand up and begin pulling them off. "No, I don’t need to smoke."
"Yes. You do. You’ve been different, man. Ever since you lost the bet, you’ve been quiet." He takes a swig of his beer. "Don’t like it."
Chucking the pants, I sit down on the couch, bent over, with my arms on my knees. I press my forearms against the denim of my jeans, hoping the friction will calm the craving. Not working, it’s too strong. I stare at the bag. "Put it away."
"No one’s gonna know if you slip out back and take a puff or two. I’ll cover for you with Tryst, and I’m not gonna say anything. I always got your back, but I don’t like this new you. You need the pot, man. Take it."
