Eight Seconds to Fly, page 10
The music was suddenly silent. I looked over at Frankie, his smile gone, a frown in its place. “Do not overthink this, Querida. I have waited my whole life for you, I can wait the rest of the season. This?” He pointed between us. “This isn’t something ordinary. You are not ordinary. So if I have to share you for a few months? It doesn’t matter. Because for those few months at least I get to have a little of you. More than I ever thought I’d get. Now, stop that brain from churning and dance. And then you’ll have waffles and I can watch you make the O face.”
My mouth dropped open. “I do not do the O face over waffles.”
His grin made my chest fizz. “You do. And you shake your shoulders like this.” He shimmied, cupping his imaginary breasts. “And you make nom nom noises and it is adorável.”
I gave him a droll look. “I am not adorable.”
He leaned over, kissing up my jaw before nipping my ear. “You’re right. You’re sexy as hell. But when you do the food dance, you are adorable.”
I played it cool, rolling my eyes as I turned the music back up.
I was two miles down the road before I realized my cheeks hurt from grinning so wide.
I’m pretty sure I caught fleas from the third motel we stopped at on the road this week. I’d squirreled away all last week’s prize money as soon as it hit my bank account, just in case. Normally, we would have stayed on the outskirts of the major city for a day or two, taking advantage of the cheaper accommodation costs, but after Fleagate I thought screw it and splurged on a suite with a kitchen for an extra night.
It had a living room and a separate bedroom, and there was enough room for me to pull out my balance ball and weights so I could work off all those roadside waffles. Frankie had music streaming through a portable boombox as he cooked something that smelled amazing, his shirtless torso undulating to the music in a way that almost made me drop a dumbbell on my toe. When he busted me staring, he gave me a look that made me want to peel my clothes from my body, climb onto the tiny kitchen island and let him fuck me into next week.
He pointed at me and then curled a finger. “Dance with me, Gatinha.”
I shook my head. “I’m working my core.”
He danced over, his body rolling in a way that should be almost pornographic until he stood in front of me. “I have a better way to work your core,” he purred and my vagina may have wept with joy at the idea. As if he read my mind, he tsked and shook his head. “I meant dancing, Tessa Everett. So dirty.”
I put down the dumbbells before I had an unfortunate accident. I stood up from my balance ball looking completely unsexy in my Deadpool boxer shorts and a tank top. I could ride a bull. I could brand a calf. I could do a lot of things, but dancing was not one of them. But Frankie? He could lead a corpse into the perfect Samba.
He pulled me close and my hand slid over his hot skin. Oh, this was the best bad idea I’d ever had. His body pushed and pulled mine in time with the music, small movements that didn’t take much effort but sure made my skin burn. He bent me backwards, pushing my breasts against his chest as he placed a small kiss to the base of my throat.
My heart pounded. This was how you seduced a woman. Dancing with Frankie was akin to sex, and the way he moved his hips against my lower stomach, made me want to promise my soul to the devil just for a little bit of relief. He slid his thigh between mine, so every sway of my hips was delicious pressure against my aching lady-bits.
His lips brushed against my throat, and my lips parted as I panted out a gasp. “Frankie…” Fuck going slow. I wasn’t made for slow. I was made for breakneck speed. “Please,” I moaned as his lips moved across my collarbone.
“Please what, Gatinha?”
“I want-” a heavy knock at the door cut me off.
Frankie straightened, swearing loudly. He strode over to the door, adjusting his dick inside his grey sweats. Yeah, they weren’t hiding much. I could see the rigid outline like it was spotlighted. He pulled it open and continued to swear as Branch, Beau and Dylan strode into the suite.
I looked at my Deadpool boxers which were definitely damp thanks to Frankie’s impromptu dance party and back up at three men who were hotter than any group of men had any right to be. “What the hell are you doing here?”
They were all in their Sunday best. Dylan was in a royal blue shirt and a bolo tie, his dark jeans hugging his thighs like a hippie to a tree. Beau was in a steel grey shirt and black jeans. Branch was in all black, like a villain from a Western movie, but he made my mouth water and my head confused, and the combination inexplicably made me angrier than a hornet.
I looked directly at him, my eyebrows raised, my sass cranked to high. “Well?”
His eyes dropped down my body, taking in my legs, still purple with a giant bruise, then moving upwards, lingering on my breasts before meeting my eyes. My face felt flushed when he grinned at me, his dimples deep. “Takin’ you on a date, obviously Nugget.”
I blinked. I looked at Frankie, who seemed disgruntled. “I have regrets,” he grumbled. “I told them where we were staying.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Why?”
“Gentleman’s agreement,” he ground out.
I was hot, my pussy still pulsing from the promise of Frankie moments earlier. “How about you all go stuff your ‘Gentleman's agreement’, okay? This isn’t the seventeenth century. You have to ask me if I want to date any of you high-handed chauvinistic assholes. The answer is no. Now go away.”
I turned to storm away, but Dylan was quick, reaching out to grab my elbow. “Now, Tessa. Give us a shot. Hear what we have to say before you say no, yeah?”
This close, all hot and horny, I remembered how he tasted. How his fingers felt against my skin. His scent wrapped around me, and suddenly I wanted to curl into him. Ugh. Get it together, Tessa. He’s pretty, but you have principles, remember. No bull riders. No guys who think a woman’s place is in the kitchen, knocked up.
“Come on, Tessa,” he cajoled and I weakened. Tomorrow I would have principles. Tonight, I would give in to my bad sense.
I glared over his shoulder at Beau and Branch, the former grinning and the latter brooding at me like this whole situation was my own fault. Like it was a waste of his time. Frankie was obviously insane, there was no chance Branch wanted to do anything but send me back to the farm where I would be safe on two feet and not on the back of a bull. Where I’d marry one of the neighbors' sons so we could expand our property like this was the dark ages and we sold women like chattel. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. A little, logical part of my brain told me I hadn’t seen Branch in like five years, and I had no idea what he wanted. But the cock-blocked part of me disregarded her altogether.
Yep, I was definitely going. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”
I slammed into the bedroom and pulled out the only dress from my suitcase. It was a little crushed, but not enough to be noticeable. It cinched under my breasts, and gave me a pretty, soft silhouette. I knew it was one of Frankie’s favorites, because he always complimented me when I wore it. Now I knew it was because he wanted to have sex with me.
I was coming to grips with Frankie’s feelings, but it still made me reassess every little interaction we’d had. When I think about it, the signs were all there. But Beau was right. I was oblivious. I had a one track mind, and it had nothing to do with men and everything to do with riding bulls. Apparently it had made me blind to what was right in front of me, unless whatever was right in front of me knocked on the door and told me they were taking me out on some kind of weird group date.
I brushed out my blonde curls, which just resulted in them getting wilder. I found some hair gel and ran it through the ends, which mildly calmed it, but it was still a riot of golden strands. Like a cloud. Some days I loved it, but some days, I saw the benefit of shaving it all off.
I slipped my feet into my boots, looking at myself in the robe mirror. I looked feminine and wild. Maybe even a little hot, if I did say so myself. My cheeks were still pink from Frankie getting my blood up, so I didn’t need much makeup.I swiped on some nude lipstick and mascara. Done.
In exactly seven minutes, I walked into the living room, and the guys were all standing around having a heated discussion. I cleared my throat, and as one they looked at me. Beau’s mouth slipped open, and they all stared for so long, I began to worry I didn’t look quite as hot as I thought.
Frankie recovered first. He strolled over, still shirtless and so damn hot he made my mouth water. It was nice to be able to ogle him without worrying that I was going to ruin what we have by making an unwelcome move on my best friend. Still, I frowned down at his sweats. “Aren’t you coming?”
He grinned, “Oh, Querida, I will be coming alright, but seeing you like that,” he bit his bottom lip and I almost moaned out loud. “It doesn’t help my little problem,” he purred, looking down at the front of his sweats and his very obvious erection. If it had deflated even a little, it had shot right back up again.
Frankie leaned forward and kissed me, and I had an inkling he was branding me as his. As his lips seared mine, I didn’t even care. When his tongue slipped past my lips, someone behind us groaned and I pulled away.
Dylan was grinning wide. “Damn, that’s actually kinda hot. Maybe I can get down with this whole sharing thing.”
Beau rolled his eyes, but Branch still looked intense. He didn’t seem like the sharing’s caring type. I stepped away, trailing my fingers down Frankie’s abs, just because I could. Then I turned and smiled at the three remaining guys in my hotel room.
“So, where are we going?”
10
The music in the divey little western bar was all old country. The kind where they lamented how they got their heart broke, and that their woman took their old bluetick coonhound, Boss. The floors were sticky and the smell of cigarettes had permeated the wood paneling. There was a small dance floor and a mechanical bull.
In short, I kinda loved it.
As Dylan and Branch walked in ahead of us, Beau wrapped his arm around my waist and nuzzled my cheek.
“You look beautiful tonight, Nugget.”
I was glad the low lights hid the flush of my cheeks. “You ever gonna stop calling me Nugget?” I asked, arching a brow.
He shook his head and kissed the corner of my mouth. When he pulled back, he gave me a lopsided grin. “Probably not. To me, you’ll always be Nugget. The girl who stole her daddy’s ATV and got it stuck in a watering hole. The girl who got bucked off her horse, got up, dusted herself off and called that ornery old nag ‘the son of a glue-stickin’ whore.’ For the life of me, I still have no idea where you came up with that, but it makes me laugh every time I think about it.” He stopped, looking down at me like I was the only person in the room, and it was a heady damn feeling. “To me, you’ll always be Nugget, who looked up at me with those pretty blue eyes and said ‘Beau Larkin, I want you to be my first kiss and I don’t care what Branch says about it.’ Then you puckered up and I was helpless to resist. I had to kiss you.”
It could have been pitch black, and you still would have been able to see the color in my cheeks right now. I chewed my lower lip until Beau lifted his hand to cup my cheek. His calloused thumb reached over to pull down on my lip, dragging the abused skin to safety. “You keep doin’ that, Nugget, and I’m going to be helpless to resist again.”
He looked over my shoulder as a hard body stopped behind me. I knew who it was before I even turned around. His scent was ingrained in my psyche, I was sure of it. “We got a booth, Beau. So you don’t have to eye-fuck Nugget out here in public like she’s a two dollar hooker.”
My mouth dropped open. “Were you dropped on your head as a baby, Branch Watson? ‘Cause I know your mama raised you with the same manners as she raised me.” For reasons that were only known to Branch and the weird way his brain worked, me yelling at him made him grin, his dimples begging for me to poke the tip of my tongue in them. Those fucking dimples had been teasing me for decades. I swear, if I could date his dimples and not the actual man, I would die a happy woman.
He reached out and grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the back of the bar. The feel of his hand in mine had my heart racing, but the gesture, on anyone else, would be innocent. But nothing about Branch was innocent.
Dylan was holding our booth, a waitress flirting up a storm with him already. Jesus. He was like catnip for buckle bunnies. Some kind of jealous demon possessed me, because I slid past the waitress, who was leaning on the table with an awful lot of boob spillage. I gave her an innocent, friendly smile before I crawled across the booth bench seat and into Dylan’s lap. I grabbed his chin and dragged his face down for a kiss that was equal parts possession and red-hot lust. Dylan, bless his horny dude heart, didn’t even hesitate to kiss me back. His tongue plundered my mouth like it had been there once and couldn’t wait to take up permanent residence. His hands slid down my side, sliding over to grip my ass in his hands with a moan. “I’ve missed this ass so bad. I have dreams about it. About biting it hard enough to mark it, before I dive between your thighs and eat your pussy like a starving man,” he murmured against my lips, and I groaned.
Someone cleared their throat, and I looked over to see Beau grinning. “The waitress is gone, and I think Branch is exactly eight seconds from throwing you down on this table and claiming you like a caveman, Nugget. I had to send him to get drinks before he beat the shit out of Dylan.”
I looked incredulous, but that reminded me of something. I stared hard at Beau’s face, and there, when the strobe light hit him right, I could still see the faint hint of a black eye.
“Jesus, Frankie wasn't exaggerating. Branch did nail you one for sleeping with me.”
Dylan’s hand, which had been stroking my thigh, stilled. “Hang on, what? You slept with Beau?”
My gaze ping-ponged between the two men in the booth. “Wait, you didn't know? They didn’t tell you before you went into this weird agreement?”
Beau shrugged. “I don’t kiss and tell, darlin’.”
Well, this was fucking awkward. “Uh, yeah. Last week. It's kinda what instigated… whatever this is. Not sure I agree with it yet. I don’t date bull riders. You don’t crap where you eat, that's what my daddy always said.”
Beau gave me a sad smile. “He certainly did. You know what he used to say to me?”
I shook my head. “He said, ‘You hurt my little girl, Beau Boy, I will break your nose. Break her heart, and I’ll break your legs.”
I gaped. “He did not!”
Beau was grinning. “He did too. Scared the ever loving shit out of me. I was like thirteen that year, and I guess I noticed you were more than just another kid to play with. You were a girl. When you asked me to kiss you that day, I was half-petrified your dad would jump out of the bushes and break my kneecaps.”
I laughed, because my daddy was like that. Gruff. But I knew for a fact he loved Branch and Beau like the sons he’d never had.
Dylan’s hand had started stroking again, and I looked up at him. “Does it weird you out that I slept with Beau? Because it's not too late to back out. I don’t expect anything from you and we can go back to being friends and co-workers. No obligation.”
Dylan frowned, but shook his head. “Nah. I told you Tessa, you weren’t just a one night stand to me. If I have to deal with the fact that you slept with the pretty boy, so be it. As long as I get another opportunity to taste you again soon,” he whispered the last part, and my eyes hooded. I hadn’t been able to look at the back seat of my truck for a month without having vivid flashbacks of Dylan there, grinding beneath my body.
Branch arrived with four beers clutched in his fingers, and he plopped them on the table top, eyeing us all warily. I needed to get him alone. Needed to suss him out, to get to the bottom of why he suddenly wanted in on a group wooing.
I gulped down my drink, and looked at him. “Want to dance?”
His jaw tensed, but he nodded. Beau grinned at us both and shook his head. “Wanna watch me show you lazy ass bull riders how it's done?” he teased Dylan.
I left them to ride the mechanical bull as Branch guided me to the dancefloor, his hand on my lower back. The dance floor was already packed with people two-stepping to the song on the jukebox. Branch dragged me closer to his body, wrapping my smaller hand in his, fitting us together like two puzzle pieces.
I sighed and just let myself melt against his chest. It had always been this way with me and Branch. We had a confusing history of push and pull, of love and hate. Of want and need. Even when we were teenagers, he’d do this thing where he’d look at me like he’d want to kiss me, then say something absolutely loathsome. Me though? I loved him as much as I hated him. Maybe I loved him more because I hated him. But despite it, I’d always felt completely safe with Branch. Like I could just give him my life, my safety, and he would never fumble it. Never drop it. It was why I let him push me down a damn hill to teach me to ride a bike. I had so much faith in him that it bordered on hero worship.
In this moment, our history felt like just that. The past. But that sense of safety? It curled around my body and nestled against my heart, and that didn’t feel safe at all. He tucked me under his chin as he two-stepped us around the room. Dancing with Branch was different to dancing with Frankie. Dancing with Frankie was like a prelude to sex, even when we weren’t interested in each other. That was just the way Frankie danced; with barely contained passion that promised to set you on fire, if only you’d light the match.
Dancing with Branch was like being wrapped in Kevlar. It was still a promise, a statement that his arms were a safe harbor to rest in. I let out a shuddery sigh and laid my head on his chest. My brain shouted to be careful. Branch was like quicksand.
“Branch?”
I felt more than heard his answering, “Mmm?”
“Why’d you punch Beau?”
He stiffened slightly beneath my cheek, but his steps didn’t falter. “He deserved it.”
I frowned. “No he didn’t. What Beau and I did was completely consensual, you know that. You know Beau.” The idea that Beau would even consider coercing me into sex was insane. Beau was a lover. Sexy as hell, physically imposing, but the dude was a marshmallow. I remembered when he defied both my Daddy and his parents by sneaking the pregnant barn cat into his room at home, hiding her in there until she gave birth, in his bed, while he slept on the floor.
