Hard to Lose (The Play Hard Series Book 4)

by K. Bromberg

  Thoughts of sliding my hand between my thighs and finishing off the desire he flamed moments ago crosses my mind, but I know I’ll be left with a half-hearted orgasm and not completely satisfied.

  Who is this man? Funny. Great in bed. Lighthearted. Sexy. Selfless. I mean, what in the heck is he doing with me?

  Groaning, I hoist myself off the bed and gather my clothing. I can’t remember the last time I was so unmotivated about getting to work.

  By the time I’m dressed, the shower has stopped and Gunner is hurriedly walking into the bedroom, pulling one pant leg on.

  “No?” he asks me when he meets my eyes, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

  “No?” I ask. He looks at the bed and then at my hand and I shake my head. “It’s not the same.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Am I allowed to take that as a compliment?”

  “Definitely.” I bite my bottom lip and take him in again, careful to only allow my eyes to skim above his chest.

  He shoves a shirt over his head and runs his hand through his hair. “I’ve gotta run. I can either give you a ride or you can see yourself out whenever you’re ready.”

  “Wait, you’re just going to leave me alone in your house?” I ask, flabbergasted.

  “Are you going to rob me blind?”

  “Er, no.”

  “Then, yes, I’m going to leave you here alone. This isn’t the big city, Chase.” He pulls a baseball cap off a shelf in his closet and puts it on, adjusting the bill. “Besides, I tend to trust the people I sleep with so I’m not too worried.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, ride? No ride?” He grabs his car keys off his dresser.

  “No ride. My car isn’t too far away.”

  “Okay. Just lock the door on the way out. Shit, I’m late. I have your number now. I’ll call you later.” He heads out of the bedroom leaving me standing there, staring at the empty doorway.

  “Bye,” I say and then startle when he walks back in the room on a definite mission.

  “I forgot something,” he says seconds before he pulls me against him in a libido-stirring, panty-wetting, all-consuming kiss that leaves me absolutely breathless when he steps back. “Now, I can go.”

  And without another word, I hear his footsteps on the floor and then the door shuts with a slam.

  My fingers touch my lips and my head spins. I’m here in the house of a man I’ve known less than forty-eight hours . . . and yet I feel like I’ve known him my whole life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gunner

  I sag against the wall on the gymnasium floor. What a fucking day. It didn’t help that I got very little sleep, but it was a fucking day nonetheless.

  “So you going to tell me who put that pep in your step today?”

  I look up to Ellie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Oh, but I do, because all day long my mind kept drifting back to last night and this morning. To Chase and her laughter and the sex—Jesus Christ, the sex was incredible. But it was more than that. It was . . . just her. The ease I had in talking to her. The laughter. The conversation. This morning. The way she didn’t look at me like I was crazy or even worse, with pity, because of my scars.

  So yes, I’ve been distracted today. Distracted by thoughts of a woman that shouldn’t give me pause because she was supposed to be just that—a distraction from my troubled sleep and craving a little fun.

  Distracted, because I want to see her again, taste her again, when it’s been less than eight hours since I left her in my house with those bee-stung lips and huge blue eyes.

  “You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Ellie snorts. “I hear your words, Gunny, but that grin tells me otherwise.”

  “That noticeable, huh?”

  “Kind of.” She laughs as she sinks to the floor beside me. “And she is?”

  “No one. Someone.” Everything. “I don’t know what the hell she is but she sure as shit knocked me on my ass.”

  “Typically, being knocked on your ass isn’t a good thing.”

  “No, I mean it in all the best ways possible.”

  “Humph. That’s a good thing, then?” she asks.

  “It is.”

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  I look over to my counterpart. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and her gold hoops are bigger than the ears she hangs them from. Her smile is knowing and her dark brown eyes searching as they study me and wait for an answer.

  “I don’t know.” That’s a lie. I know damn well I want to.

  “Well, how did you leave it?”

  I chuckle and thoughts of Chase, and that naked, warm body of hers, fill my mind. Close behind are her words about taking care of herself while I was in the shower, and her admission that I was better than her own hand. What man doesn’t want to hear that?

  “Do I even want to know the shit that you’re thinking about right now?” she asks in her motherly tone she uses with the little girls she mentors here at The Center when they step out of line.

  “Probably not.”

  “So?” She raises her eyebrows. “How did you part ways?”

  “I left to come to work after one hell of a goodbye kiss.”

  “Okay, okay,” she says and nods dramatically. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So she spent the night. Your place or hers?”

  “Does it really matter? There was a bed.” I laugh.

  “It matters.”

  “Mine.”

  “Humph. You really do like her, don’t you?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “Men don’t take one-night stands back to their houses. They take them to hotels. They take them to the woman’s place . . . but never their own. Unless of course, you want to see her again because if so, you just showed her where you live.”

  “Your logic is . . .” But I can’t finish my train of thought because she’s right. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever taken a one-night stand home with me.

  “You sure your girlfriend ain’t crazy? Because if she is, you’re going to have to move.”

  “She’s not crazy, Ellie. She’s . . .” Perfect. Sexy. Funny. Intelligent.

  She cackles out a knowing laugh. “I’ll repeat myself: you really do like her. So when are you going to call her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her sigh is heavy. “Gunner, Gunner, Gunner. Honey, this is not like you.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. I’ve seen you come in here after a good night of sex and all, but this one—this woman—has you a little tied up.”

  “I wish she had me a lot tied up,” I tease.

  “The kids were as exhausting today as you’re being right now,” she mutters.

  “Funny.” I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall.

  “I know I am. But I also know if you like her this much, then don’t be playing those stupid-ass games men like to play. Call her. See her. Enjoy her. You know better than most that life is too goddamn short to play games.”

  “Amen to that,” I murmur and close my eyes again to block the flashbacks that come when I do.

  The acrid smell.

  The concussive blast.

  The violent pain.

  The world falling apart all around me.

  And the carnage when it was all over.

  I shake my head to rid it of the past. Of the memories that I’ll never get over, never forget, but somehow need to move on from.

  “Trey is struggling,” I say, because it’s easier to focus on one of the kids than it is to focus on me.

  “I know and it’s heartbreaking.”

  “It’s always heartbreaking,” I say, as I think of the little boy and his big gray eyes. How they looked up at me with huge alligator tears in them as he asked me why his daddy wasn’t coming home.

  “You remember that far back, yeah?” she asks. There’s a reason we both do this. Two army brats who both l
ost our fathers and then became soldiers ourselves.

  “Bits and pieces, but sometimes I wonder what’s real versus what I’ve seen in pictures and then fabricated in my mind from there.”

  “I think we’re all like that.”

  “But more than anything, I remember looking out the window and even though I’d been told he wasn’t coming back, still looking for him to come up the walkway in his uniform with those black boots squeaking as he went.”

  She nods and places a hand on my thigh. “We do good here, Gunny. It’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes, but we make a difference.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I have to get going. I know one of my boys is probably already complaining and wondering what’s for dinner.” She chuckles, stands, takes a few steps, and then kicks the toe of my shoes. “Don’t think I’m not noticing that you’re not addressing Wendy’s resignation today.”

  I squint when I look up at her. “I’m not ignoring it. I’ll find someone. It’s a temporary job, so it can’t be that hard to fill.”

  “Yeah, but until you do, the two of us are stuck doing it, and this momma doesn’t have any more time to give.”

  “I’ll take care of it or will find someone who can fill in a few hours to help us out. Not a problem.” But it is a problem because like Ellie, I don’t have more time to give . . . but unlike her, I don’t have a family.

  A family to watch me coming up the walkway.

  A family to go home to.

  * * *

  “You keep looking at that door like you’re expecting someone to come walking on in,” Nix says from his usual perch to the side of me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say and move toward the right to wipe down the counter.

  It’s been a busy night. Fridays always are here and there’s no shortage of people wanting a reprieve from the workweek. The music is loud, the drinks are flowing, and I should be one happy bar owner.

  The problem is Nix is right. I keep looking at the door. I keep wondering if Chase is going to walk through it with that fucking gorgeous confidence she wears like a sexy negligee. I keep remembering every goddamn minute of last night.

  “You just looked again.”

  “Fuck off, Nix.”

  His chuckle is low and taunting. “So what gives? She that good in bed? She’s fabulous at her conversation skills? She’s—”

  “I slept a whole fucking night without a nightmare. How’s that?” I snap at him, but when I meet his eyes, there’s understanding and compassion that most people would never comprehend.

  “Shit, Gunny.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I walk out from behind the bar and start collecting empties from tables. It’s not my job to do, but I need a fucking minute to let the words that just fell out of my mouth sink in.

  When was the last time that happened? When was the last time I wasn’t finding every excuse not to sleep to keep the nightmares at bay?

  Granted, I did exert myself fairly heavily, but still . . .

  I glance over to Nix whose head is down, watching his thumbs play with the label on the beer bottle. He knows the gravity of what I just said. Of the unattainable night without nightmares.

  He was there with me that day. He remembers too.

  I let myself get lost in the small talk with customers to clear my head. Some are regulars, some are not, but most know who I am. Luckily, all are respectful and don’t ask the questions they’re wondering. The questions I would probably have if I were in their shoes as well.

  That’s enough for me.

  I move back behind the bar, dropping the empties in the sink with a clatter. One of my servers narrows their eyes as they try and figure out why I’m helping them out. I just smile and give a shake of my head that it’s no big deal.

  And when the door swings open, I look again.

  “You going to see her tonight when you get off?”

  “No,” I grunt.

  “As per usual, you make absolutely perfect sense,” he says into his beer and my response is a lifted middle finger. “Seriously, though. Why not?”

  “Because . . .” I turn to face him, hands out in a shrug. “Do I have to have a reason?”

  “If you’re going to bullshit me then yes, yes, you do.” He chuckles.

  “I don’t know why the fuck I’m not going to see her tonight, but it feels like I need to wait. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Why wait? A booty call is a booty call.”

  “She’s more than—” Fuck. I catch myself but it’s too late, and Nix’s imagination is running wild.

  “I see.” And his silence is deafening in this loud bar. But he doesn’t tease me, and he sure as fuck doesn’t dare question me. “Humph.”

  “Humph?” I ask.

  A slow smile crawls over his typically stiff upper lip. “My guess is the lights will be glowing tonight then?”

  I slide a glance over to him, sigh, and shake my head. It’s a good thing to have someone know you as well as he does. And a bad thing. For both of us.

  “Meaning?” I ask.

  “Meaning, when you can’t sleep or you can’t figure shit out, that’s where you go.”

  “And of course, your place has a bird’s-eye view of the lights.”

  He brings his beer to his lips. “That it does.” But when he takes a sip, his eyes stay locked on mine.

  Fuck.

  “I already put in a call.”

  And when Nix laughs, it drowns out everyone else in the whole fucking bar.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gunner

  7 Years Ago

  “Look at you,” Boone says and then hisses when the shot of whiskey hits the back of his throat. “You’re actually going to let him get away with that?”

  I move my jaw from side to side and wince. By the way my cheek feels, the shiner that’s coming is going to be a fucking doozy.

  “I’m not letting him get away with shit.”

  “So you punched the fucker back?”

  “Nah.” I take a sip straight from the bottle. “I just don’t fucking care anymore.”

  “Shit,” he says drawing the word out, “you gotta show that bastard who’s boss.”

  I lie back on the grass and stare up at the darkened sky overhead. If there were any stars to be seen, I’m certain they’d be spinning on me like the ground beneath feels like it’s doing.

  “No one’s called, Boone.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “No one’s called. Coach sent out all those letters and emails and, other than that one prick who came asking for money, it’s been goddamn crickets.”

  I sit up long enough to take another swig.

  “You think it’s that bastard’s doing?” he asks.

  “Coach’s?”

  “Nah, your old man’s.”

  “He’s not my old man. Let’s get that straight,” I snap.

  “That’s right. I forgot your old man—”

  “Died. Yes. Poor little orphan boy should be so fucking lucky his momma found another man to help support them.”

  “Shit, man. I wasn’t going to say anything like that.” He holds his hands up in front of him. “I was just asking if you think your step-pop is fucking with you?”

  “Why would he? If I signed somewhere—even some Podunk single-A team, I’d be out of their hair. That’s what he wants. Me gone so he can control my mom even more.”

  He blows out a heavy sigh that sounds like how I feel. “So what’s the shiner for tonight?”

  “For being disrespectful.” I shake my head. “Supposedly I didn’t say thank you enough times for the food he provided. So I told him to fuck off.” No surprise, that didn’t end well.

  “All while your stepbrother, Perfect Marcus, had his ass kissed over how great he was, I bet.”

  I look over at him and roll my eyes. “Good guess.”

  You are nothing, boy. Will never be anything.

  Marcus’s the
one going places in ball. Not you. No one would take a chance on a bonehead, snot-nosed punk like you.

  Your useless ass is lucky you still have a roof over your head. If it weren’t for your momma’s begging, I’d have kicked your worthless ass out a long time ago.

  His insults run laps through my head. The anger I felt then and still now, vibrates through me. His son is perfect . . . I’m just a reminder his wife used to be married to another man.

  “If I were you, I’d show him he doesn’t own you or this house,” Boone continues.

  “Whatever, man.” I say the words, but his comment burrows its way under my skin.

  “You know what would be the ultimate fuck you to your step-pop? Taking that prized possession of his for a spin. Making sure your ass sits in those pristine seats of his and blowing the doors off that engine he babies like a pussy.”

  Normally, I’d never give the suggestion a second thought. That 1965 Mustang is my stepdad’s baby.

  Normally, I’d tell Boone to fuck off and that he’s crazy.

  But there’s something about tonight. About the words Sal said and the vengeance behind his punch that I can’t let go of. That fucker wants me gone because I’m my father’s son and not his. Because I’m better than his kid and he can’t handle it.

  I look at the closed garage door and know the keys for it are hanging on the rack inside the laundry room cupboard.

  The more I think about what Boone said, the more I hear Sal’s insults. His cruelty. And the more I want to say fuck you again to him.

  “Hey, where you going, man?” Boone asks as I shove up off the grass and stumble for a second before the world rights itself again.

  “Getting the keys.” I scrunch up my nose. “I think it’s a nice night for a drive.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Chase

  “Ms. Kincade?”

  “Yes?” I stop midway through the hotel lobby and turn to look at the desk clerk. She can’t be more than twenty, standing there with her little pregnant belly, her college textbooks cracked open, and a small wallet-sized photo of her husband in uniform taped to the edge of her computer screen. From our conversation yesterday, I know he’s currently deployed in the Middle East somewhere.