by Cindi Madsen
“Aww. Nitro and Tank? How cute is that?”
“‘Tough’—that’s the word you’re looking for.”
“Mmm, no. Pretty sure I meant cute.”
“Since you started with the T and they’re destructive little devils, I figured TNT fit nicely. Trouble is what his name claims, Nitro’s fast, and Tank crashes on through no matter how much heavy furniture you push across doors to keep him out. Together, they destroy.”
Violet stuck out her lower lip. “So, so cute.” She pointed at her eye. “Like, I’m getting a tear in the corner from the cuteness.”
“Next you’ll be sayin’ bombs are adorable,” Ford muttered. However, the groove in his cheek gave his almost-smile away.
At the drag of his hand across her lower back, every nerve ending in her body stood at the ready. He set up right beside her for his next shot, and her body was ready to spontaneously combust from his nearness.
Suddenly she could relate to those puppies all too well. Search and destroy. Expend and sabotage. Live in the moment, for later you might not be able to pee on every tree in the woods.
In other, more-human terms: carpe this diem and make it your bitch!
Which was why, as Ford retracted his elbow, Violet draped herself across his back and covered his eyes with her hands.
“Resorting to cheating?” His gruff voice traveled down her arms and kicked her heart into motion.
“It’s called making it interesting.”
Her arms dropped as he pivoted to face her, the shift leaving her plastered against the front of his body.
“Interesting, hmm…?” Ford perched on the edge of the table and maneuvered the pool stick behind him. Gaze locked onto hers, he took his shot.
And the stupid green-striped ball fell in.
Yeah, she was going to lose. But with him staring at her, a cocky smirk on his face, it felt a lot like winning.
Chapter Seven
While Ford had never held back in a game before, he figured it’d be more fun to watch Violet attempt to catch up than sink the eight ball too early. So he’d purposely botched his last attempt.
The pink tip of her tongue came out as she bent over the table. As she lined up her shot, his pulse thrummed faster and faster.
One tiny bump, and the cue ball knocked into the solid orange ball. It rolled toward the pocket, slowly around the rim…and dropped inside.
Her celebratory booty shake seemed more like a reward than ridicule.
As he leaned against the wall, the exposed brick snagged his shirt and lightly scraped his skin. “Okay, question time.”
Violet circled the table and calculated her angles with the pool stick. “I sunk my shot. Why do you get to do the interrogating?”
“So I don’t get bored waitin’ for my turn.” Not that he’d be bored. Watching her overthink each shot was highly entertaining and made it damn near impossible not to notice her lips. Soft and pillowy, and the idea of kissing them buzzed in the background, an incessant mosquito he wasn’t sure he wanted to swat away.
Focus, McGuire. Addie would ask if he’d made a genuine attempt with Violet. The classic definition of a “full life” might not be in his wheelhouse, but he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to take a stab at a well-rounded one.
“Last week you said you were a photographer but that it was complicated. Explain.” Ford didn’t want to reveal how often he’d thought about her and that comment, but he’d wondered about it too often to let it go.
Violet wrinkled her nose and ran her fingers along the felt edge of the table. “My muse is proving to be difficult as of late. Spectacular photos involve more than simply pointing and shooting. I used to feel when a shot was perfect. That intuition recently disappeared, along with my passion. I came to town to spend time with my sister and niece and to renovate the bakery in hopes I can jumpstart the bitch.”
“If you need a jolt, there are electric paddles in the town ambulance, and I happen to have the keys.” Ford patted his pocket.
“Oh, I bet you’d love to shock me.”
In a different way than she meant, but not altogether untrue. With her so close, he felt as supercharged as a defibrillator himself, and all that crackling energy craved an outlet.
Violet stretched across the table, bestowing him with a glimpse of cleavage. As much as he wanted to linger, he moved aside in an attempt to be respectful—also, if she overshot, the ball would be coming for his crotch.
“Damn it,” she said when she scratched.
Planning on giving her shoulder a squeeze while offering a “good try,” he rounded the table.
Right as she suddenly spun around.
He dodged, but the tip of her stick skimmed his upper chest and left blue chalk across the front of his shirt.
“Oops.” She rubbed at the spot. Every cell in his body pricked up, and his heart went to throwing itself against his rib cage. In order to fully enjoy her touch without having to brace for another hit, he gripped her pool stick. He liked how the top of her head came right to his chin. “At least the blue matches the green grass stains. You might even say I made your shirt look better.”
“Where exactly did you go to college? BS University?”
She laughed, and the happy sound kicked him in the gut. “The University of West Florida is where I got my Bachelor of Arts”—her big brown eyes lifted to his face—“but my minor was in BS.”
Okay, so maybe Addie had been right. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. “Explains why you insisted I sink the numbers in order while you can shoot all willy-nilly.”
“Geneva Conventions rules—I still can’t believe you haven’t heard of them before.”
A gentle tug freed her stick from her hand. Ford rested it against the wall and then stalked forward. He gripped Violet’s hips and hauled her onto the edge of the pool table. “If you bring this up in front of my friends, I’ll deny it, but I’m a big fan of the way you play.”
The beauty mark on her cheek punctuated the smile she flashed him—another feature he’d foolishly failed to catalogue. She swung her legs through the air, her ankles brushing either side of his knees. “We’ll see if that holds true when I beat you.”
He peeked over her shoulder so he could line up his shot—thanks to her “rule” about him going in order, he had to aim for the thirteen instead of the easier fifteen.
Since he was a cocky bastard, he pulled back enough to look her in the eye.
Right as he went to take his shot, she slid the toe of her shoe up his inner thigh. His stomach relocated in the vicinity of his throat, and thanks to the involuntary jerk of his arm, he missed the cue ball entirely.
Violet burst into laughter. “Still a fan?”
His mind concocted several ways he’d like to punish her for throwing his concentration. Only he rather liked where it was right now.
If there weren’t other people in the Old Firehouse, he’d tackle her. They’d crash onto the table, billiard balls scattering in every direction. Then he’d kiss her until her breaths became his as well.
Heat replaced the blood in his veins, spreading up to his brain and setting fire to the few logical thoughts that were left.
If he followed through, it’d be juicy gossip by morning. He used to be a regular feature in the local grapevine when he and Trina were dating. If they were cuddly, the story morphed into a sordid tale about them practically having sex in public.
During their volatile periods, he’d heard tales of thrown objects and domestic disputes that’d never happened. He’s too much like his dad, they’d say. Or granddad, depending on the age of the blabbermouth.
After that, he’d tried to keep his dating life out of the public eye. More than that, he had a feeling Violet wouldn’t want to be reduced to town gossip, the way she was when she was a kid.
Since they’d caused enough of
a scene as it was, he simply loomed over her with a mock stern glare. “You’re so going down for that.”
“Big talk for someone who missed his shot. Can’t say I wasn’t warned you might be a sore loser.”
“The word was competitive, and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He bent so that their noses were almost brushing, her lips so intoxicatingly close his entire being became tethered to them. He wrapped his hand around the back of her knee and jerked until she was teetering on the edge of the table, his body the only thing preventing her from falling.
She sucked in a breath but didn’t move away. Her fingers clasped his elbows, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips.
His self-control floundered in the exquisite deluge of desire, and the list of reasons he needed to hold back evaporated. Gossip City here he came.
“Excuse me,” a shrill voice cut in, popping their intimate bubble, and Ford cursed the interruption that had Violet jumping down and away from him. “Aren’t you Larry Hurst’s daughter?”
Apprehension bled into Violet’s features.
“Wow, it is you,” Nellie Mae said. “You look so much like your daddy. Not as much as your siblings, but I could certainly pick you out of a crowd.”
Could and had.
“Sorry, how rude of me.” The older woman gestured to herself. “My name is Nellie Mae Pruitt, and I work at the town hall with your daddy. I can’t believe he didn’t mention you were visiting.”
“Oh, I haven’t been in town long.” Violet’s words came out rushed and a pinch squeaky, likely due to her loose interpretation of long.
Nellie Mae narrowed her eyes on Ford.
Don’t get him wrong—there were plenty of incredible, kind-hearted people in town. Even though the woman belonged to the Craft Cats, who were infamous for sticking their noses in others’ business, she meant well. For the most part.
She also had the memory of an elephant, and he and his friends had wreaked a lot of havoc. Houses toilet papered; tearing through town on their bikes, focused on winning a race instead of townsfolk on peaceful walks; and leaving open cans of sardines in a locker so an entire wing of the school smelled fishy.
“Ford McGuire. People keep insistin’ you’ve changed since high school, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.” She scrutinized the minimal distance between him and Violet. “In my experience, people rarely change.”
“You must’ve not noticed I’m taller now. A whole two inches.”
After a harrumph, Nellie Mae directed her next comment to Violet. “Most folks ’round here are real nice, but you best mind who you spend your time with. You’d hate to sully your reputation.
“Anyway, I’ll be sure to tell your father I ran into you when I go into the office tomorrow.” The amount of superiority she aimed his way insinuated he’d be mentioned, too. As if drinking a couple of beers and playing pool was the equivalent of planning a bank heist.
If so, most everyone in Uncertainty was guilty.
“Oh. Um,” Violet said. “Could you hold off on mentioning it? I haven’t caught up with him yet.” Nellie Mae frowned, and Violet gnawed on her lower lip. “I’ve been…busy.”
“You haven’t told your father hello yet?” She tsked. “Kids these days. What happened to respecting your elders?”
With that, the woman walked off, muttering about the world going to hell in a handbasket.
Before Ford could attempt to revive the happy mood, Violet said, “It’s getting late. I should head out.”
She trudged over to where his friends were still shooting the shit, offered to pay for her drink—which was shut down with a chorus that boiled down to nope—and told them goodbye.
“I’ll walk you,” he said.
“I managed to get around Pensacola without an escort. I’m confident I can take on the streets of Uncertainty.”
“I’d feel better making sure you get home safely. You never know when another member of the Craft Cats will ambush you, and I’ve got experience dodging their knitting needles.”
Snickers went around the table, and Tucker explained that he, too, had been interrogated by the Craft Cats. “Without representation, I might add.”
“I’m all for the independent-woman thing,” Murph said, “but McGuire has a hero complex big enough to fill the Mississippi. He’ll worry about you the whole time, so it’d be easier for the lot of us if you’d allow the chivalry.”
And the award for best wingman went to Addie. Not that she was wrong, although he didn’t like the term “hero complex.”
“Come on then, Mr. Escort.” Violet gave another last wave. “Thanks again. Have a good night.”
As they stepped out of the bar, Ford wanted to put his hand on the small of her back or take her hand in his. Her stiff posture suggested it might not be welcome, though, and he respected people’s boundaries. Especially women’s.
Should I try to do damage control? Explain what Nellie Mae implied about me?
Not only did he doubt it’d do any good, he couldn’t deny what Nellie Mae had implied was somewhat true. He’d never excelled at the boyfriend thing, and there were plenty of locals who might think less of Violet for hanging around a “troublemaking McGuire.”
They’re all the same, he’d heard about his family, sometimes whispered and other times loud and clear. He’d never liked it much, but he had enough experience arguing with close-minded people to grasp how futile it was.
Still, earlier, when their game had turned flirty, he’d gotten an inkling of what a balanced life might entail. Which made it hard to shrug and say oh well, guess I already lost my chance with this girl.
“Now I’m going to have to call my dad,” Violet said. “I’d die of shock if he hasn’t already heard I’m in town, but he hasn’t tried to contact me, so why do I have to feel guilty?”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yet I do.” Her shoulders slumped, and she kicked a stray rock off the sidewalk. “It was nice pretending the crappy stuff didn’t exist for a while, you know?”
“I can imagine.”
The tiniest of smiles touched her lips. “What crappy stuff would you get rid of?”
“Natural disasters, probably. Hurricanes, floods, fires.”
“Wow. Way to make my answer sound overly frivolous.”
Ford jammed his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. After Nellie Mae called me a derelict, I needed to compensate. Speaking of, have I told you about how I singlehandedly saved every whale in Alabama?”
Violet giggled, and the knot lodged in his chest loosened. “And when will I get to see all these Alabamian whales?”
Keeping up with her wit was a challenge, one that sent a tantalizing zing through his bones. “Hanging out with the Loch Ness Monster in Lake Jocassee, of course. Might ought to mention both creatures are awfully bashful.”
“Sounds like your BS degree is more advanced than mine.”
His steps slowed as he neared Travis and Maisy’s front door. He didn’t want his time to be up yet, and he didn’t want to wait another week to see her.
Ford braced his hand on the doorjamb, words harder to form with the light from the outside fixture casting her in a golden glow. “Lexi made it clear you’d be a welcome addition to our bridal-shop outing. Honestly, I could use your help there, too. While a guy’s opinion can be a real asset—”
“Blech,” she said, adding a gagging noise while mimicking sticking a finger down her throat.
Ford chuckled and snatched her wrist out of the air. He lowered their entwined hands and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles she couldn’t crack without sound effects, which, how damn cute was that?
As cute as she claimed my puppy’s badass names were.
Since he’d been going somewhere with this speech, he reined in his thoughts about Violet’s adorableness. “Addie’s one of my best friends. You hav
e more experience than I do at the bridesmaid thing, and I don’t want to steer her wrong. ’Specially since she’s as clueless about dresses as I am.”
“Look, I don’t believe all that nonsense the lady in the Old Firehouse spouted. In fact, I think you’re a great guy—”
Ford groaned. “Great guys never make history.”
“Yes, they do. Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., the Dalai Lama.”
“Fair enough.” He slipped his fingers between hers. “My point is you’re not gonna date any of those guys.”
“Well, some of them are married or dead. Or married and dead, and—”
“Again. Missin’ the point.”
“Sorry.” Violet slipped her hand from his, leaving it empty and longing to grasp for what it’d lost. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve sworn off men. Namely, dating them.”
“Good thing I didn’t exactly ask you out.”
“You didn’t exactly not ask me out, either.”
Dang Addie, goading him into spending time with Violet so he could go and get his hopes up. This conversation wouldn’t have stung his pride if it’d happened before the pool game and the almost-kiss. “All right, I hear you. We can just be friends.”
Violet sighed. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Ford.”
“Fortunately for you, I do know, and it is.”
Violet pressed her lips together, fighting that killer smile of hers, and he chucked her on the chin.
The gesture brought out the full smile, along with a shake of her head.
“This is me, asking a friend”—he inclined his head toward her—“that’s you, lest you didn’t piece that together yet—to help him help his friend pick out a bridal gown.”
“Typical dude stuff, then?”
Damn, she was funny, and that only amped up his desire to spend more time with her. “Now you get it.”
The reflection of the porch light danced in her eyes as she tipped her face to his. “Then I’ll be there. You’re lucky I’m such a sucker for wedding dresses.”
A thread of panic stitched its way through his chest—jab, tug, jab, tug. Usually talk of wedding anything on a first date would send him running.
