by Debra Kayn
Wyatt sat on the edge of the bed. She straddled his legs and sat on his thighs, facing him.
"I really love being with you." She trailed her hands over the tattoos of his children's names on his chest.
He caressed her nipples with his thumbs. "Same, tiger."
She moved her hands over his shoulders and rubbed the top of his back. "There's no scratches on you."
"You checked?" He chuckled.
She wound her arms around his neck and kissed her way to his mouth. "I always check you out."
He lowered his hands and cupped her ass. She arched against him.
"I'm on the pill," she said against his mouth. "I want to feel you bare inside of me."
He fell with her to the bed, cushioning their landing. He growled against her mouth, and the vibration of the sound went straight to her pussy.
Wyatt hooked his hands around the back of her knees, spreading her more. She slipped her arms around his neck, arching her breasts against his chest. Her tongue clashed with his, hot and demanding.
He plunged into her wetness. Her body trembled at the fullness. It always amazed her that he fit her perfectly as if they were made for each other.
He moved inside of her. Back and forth. Fast and slow. He ground his pelvis into her clit, muffling her moan with his mouth and adding a groan of his own pleasure. She panted as her body tightened. How could he be that good, each and every time they had sex?
He sped up, taking, and giving. Her hands stayed on his body, his ribs, his shoulders, his arms at an almost frantic pace. She was obsessed with him.
He growled in her mouth. God, that was it. Right there. Yes. Yes.
"Wyatt," she murmured, bucking underneath him.
He shifted his body, leaning on his elbow and slid his other hand between them to circle her clit. "Come for me."
As if her body listened only to him, she shuddered underneath him. Her pussy squeezed his cock, and he again shifted, putting his weight on her and giving her every inch.
He tore his mouth away from hers and threw back his head, groaning his release.
She rubbed her leg along his hip and smiled lazily up at him. He was beautiful, and he wanted her. Only her.
He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him. "Give me a second, and we'll squeeze another one in."
She laughed softly, entwining her fingers with his and kissed the back of his knuckles. "Were you serious about us being together?"
He lifted his head. "Damn serious."
She quivered with excitement. The truth was in those dark, beautiful eyes of his.
Chapter 16
Wyatt
A PUNGENT MUSTY ODOR wafted out the door. Wyatt stepped inside and visually assessed the damage to the last unused apartment in Unit C. While there was no fire damage, the smoke from downstairs had wafted up through the floorboards, coupled with the area being shut up for years with no heat causing a mildew problem, everything on the surface would need to be replaced.
The drywall, floorboards, and flooring would need torn out. It would be the only way he could check the structural damage that his eyes couldn't see. He suspected there was damage on the subfloor from when the fire department sprayed water to put the fire out downstairs.
Unfortunately, the last apartment had the least amount of damage. The other three were a total gut job.
Joey stood beside him, covering her nose and mouth with her hand. He pressed his hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the room.
Shutting the door, he inhaled deeply, trying to get the stench out of his nose. Carr Construction normally stuck with new construction, only doing remodels during the winter when business slowed, but he could make an exception.
"If you can handle odd hours and a longer end-time, I can give you an estimate of the cost and do the job myself." He leaned on the railing of the balcony. "If you're looking to have this done as fast as possible, I could get a crew together at the end of the month. It'll take five weeks, and the cost goes up from there. I'll write out a bid with no obligation. I'd advise you to get a couple more estimates first from other companies before you make up your mind."
"I don't want a bargain on the price because we're seeing each other. I would need to be charged what everyone else has to pay," said Joey.
Regardless, he would do the labor for free if she could wait. Assigning a crew, he would have no option but to make sure his men were paid.
"I'm in no hurry." She moved to him and looped her arm through his. "It'll have to wait until January, anyway."
"Because you want to play in the Blackfoot Tournament?"
"I know it's a long-shot, but I've been dreaming about playing in a higher stakes tournament since I worked up my courage to walk into a bar by myself and ask to play. I have to try and gather the money for Blackfoot, even if I don't reach my goal."
He turned his head and kissed her. "You'll get the money."
"I don't know..." She shrugged. "But I don't have anything to lose. If I turn out short, that means I'll have more money to fix the apartments, right?"
He straightened, distracted when Jess walked into the parking lot.
From his view, he mapped her destination, and she headed toward an older pickup. It was bad enough he worried about Travis, but his daughter had never given him any reason to doubt she was doing exactly what she told him she was doing—which was her homework because she had her final test in biology tomorrow.
"What's wrong?" asked Joey.
He shifted, heading toward the stairs. "Jess."
At ground level, he marched through the grass and headed toward the parking lot. He'd put a stop to her leaving. She had schoolwork to do, and the rule was she was told to tell him where she was going before she left the apartment.
"Wyatt." Joey grabbed his arm, tugging him to a stop. "Wait."
"What?" he snapped.
"Calm down." She spread her hands on his chest. "Think about what you're doing."
"Jess is—"
"Jess has a boy who likes her." Joey's gaze softened. "She's a fifteen-year-old girl, and having boys paying her attention is a good thing. It makes her feel special."
His head pounded. "A boy?"
Joey nodded. "You'll embarrass her if you go confront her in front of him."
He rocked back a step. "A boy?"
That was his little girl. She wasn't interested in boys yet.
Not boys in pickups, secretly meeting her, and not letting her father know he was interested in his baby girl.
He growled and stormed ahead. There was no reason to meet a boy alone in a truck. If she wanted a boy to hang around, they could do it in the apartment where he could watch out for her.
"Wyatt." Joey grabbed his wrist. "Wait. Please."
He turned. "That's my daughter."
Joey recoiled and put her hands up. Frustrated, he stared at her. He couldn't fight with Joey and take care of his daughter.
Turning, he walked away and sought out the boy who'd talked his daughter into meeting him in his truck.
He never stopped until he reached the vehicle and opened the passenger side door. All he wanted to do was drag out the boy and teach him a lesson.
Jess jolted at the intrusion, looking over her shoulder. "Dad!"
"Get out." He pointed.
"Why?" Jess's brows lowered, and her lips pinched together.
It'd been a long time since he'd seen that stubborn streak in his daughter. The anger coming from her slammed into his chest. He held on to the door, reeling with the obvious. Jess had to grow up before her time. When she should've been hanging out with her little friends, crying over not going to the mall, and obsessing over some television show, she was taking care of Travis and picking up the slack when her mother was wearing off her addiction or completely absent.
When he should've worried about her missing out, he was patting himself on the back for having a damn good daughter, more mature and responsible than her given age. He should've realized she was missing ou
t on normal teenage stuff.
"Dad, I'm not going anywhere." She held up the book on her lap. "Derrick came over to study with me, and Travis is in the apartment playing Atari. It's quiet out here."
"You're not going anywhere?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Derrick has to be at work in an hour. We're cramming."
He looked across the cab of the truck. The boy held up a notebook. A clean-cut kid wearing an apron from Kiggin's Grocery Store.
"See you in an hour." He shut the door and walked away, glancing behind him at his daughter as she turned her attention back to the boy.
Beating himself for having neglected his daughter and not giving her the time to experience life as a carefree teenager and blowing up the situation, he looked toward the apartments for Joey and found her gone.
"Fuck," he mumbled.
He headed toward Joey's apartment, and Travis bellowed his name. He turned around. "What?"
"Phone." Travis hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "It's Roddy."
He jogged back to his place. Travis followed him through the apartment.
"Can you call Frank when you're done and ask if we can ride his dirt bikes again?"
Messing Travis's hair, he said, "Let me see what's going on first with Roddy."
Today was Sunday. There was no work scheduled.
Picking up the phone receiver, he stretched the cord to the end of the kitchen. "Wyatt here."
"Boss, it's Roddy. The president of Tarkio wants to meet with you."
He refrained from asking why. If this was about Dean, he preferred his son not know.
"When?" he asked.
"Before six. At the clubhouse."
He could feed the kids before he left. Jess's boyfriend would be gone. He ran his hand through his hair. He needed to talk to Joey, but that was going to have to wait.
"I'll be there." He hung up the phone.
Planting his hands on the counter, he hung his head. He'd like just one fucking day with nothing going on and no one threatening his family.
"Dad?"
He straightened, giving all his attention to Travis. "Yeah, son?"
"Are you okay?" Travis shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Everything is good." He walked over to his son and put him in a headlock. "How about a quick game of Missile Command, and then I need to go pick up a pizza for dinner."
"Can we have Kentucky Fried Chicken instead?" Travis grabbed Wyatt's arm and tried to out-muscle him.
"Do you think your sister would like that?"
"Duh, dude." Travis squirmed out of his hold. "Can we take it over to Joey's so she can eat, too."
"Not tonight, son." He sat down on the couch and held his hand out for the game controller. "You go first."
Not knowing how long the meeting with the president of Tarkio would last, he couldn't plan anything later with Joey. Like his son, it was natural to think of her and want her around.
Chapter 17
Joey
FOUR MEN SURROUNDED the table, ready to play pool with anyone who challenged them. Joey had watched the games for the last hour, picking out their strengths, their handicaps, and debating with herself whether she would ask to play.
A garage band played on the floor-level stage on the other side of the bar. The talk going around was that they were a new alternative-rock group from Seattle's underground, trying to make a name for themselves.
She tapped her toe. It was her nerves more than the music that got to her tonight.
The Kingston Bar was located in a rougher part of town. Half the male customers were bikers, and not one of the leather vests had Tarkio MC on the back. Despite wearing her short jean skirt and a clinging tank top, she had more clothes covering her body parts than all the other women—including the servers who wore bikini tops with a pair of biker shorts.
A man fell into her table. She grabbed her case and swung her legs out of the way, staying out of the fray. At the same time, one of the pool players approached her. Going toward what was familiar to her, she stood and joined him at the pool table.
"Did you want in on a game?" The man leaned close, bending his tall frame, so she could hear him.
"What's the play-in?" she asked.
The man held up two fingers, then five. Twenty-five? Two hundred and fifty?
She hadn't noticed any exchanges while watching the games, but that meant nothing. Most people exchanged the payments and winnings in private if the bars weren't hosting a scheduled game.
Either way, she could play.
"I'm in." She reached into her pocket, taking all the money she'd brought with her tonight, and held out her hand.
He shook, taking all two hundred and fifty dollars. "I'm Mike."
"Joey," she said, opening her case.
"You'll open and keep playing as long as you're winning." Mike pointed. "You'll go against Boomer in the first round."
"What's the payout?" She ran her hand down the stick, checking for any imperfections.
"If you make it to the last round, the pot is fifteen hundred." He leaned down. "Good luck."
Excitement built inside of her. No longer doubting her decision to try out a new spot for the night, she put the noisy crowd out of her mind and approached the table. She could do this.
Winning the flip, she broke the balls and called solids. She'd cleared half the table before she missed.
As she moved back to give Boomer his turn, one of the other players approached her with a drink. She never consumed alcohol when she played, but she kept that information to herself and accepted the glass, holding it while introductions were made.
Al was a talkative man, filling her in on everyone playing, including himself. She half-listened until it was her turn. Wanting to get through the night and closer to holding the pot, she hit every ball and ended with a difficult angle on the eight-ball.
Then, Boomer choked.
She called the shot and won the game.
The rest of the night went the same way. She concentrated on her play, never going easy. Cash figures filled her head as she estimated how much more money she'd save if she came to Kingston Bar once a month on top of staying at Riverside Bar on Fridays. If she played at the top of her game, she'd have enough money by the end of September. The deadline to sign up for Blackfoot Tournament was the first of November.
With two balls on the table, her opponent had three. It was her shot.
She walked around the table, steadying her breathing. It would only hurt her if she let her nerves get the best of her. She was close, almost tasting the win.
Bending down at the corner, she eyed the shot. It wasn't the easiest, but if she missed, she'd be blocking. She straightened and chalked the end of her stick when a large body stood in the background of the pocket.
She raised her gaze and found Wyatt staring at her. His intense look threw her off.
What was he doing here?
"Take your shot, honey." Keith, the last opponent she had to beat, stood behind her, trying to intimidate her.
Walking away, she pretended to look over the table, when all she was doing was taking the time to calm her racing heart and still the quiver in her body. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Wyatt after she'd left him to deal with family problems surrounding Jess and a boy yesterday.
By the look on his face, he was still angry. At her or someone else, she had no idea. He couldn't fault her for coming here and playing pool. He worked late during the week and then needed to look after his kids and make sure they finished their homework. Her time was her time, even if they were together. It wasn't like she was on a date or flirting with anyone.
She slowly exhaled, hiding her nerves. Taking up position at the table, she leaned over and sighted the stick.
A low cat-call whistle came from behind her. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of Wyatt moving around the pool table. She rushed the shot. The moment the ferrule made contact with the cue ball, she stepped away, knowing she'd overshot.
; Not showing her frustration, she stood to the side of the table. She wasn't feeling lucky, and that's what she'd need for Keith to miss and give her another chance. Damnit.
Why had she wasted two hundred and fifty dollars? All she was doing was digging herself into a deeper hole.
Angry at herself, she gasped when Keith scratched. Luck on her side, she studied the table while chalking the end of the stick. The crowd, her opponent, the music, and Wyatt pushed out of her mind, she thought of all the advice her grandpa used to whisper to her.
Steady. Keep her focus. Loosen her fingers. Plant her stance. Then, ghost ball the shot.
Concentrating, she made her call, pulled back her arm, and judged the strength, and shot. The solid connection felt right. She followed the ball from the side rail, across the table, and fall into the left corner pocket.
Yes. She turned and held out her hand to Keith.
"Good game." Keith held her hand too long.
She pulled away and went to Mike, who handed over the winning pot and an unenthusiastic congratulations. She put the wad of money in her pocket, knowing anyone looking could see the lump in her tight jean skirt.
Stepping over to her case, she looked for Wyatt. He watched her while talking to Roddy and another man wearing a biker vest. Excited for the win, she hurried to put her stick away and walked over to him.
"Looks like you've got what you were looking for." Roddy slapped Wyatt on the shoulder. "I'll see you at work."
"Thanks, Roddy." Wyatt shook the other man's hand. "Thanks, Curley."
When they left, she flung her arm around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him. "I won."
"I see that." He grabbed her hips and pressed her down, flat on her heels, away from him. "Let's go."
"Whoa..." She hustled to keep up with his stride. "What's wrong?"
His hand pressed on her back, urging her forward. Tension rolled off him. Her worry went to the kids. Had Travis taken off again? Was Jess okay?
The closer they got to the door, the louder the music from the band came over the speakers. She held on to his shirt to keep from falling.
Wyatt busted out of the door and kept going. The ringing in her ears continued outside, and the cool night air shocked her overheated body.
