Slow Burn

by K. Bromberg

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Dude, my cell is right here,” he says, holding it up for proof. “That’s yours.”

  What the …? I rise from the chair and head toward the sliding-glass doors, where I set my phone on the counter inside. Katy keeps singing about California girls and melting Popsicles, and I swear to God, this has to be one of Colton’s fucking pranks. A final parting gift before he left for his honeymoon. The last time he did this my ringtone was “I Touch Myself,” and it went off in the middle of a pit crew meeting. He’s such an asshole sometimes.

  I reach for my black iPhone, the screen announcing Rylee’s name. He had better not have fucked with my contacts too.

  “Hello?” I answer the phone cautiously.

  “Becks? Why do you have Haddie’s phone?” Rylee’s voice comes through loud and clear, and all of a sudden, it hits me. Haddie picked up the wrong phone this morning when I dropped her off. But what female has a plain black cell phone case? Haddie’s anything but plain. “Becks, you there?”

  This is fucking stellar. I might as well post on social media that I had sex with Haddie because me answering her cell phone did just as well. For fuck’s sake. Deflection is my only choice. “I’m here…. Shouldn’t you be doing something else on the first day of your honeymoon instead of calling me?”

  “We’re delayed at the airport,” she says at the same time I hear a flight number being called in the background.

  I laugh. “Like that’s gonna stop Colton from getting busy—”

  “Are you with Haddie?” she says, cutting me off, and I can hear the curiosity in her voice. I don’t want to deal with this, especially because Walker is standing in the doorway, hanging onto my every word.

  “No. I don’t know where she—”

  “Then why do you have her cell phone?” She lets the question linger, and I struggle with an explanation that she’ll believe. “Did you two—”

  “Give me the phone.” It’s Colton’s voice, and now I know I’m screwed. I hear shuffling and then, “Becks?”

  “Hello, Mr. Rings-with-strings, you old married fucker.”

  He laughs. “Dude, at least I’m getting some on a more than regular basis. You’re just jealous. If you decided to lower your standards and get some too, you’d be a much happier…. Oh shit …” And I swear I can hear the light switch on in his head. “You slept with Haddie, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell him, grimacing momentarily. “Nothing happened.”

  “Aha, you so did!” He shouts out with a mocking laugh. “Nothing happened, my ass…. Besides the only time you take a chick’s cell phone is if you’re escaping in the dark before she wakes up, or if you’re so flustered from figuring out whether to kiss her good night … er … good morning”—he chuckles again—“that you grab it accidentally.”

  “Whatever. They were both on your kitchen counter. I must have grabbed the wrong one.” What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

  “Yeah, right, and I’m the goddamn Easter bunny.”

  “Well, you do like tail.” I offer.

  He chuckles again “Yeah, just one. I’m reformed now,” he says, before falling silent for a moment.

  “In that respect, yes … but every other part of your life? You’re still a crazy fucker.” I walk over to the refrigerator, pull out an IPA, and twist the lid off. “Seriously, nothing happened.” When he just grunts in disbelief, I continue talking before he starts thinking too much about it and asks more questions I’ll have to dodge. “So, why are you calling?”

  “Ah, the subtle change of topic … like that doesn’t scream I fucked her.” He laughs.

  “I’m hanging up now,” I threaten, knowing this can go on and on with him.

  “Sweet Jesus, dude, relax. Don’t be such a little bitch. I was actually dialing you while Ry was calling Haddie to ask a favor.”

  “Anything.” No details needed. It’s Colton, after all. My brother from another mother.

  “I just got a call from Firestone. The shipment of tires is two days early—”

  “That’s a first…. What the hell happened? Is Armageddon coming or what?” I laugh. Our semitruck full of sponsorship tires is usually two weeks late and always forces us to trim some time off of our testing.

  And time on the track is like gold.

  “No shit. I said something similar to Ry.”

  “Ha. Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you were moaning to her.”

  “Whatever, dude. You’re just jealous.” He laughs and then stops. “Or maybe not. Maybe you were busy moaning yourself, huh, Daniels?

  “Fuck off. I told you that—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah … keep on thinking I’m buying it and I’ll keep believing you. Not.”

  “What do you need?” I exhale out in a frustrated breath.

  “Don’t think I’m not noticing the change of topic here, but our flight just got called, so I’ve gotta go…. Look, I know you said you might go up to the farmhouse for a couple of days …”

  “I’m there right now.”

  He sighs. “The trucker is on a tight timeline, needs to turn the truck, and get back before that storm hits the Midwest…. Man, I hate to ask …”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He laughs deep and loud, and there’s the sound of movement on the other end of the phone. “You’re right. I don’t …”

  “You suck for asking when I just got here and am on my fifth or sixth cerveza, but yeah, I’ll drive back to town in the morning and open up shop for the delivery.”

  “Thanks, brother. I owe you.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “Hm. Maybe you already were paid in kind.” He laughs. “I did warn you Ry had a hot friend. I guess you decided to dip your thermometer in and take her temperature.”

  “You’re a sick fuck!”

  “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  “True. But nothing happened.” I hear the flight called in the background as he snorts a response to my denial. “Fly safe.”

  “Later. And thanks.”

  I hang up the phone and immediately dial my own cell, part of me hoping she picks up the phone, and the other part of me hoping she misses the call.

  I have one more ring before my voice mail picks up when she answers.

  “’Lo?”

  The male voice throws me for a loop. I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen to make sure I dialed the correct number. Yep. Sure as shit did.

  Who the fuck is answering my phone? Did I lose it at the wedding instead?

  “’Lo?” he says again, irritated. He’s irritated? He’s answering my fucking phone.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  His arrogance fuels my temper. “Because it’s my goddamn phone you’re answering.”

  “What?” Now it’s his turn to be confused as fuck. “Hey, babe?” he says, his mouth pulled away from the receiver, but I can still hear it clear as day. And I can hear Haddie’s voice answering him.

  Babe? Did I actually hear that right? Did I miss something?

  “Some guy is calling and says you have his phone….”

  I hear shuffling and garbled words. “Hello?” Her breathless voice fills the line, and even though I’m not really sure what in the hell is going on, my balls tighten at the sound of her sexy-ass voice.

  “You have my phone.” I’m not trying to be a dick, but I can’t help it. Less than ten hours ago, we were having sex, and now she has some guy answering my phone? I guess when she says no strings, she really means no strings. “When can you take time out of your busy schedule to meet up so we can switch?” I can’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  Seems like sweet Haddie isn’t so fucking sweet.

  She’s silent for a beat. “Becks?”

  “Yup.” At least she remembers my name. Fucking ridiculous. “When can we meet up?”

  “Becks, are you okay?” There’s
a concern that I don’t want to hear in her voice, but by now I’ve moved from shocked to bitter. Fucking women. “Oh. Oh,” she says as she realizes why I’m pissed. “It’s not what you think. Dante’s—”

  “How about tomorrow? What time can you meet tomorrow, babe?” Did I really just say that? What the hell am I jealous for? No fucking strings, right? So then why do I feel like I’m tangled in a goddamn cobweb?

  “Oh …” I hear the hurt in her voice. And now I’m pissed that I’m acting how I’m acting. It was a night of incredible sex. Get over it, dude. Grab your balls back and suck it up.

  Then I hear her sigh. And fuck if that sound doesn’t bring back memories of burying myself in her last night, over and over into the early morning.

  “Um, I can’t,” she says, and I can hear the television in the background fading as she moves around. “I have a commitment tomorrow, and then an event all night.”

  I bet you have a commitment. I shake my head. “Where’s the event?”

  “Downtown. I can meet up with you in the afternoon before I have to be there if you want.”

  “Fuck,” I say, since I was hoping to head back to the ranch after I met with the trucker. “Yeah, okay … I’ll figure out how to make it.”

  “Becks?”

  I hate the searching tone in her voice. If this really was a onetime thing, then why are we both acting like fucking teenagers?

  And they say sex doesn’t complicate things.

  “Yeah?” I respond, but I’m getting impatient. I want to hang up, get my phone back, and take a break while Ry and Colton are on their honeymoon so that we can skip this awkward stage where both of us are overanalyzing what the other is thinking.

  She sighs again. “I just … last night …”

  And then I hear his voice again. “Babe, I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

  “… was a mistake,” I finish for her. Great sex but huge mistake. You don’t fuck friends. Lesson learned.

  “No, it wasn’t. I thought that—”

  “Apparently it was.” I shift and move toward my bedroom just in case Walker is listening. “We may have agreed to no strings, Had, but fuck if we didn’t fray the edges some.”

  “‘Fray’?”

  “Yeah.” I take a deep breath.

  “What the hell does that mean, Becks? We both went into it knowing what was there.”

  “Yep, we sure did.” Mayday, Mayday, this conversation is going downhill fast.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “We blurred the lines,” I say, “and now we need to clear them up.”

  “You sound pissed.”

  “Nope, I’m just fucking peachy. I’ll call you when I’m in town tomorrow.”

  “Becks, wait! I don’t unders—”

  “Your rules. I sure hope they’re clear to you. Good night.”

  When I hang up the phone, a mixture of anger and relief sits unsettled in my gut. Whatever. Bygones. I toss the phone on the counter and take a long pull on my beer.

  “‘Peachy’?” I cringe at the sound of Walker’s voice. The eavesdropping little fucker. “Who was that?”

  “Shut the fuck up, dude.” I toss my bottle cap at him. “None of your business.”

  Chapter 6

  Just fucking peachy?

  If there’s supposed to be no strings—which was my own rule, for God’s sake—then why am I standing here staring at Becks’ phone, upset at his nonchalance about last night?

  Shit, he has every right to be an asshole to me. I groan at the irony that today of all days Dante would show up and then answer my damn phone.

  Beckett’s damn phone.

  I rest a hip against the kitchen counter, and as much as I tell my head not to go there, I can’t help the thoughts and images playing in a loop from last night. I remember looking up at him as his arms flexed on either side of my body, filling me, challenging me, satisfying me.

  I groan again, trying to shake both the ache from my core and the disquiet, knowing Becks is pissed off. I clench my jaw and shake my head. I shouldn’t care that he’s upset, shouldn’t give a flying fuck that he was snide with me. Whatever. This is exactly what I feared was going to happen. Weirdness between us.

  I shake my head in frustration. Can’t a girl get a guy to give her a little dick without thinking that he deserves more?

  I sigh out loud, the snarkiness starting to abate and the guilt starting to walk over the well-worn welcome mat laid out for today.

  Dante laughs at something he’s watching on the TV in the other room, and I immediately roll my eyes.

  Fuck.

  I can’t imagine what Becks is thinking right now. I glance down at his phone in my hand and can see how I made the mistake of grabbing the wrong one. I look over to the kitchen counter, where my jeweled phone case rests. The one I took off yesterday so that I could slip my phone into my bra under my dress undetected.

  My internal debate over whether to call him back and explain Dante’s presence is almost decided, finger ready to dial, when Dante himself asks the question I’m trying to figure out myself.

  “Who was that?”

  I look over to him leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen. Hands shoved into his pockets, pushing them to ride low on his hips, a hint of the toned and inked abs beneath showing. He smirks when he sees my eyes dart down to the span of skin. Confidence is something he most definitely doesn’t lack.

  “Good question,” I murmur mostly to myself as I try to figure out the answer as well as why I have so many unsettled feelings.

  Dante snorts out in amusement. “Babe, you have his fucking phone, so it’s kind of obvious he is somebody.”

  What exactly he is to me though, is the damn question. I pull my head from the land of orgasms and what-ifs and tell myself I must be too damn close to my period if I’m this wishy-washy over sex that’s just supposed to be sex.

  Head straight, libido on lock down, Montgomery. I look back and focus on Dante—a hot but royal pain in my ass—trying to dig for information and, by the look in his eyes, possibly wanting something more. Dante may see a vacancy sign flashing above my head, but he’d better think again because I’ve grown from the mesmerized girl he once dated. I might have once thrived on the reckless nature of who we were together—living on the edge, sharp words followed by hotter than hell makeup sex. Explosive emotions calmed momentarily for the coveted few days of peace before the cycle started all over again.

  I break our connection and glance away; my mind immediately moves back to Becks and the hint of things I don’t deserve. I push all thoughts away and toss the phone on the counter, the thud of it echoing into the emptiness I feel inside of me. “Nah, he’s nothing. Just a mistake.”

  “I do believe you used those same words to describe me once,” he says, suggestion in his tone as he makes his way across the kitchen.

  “Ha. Exactly. And look where that got me.” I know that look in his eyes, know exactly what that predatory purpose in his walk means, and I grip the edge of the counter, uncertain what I’m holding on for.

  I suck in an anticipatory breath as he steps in front of me and places his hands on the counter between my hips and my own hands resting there. “Care for me to show you just how good of a mistake I can be again?” The tenor of his voice washes over me. The pure maleness he exudes tugs momentarily, tempting me to use him as a means to quiet the riot of confusion I’m feeling over Becks.

  Use one to forget the other. Yeah, that’s real classy. What is my problem?

  I smirk at him, but my eyes fire off a warning to back off. And who the hell am I kidding? Issuing a warning to Dante is like throwing down the gauntlet. And fuck if I didn’t just hear him toss his on the tile floor in acceptance.

  “Dream on.” I force out the comment, trying to hide the slight waver in my voice—my only tell that I’m affected by his proximity, by that magnetic draw of his that seems to always be a losing battle for me to fight.

  Our eyes lock, with amu
sement dancing in his as he makes that slow lean into my body. My hands are immediately on his chest, pushing him away, trying to protect myself from everything I usually want. From the temptation I don’t need, but holy fuck, I could use to eradicate those little tentacles of need burrowing beneath the surface in regards to Becks. That need to snuggle into him this morning, make lazy love under the heat of the sun’s rays coming through the window, and the instant swarm of butterflies that fluttered in my stomach when I thought he had come back to the house.

  Dante chuckles low and soft, the sound vibrating against my palms pressed against the firmness of his chest that I used to know and use handily like a road map. He knows what he does to me, knows that he’s pegged every number of mine from sixty-nine on down.

  “Dante …” My voice trails off as he grabs my hands from his chest and presses them to the counter with his on top of them, holding me there. I glance down, warning bells going off, and when I look up, I don’t even have a chance to speak before his mouth captures mine.

  My resistance is fleeting. I’m not sure if it’s the confusion, the need, the what-the-fuck-ever but within seconds his tongue has pressed between my lips. I don’t respond at first, don’t react, but when his tongue connects with mine, it rekindles everything to life. Parts Becks sparked to life last night.

  No strings.

  I push the thought away and move my body into him. And when I start to respond, Dante takes control. He groans deep in his throat and presses the hard length of his body into mine, hips pinning me to the counter. One hand fists in my hair, and the other presses against my lower back. I accept the domination of the kiss, the command of his touch, a part of me enjoying the current that zings through me. The one that knows just how wild of a ride Dante can be—good, bad, pleasurable, and painful.

  And I want to welcome it. The taste of his kiss, the complete chaos he’ll unleash in my life because I’ll be so busy focusing on the scattered mess that I won’t even notice I’m wading through the broken parts of myself that Lexi’s death left behind.

  That Becks began to help piece back together last night.