“I want you to fuck me, Dalt. In your truck, at your place, my place. I don’t care.”
“It’s late, and I—”
“We could be good together.” A single pink-tipped finger traced down his shirt to circle his pec and flick at his nipple.
He covered his chest like a hand. “I’m not interested.”
He sidestepped around her, but she clutched his arm. Pointy nails dug into his skin. “Why? Surely not because of Darcy Wilde. She can’t satisfy you. Not like me.”
Anger burned through his body. He shook off her hand, tossed his duffle in the truck bed, and opened the door for Avery to hop inside the cab.
“Ask her who her daddy is. Betcha she can’t even narrow it down to ten men.”
“I don’t care.”
“Rick’s been screwing her since the night she got home. And Ryan and Ethan said they had a three-way.”
Robbie turned to face her. She fumbled with the tie, the edges of her dress barely pulled together. Any semblance of kindness or decency had been stripped off her face to reveal self-loathing and dissatisfaction. Strangely, though, the ugliness humanized her. He understood something about self-loathing.
“None of that’s true. What’ve you got against her?”
“She always acted like she was too good for this place. What right does she have to sweep in now and act like a queen bee?”
“What happened between you and your ex-husband wasn’t fair, but you’re better than this. Move on.” Although the words were harsh, pity superseded his earlier anger. Sheila had sat on the throne ruling the small empire of Falcon for a long time. Everything that had been handed to her was crumbling like a sand castle in the rising tide.
His advice didn’t penetrate her fury and resentment. A flurry of movement foretold her actions, and he forced himself still as her hand flew in a cracking slap. Her stiff retreat was a mockery of her earlier sensual display.
Rubbing at his stinging cheek, he slid behind the wheel with a sigh. The closer he drew to the familiar washed-out lane, the looser the cords binding his chest became. Several lights burned at Miss Ada’s. Was Darcy still up? She’d looked exhausted and at the end of her tether that afternoon. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and ease her troubles, but was afraid to overstep their agreement to keep things casual.
The trouble was he didn’t feel casual around her. In fact, he’d tamped down the intensity of his feelings after they’d had sex, afraid he’d scare her. There was no way in hell he would’ve let her escape his bed that night. The feel of her soft skin and curves soothed the beasts that prowled his dreams. He couldn’t remember ever having slept so well.
After heading home and grabbing a quick shower, he debated his move, as nervous as one of his teenage players. Actually, most of his team probably had more experience doing boyfriend-type things. Jesus, he had to be careful thinking of himself that way. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was her booty call.
He threw together a bag of food knowing she probably hadn’t had energy to hit The Pig. Granted, the box of condoms he tossed on top might have gone a bit beyond neighborly.
With Avery at his feet, he walked through the dark night. When she didn’t answer his knock, he let himself into the kitchen. He left his shoes at the door and padded through the house, the only noise the click of Avery’s nails on the wood floor. As he confirmed the emptiness of each room, he flicked the lights off. He found her facedown on top of her covers, the overhead light still on. The fan made a slight thump with every turn.
The frayed pink T-shirt she wore rode up to reveal tiny white cotton panties. He swallowed. Her ass was perfection, her hair a tangled, dark mass against the white pillow. She looked young and fresh and infinitely desirable. He covered her with a quilt, and she stirred, curling on her side and tucking her hands under her cheek. Unfamiliar, tender emotions swamped him.
For the second time, he settled himself on the couch, too exhausted to mind the lumps.
Beams of sunlight woke him. Dancing dust motes came into blinking focus. A lax contentment kept him under the ancient blanket. A ticking clock, the trill of birds, a dog’s soft whine.
He reluctantly left his cocoon. Avery jetted out the kitchen door and gave the rose trellis a long, healthy watering. He leapt around the yard and snapped at the dry, blowing leaves. His dog’s infectious joy even in the face of his disability made Robbie smile.
He tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the creaky step, and peeked in her cracked door. She was sprawled spread-eagle across the bed. A pillow obscured everything but her chin. He wanted to wake her with a kiss . . . and maybe more. Damn, he’d left the condoms downstairs.
Considering he’d snuck in her house last night, slept on her couch, and stared at her unawares in bed, she might accuse him of being the creepiest motherfucker on the planet. If he left now, she’d never know he’d even been there. He backed out of her room like a thief.
He let Avery back inside. The dog bounced to the refrigerator and looked over his shoulder. “Breakfast? You think?”
Avery yipped and licked his muzzle. Robbie trusted his dog’s instincts. After finding bacon and pancake mix, he rummaged for pans. Even after reading the instructions twice, the batter seemed too thick and lumpy. A dishtowel covered with brown and orange flowers protected his hand as he scraped under pancakes to flip them.
“Mother—” He cursed the blackened side of the pancakes and tossed the towel on the counter. Bacon popped hot grease on his unprotected arm. He released another torrent of curses.
“What’s going on in here?” Darcy stood in the doorway and rubbed at still-tired eyes. “Bed head” was an understatement. One side lay flat while the other swirled with tangles and frizz.
Drunk butterflies lurched in his stomach, and he ran his hands down the front of his jeans. Dammit, he was pathetically nervous. “I’m—well I was—making you breakfast. I burned the pancakes.”
“The bacon is meeting the same sad fate.” She pointed toward the stove.
He whirled. Hot grease bubbled around overly crispy strips. He wrapped the handle with the dishtowel and moved the skillet off the red eye.
Picking up a six-inch long charred piece with a fork, he tossed it to Avery. Not only were his dog’s instincts better, but so was his taste. After a disdainful sniff, he sat on his haunches and stared down his muzzle at Robbie. He could almost hear his dog tsking.
“What? You’re a foodie now? You want me to hire you a personal chef?” Robbie asked him. Excited panting followed the affirmative bark.
“Dream on, it’s back to dry kibble for you, my boy.”
Avery sniffed the charred bacon one more time, settled on his belly, and rested his head on his paw, looking up with sad puppyish eyes.
“You are so pitiful,” Robbie said, irony dripping. Avery rolled to his back. With a disgusted snort, Robbie settled on his heels to rub his dog’s belly, casting his gaze toward her. It was a helluva lot easier to talk to Avery.
Darcy wandered to the bag on the counter. “What’s in here?”
“Figured I’d bring a few things over from my place to tide you over.”
She riffled through the bag. “Only the necessities, I see.” She held the box of condoms and tapped her quirking lips with a finger. “Are you sure you brought enough to tide us over? Extra-large, extra-ribbed, extra-value box. Was it buy a thousand get ten free?”
Heat bloomed from his belly up to his face. He had a feeling he looked like a turkey six inches from a loaded rifle the day before Thanksgiving. “It was . . . I didn’t mean . . . I thought maybe—”
“You thought maybe we could use one later?” She tossed him the box.
Making a one-handed grab, he asked with a fair amount of embarrassing, teenage eagerness, “Could we?”
“Maybe. But, first I need to eat. I missed dinner last night.” She rummaged in the freezer and pulled out the frozen pizza he stashed the night before. “Better than nothing, I suppose,” she muttered, turning on the o
ven and pulling out a metal cooking sheet.
Embarrassment still formed a knot in his stomach, and he turned the box in his hands. “Hey, it doesn’t say extra-large or extra-ribbed. Maybe I was a bit optimistic about the extra-value part.”
She stuck the pizza in the oven and waggled her eyebrows over a shoulder. “Maybe you weren’t.”
Her T-shirt rode high up her thighs. He imagined getting on his knees, pulling her white panties down, spreading her legs wide, and—
“Oh my God, did you win last night?” Straightening, she turned and flicked the oven door shut with her heel. Her fingers were laced and held in prayer at her chin.
“42–17.”
“You killed them!” She hopped up and down which, in her braless state, sent his imagination veering down a different path. He would rip her shirt off and feast on her breasts first.
Screw it. She hadn’t kicked his sorry ass out. In two steps, she was tight against his body. Her softness molded against him.
“I missed you.” He couldn’t believe the words had escaped the recesses of his brain to his mouth. It was one thing to admit it to himself, another altogether to reveal a hint of his feelings to her. He pulled away, preparing for a painful rebuttal.
“I missed you, too.” She snuggled closer.
Amazement held him still.
She continued as if she hadn’t rocked his world. “I had to make so many decisions. Ada wants one thing. The doctors recommend another. It was exhausting. And when I couldn’t sleep, I kept thinking about the other night. You wouldn’t believe some of the texts I almost sent you.”
He hummed and nuzzled her temple. Lifting her to the counter, he pried her legs apart and invaded. Not that she put up a fight. Her knees clasped his hips and her ankles locked around his butt.
Her face tilted for a kiss, but before he dropped his lips, the gentle wash of her blue eyes made his chest ache. Made him long for something he couldn’t name. Something foreign and terrifying.
The fear stalled him. Her lips reached for his. When they touched, he wrapped her in his arms, his heart cracking open.
* * *
Darcy had handed him the power to utterly wreck her. Reluctantly, and with misgivings, but willingly, nonetheless. One of his hands cupped the back of her head as his tongue courted hers. His other hand roved under her T-shirt to where her nipple begged for his attention. It wasn’t disappointed. He was a wildfire consuming everything in its path, and she was the martyr ready to conflagrate.
He tore open the ridiculously large box of condoms that had made her heart stutter when she’d pulled it out of the bag.
“I’m going to take you right here. Like I wanted to that first time.”
She’d never had sex anywhere but prone on a bed, almost exclusively on her back. His words drove her arousal even higher. The part of her brain tasked with keeping her life on the straight and narrow protested, but she shoved aside any anxiety. “Yes. I wanted you so bad that day.”
The foil packet was between his teeth, ready to be ripped open.
“Darcy! You up, girl? Ada thought you might welcome some food.” Logan’s voice cut them apart like a knife. They stared at each other as the clomp of boots grew closer. Avery’s welcoming bark hurled her out of her daze.
She grabbed the box of condoms and looked around desperately, shoving them into the refrigerator behind Ada’s pickles. Normally she would welcome her cousin’s thoughtful behavior. Today, she wanted to shoot him dead.
“Morning, sunshine.” Logan backed through the swinging kitchen door holding two stuffed sacks. “Howdy, Dalt. What brings you out this early?” His gaze narrowed and flitted between them. He set his bags next to the one Robbie brought and squatted to rub Avery’s ears.
“Similar mission. Brought some food over.” Robbie jerked his chin toward his bag.
A long, awkward silence hovered like a black cloud.
Logan moved first and checked the oven. “Frozen pizza? You’ve fallen to new lows, cuz. I’ll make breakfast while you hop in the shower. You look like a raccoon that’s been dragged through the bottoms.”
The hand she smoothed through her hair got stuck in a mass of tangles. Running to her bathroom, she gasped at the hot mess reflected in the mirror. Her fourteen hours of sleep had only marginally reduced the dark circles and added not a hint of color. And, her hair. How had Robbie wanted her in this state? But he most definitely had.
She pulled herself together with half a bottle of conditioner, a flat iron, and a tube of concealer. It was as good as it was going to get without a few more nights of solid sleep.
She approached the swinging kitchen door, and her stomach repeated its tumble upon finding him puttering around the kitchen when she’d stumbled out of bed. The sight of Robbie cooking had seemed so natural and homey. Well, more accurately, he’d been burning pancakes and bacon. He had seemed uncertain and sweet, and the look on his face when she’d pulled out the box of condoms . . . an adorable combination of excitement and embarrassment.
Robbie’s voice drifted through the door. “. . . caught the pass. That juke around the safety was SEC worthy. What do you think about—”
Her appearance in the doorway suspended him. His lips remained parted. His gaze stripped off her prim skirt and blouse until she felt naked, body and soul. He’d propped his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, their roped strength emphasized.
“What do I think about what?” Logan cut Robbie a glance and then looked all the way over his shoulder at her.
“About . . .” He cleared his throat. “About getting a scout from a Division II school in here.”
“Good idea.” Logan expertly flipped the fluffiest, most beautiful omelet she’d ever seen. Protest over her skipped dinner rumbled her stomach. “Simmer down, over there. You can have the first one.”
Like Dickens’ Oliver, she grabbed a plate and waited expectantly at the stove. Logan slipped the perfect yellow semicircle onto her plate.
Half of it was gone before she managed to speak. “This is the best omelet I have ever had.”
Robbie joined her with his omelet and took his first bite. “Damn Logan. I shouldn’t be surprised. You could turn MREs into gourmet meals. Almost as good as Darcy’s cooking.” Robbie tossed her a gallant wink she didn’t know what to do with. “Did Ada teach you to cook too?”
Logan’s ease in the kitchen was obvious. “I paid attention to Ada, but I got put on KP duty with a chef in juvie. He taught me a lot.”
“You were in jail?” Robbie’s surprise surprised Darcy. They’d had plenty of time to share life stories on their tours.
Darcy poked her fork in Logan’s direction. “He’s being overdramatic. It wasn’t jail. It was more like a court-ordered attitude-adjustment camp.”
“You weren’t lying when you said you had a misspent youth,” Robbie said.
“It’s not something I’m proud of. But my plans are coming together.” Logan’s brown eyes shined, and his smile couldn’t be contained.
Darcy pushed her clean plate away and rested her elbows on the table. “What happened?”
“The loan was approved. I sign on Monday. The Tavern will be mine.”
Darcy leapt up to give him a quick hug. “That’s awesome. What’s next?”
Logan chewed on his lip, and his brows fell forward as he considered. “Status quo for awhile. Then, small changes. I need to save some money before I can gut the kitchen. I can do most of the work myself, with a little help from my friends, maybe?” He sent a sly glance in Robbie’s direction.
“Whatever you need, bro,” Robbie said. They clasped hands in a distinctly masculine way and bumped shoulders to seal the deal.
Logan cleared the plates and slid the egg carton into the refrigerator. “You about ready?”
“Ready for what?” Robbie asked.
“We’re meeting Malone and Grayson to study video, remember? You want a ride . . . or . . . ”
Darcy and Robbie’s eyes
held. He didn’t want to go. His frown and the crinkle in his nose told her as much.
Logan straightened and stroked his chin. His lips curled up slightly as he stood in the open frig and studied the box of condoms. “Found these behind the pickles, which is certainly fitting. You could probably keep them upstairs, cuz. There’s nothing on here about refrigerating after opening.”
Seeing her cousin waggle the box of condoms was something out of a horror movie. She grabbed the box, tucked it into her chest, and covered it with her arms. She choked words out. “You’d better get on or you’ll be late.”
Logan laughed and hit Robbie in the chest with the back of his hand. “Let’s go, Coach.”
Retrieving his shoes, Robbie followed Logan out the door with a final word—less farewell and more promise—“Later.”
16
After checking on Ada, Darcy headed to the library. She’d promised to meet the ladies after they got out of early church to work on the new e-book lending computer system but found she needed technical support unavailable on a Sunday.
Instead, she restocked the shelves and as she ran her fingertips over the perfectly aligned spines, a childish sense of wonder overtook her. Books were magical creations. Worlds beyond Falcon had been opened to her as a child, and she’d lived in many other people’s skins. She was a better person for it, she hoped.
The resentment engendered by coming home had faded to a slight irritant. It was hard to say whether that was from personal growth or something bigger and stronger with magic hands and magic . . . other parts. She fanned herself with a magazine before stacking it neatly on top of the others.
Once everything was in order, she decided to do some digging into the Golighty family. “Miss Esmeralda, is there a section on local history? Property deeds, death certificates, that sort of thing?”
“There’s a whole room upstairs.”
“You mind if I look through it?”
“Not a bit. I’ve been meaning to get up there. The library board has been after us to organize it.” A spark lit her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a start?”
Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama Page 17
