Off Course, page 6
“If I had to guess, it has somethin’ to do with him.”
Reese followed Brantley’s finger to where he was pointing to the bar. Atticus was standing there watching the pair of them, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What the fuck did he do now?” Reese grumbled.
“You say that like you’ve already determined him guilty.”
“Yeah, well. When the shoe fits.”
Brantley chuckled. “The fact that Spencer’ll screw anything that walks upright on two legs isn’t a secret in this town.” He tipped his beer bottle to his lips. “Knowin’ Atticus, he tapped into that and thought he’d hook him one for the night.”
“Why would Slade give a shit?” Reese wondered aloud.
“He hates his brother. Probably a knee-jerk response.”
Reese relaxed when Slade backed up a few steps. His lips were moving, but they couldn’t hear a word being spoken. Whatever it was earned Slade a middle finger when Spencer shoved his hand in his face.
“Son of a bitch,” Brantley growled when Slade shoved Spencer.
Reese was out of his chair a second behind Brantley. The brothers got in a couple of punches before they managed to pull them off each other, shoving them in opposite directions.
“You wanna do that, you take that shit outside,” Brantley snarled. “You don’t disrespect Mack’s place like that.”
Spencer wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand and glared at Slade. “You need to get over yourself, asshole. It’s time for you to move the fuck on.”
Brantley didn’t allow Slade to say a word, planting a finger in his chest. “Not here.”
Slade nodded, his gaze following Spencer as he walked toward the door. The man paused to say something to Atticus. The room seemed to hold its breath as Atticus glanced at Slade and then back to Spencer. A second later, he was following the man out of the bar.
“He’s gonna fuck him over,” Slade snarled.
“Atticus is a big boy,” Brantley told Slade. “He can take care of himself.”
Reese figured no truer words had ever been said. He didn’t know much about Atticus other than the bits and pieces they’d learned while working to find Tobias Land and what little he’d picked up on the past couple of months, but he knew Atticus wasn’t the laid-back, happy-go-lucky guy he wanted everyone to think he was. He was hiding something. Pain, anger, Reese wasn’t sure. But it was damn sure something.
***
Atticus knew he was making a mistake leaving with Spencer. He knew it, and he did it anyway.
Or, at the very least, he was considering it with his final decision weighing heavily on the getting laid side. For that to happen, he had to go with Spencer.
So why the hell was he even second-guessing himself?
Because going will be a silent “fuck you” to Slade.
Goddamn. Why the fuck did he go and grow a conscience now?
Did he really give a shit about Slade?
The answer to that was not really, but even so, Atticus had no business getting in between Slade and his family drama. Which meant decorum dictated that he cut his losses and either go home alone or go back inside the bar and get shit-faced.
Shit-faced or laid?
Shit-faced or laid?
Which is it gonna be?
Atticus squared his shoulders. Decorum could go fuck itself because tonight he was thinking solely with his dick.
“Follow me back to my place. That’s me right there,” Spencer said, pointing toward a candy-apple red Camaro.
“Where do you live?”
“Not far.”
With one last chance to do the right thing, Atticus looked at the bar. He recalled the look on Slade’s face when Spencer rubbed it in that he’d fucked his wife. It was a dick move; that was for damn sure. Worst part was Spencer wasn’t the least bit apologetic. In fact, there might’ve been a glimmer of victory in Spencer’s eyes. Atticus was all for bucking the system, but did he want to go down that road? Where he no longer gave a shit about other people’s feelings?
“You comin’ or not?” Spencer called out as he opened his car door.
Could he do that to Slade? Could he put a rift between them so early in their relationship? They were only co-workers, but it wasn’t like they worked in an office building and would only see each other on occasion. Atticus would have to see the man every damn day. And hell, there was a good chance that one day, he might have to rely on Slade to have his back.
Atticus found himself shaking his head. “Actually, no. I’m not comin’.”
In more ways than one, he thought as he started toward the bar.
“Your loss,” Spencer shouted after him.
Yeah. It probably was, but Atticus’s dick had gotten him into trouble more than once. Only once when it had mattered, though. A couple of years ago. Turned out the guy he’d gone home with had been helping a friend evade arrest. Atticus ended up losing a large bounty thanks to thinking with the wrong brain.
Sure, sex was a great way to take the edge off, but it wasn’t a requirement. He didn’t need to get fucked. He simply wanted to.
With a sigh of regret that he’d missed an opportunity, Atticus opened the door and stepped inside. A round of greetings echoed, and like usual, no one looked up. Had they, they might’ve said, “Welcome back.”
He scanned the room, looking for Slade or Brantley. He found Slade standing near the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He had a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face.
Atticus made a beeline for him. With each step, his frustration grew until he found himself up in Slade’s face. He ignored the fact that he had to go up on his toes since Slade was several inches taller.
“The next time you wanna protect my fuckin’ virtue, don’t.”
Slade stared at him, his brown eyes glittering. “Virtue? Among other things, that’s one thing you’re lackin’.”
Great. And now Slade was going to take his anger out on him.
Atticus rolled his eyes. “And to think, I gave up gettin’ fucked for you.”
Slade’s expression changed, and for a moment, Atticus thought he saw a hint of remorse. If he had, Slade had no intention of apologizing because he walked away, heading back to the table where Ethan and Beau were once again watching them.
With a sigh, Atticus returned to the bar. He flagged Rafe down and ordered another beer. When he got it, he found an empty seat near the pool table and took a load off. He figured he’d finish his beer and head back to the cheap, rent-by-the-week motel he was staying in until he could find a place of his own. He’d been hoping to find an apartment close to work, but so far, there weren’t any available rentals. None that he could afford, anyway. He’d been calling those in his price range every week, hoping someone had turned in their notice. So far, no luck.
“You chose wisely.”
The gruff rasp came from his left. Atticus looked up to see a dark-haired cowboy holding what looked to be some fruity drink. He was dressed like nearly every other redneck in this bar, wearing scuffed boots, ball-crushing Wranglers, a faded, seen-one-too-many-washes graphic T-shirt, and a Stetson made of straw—a summer staple, or so Slade had told him—resting on his head.
In a word, he looked fucking delicious. The rugged cowboy look definitely did it for him.
The guy nodded to the empty seat beside Atticus. “You mind?”
“No.”
He took a seat on Atticus’s left, leaning back with a casualness so many of these cowboys exuded. As though he didn’t have a care in the world. That or he needed to recline to take some pressure off his balls since those damn jeans looked molded to his mile-long legs.
“What was the wise choice I made?” Atticus prompted, not wanting to think about the guy’s balls or his legs and risk getting a hard-on.
The guy nodded his chin toward the door. “Not gettin’ in between those two. Slade and Spencer’ve been fightin’ since they were kids. Got worse when Spencer screwed Slade’s girl.”
“Yeah, well.” Atticus huffed. “In between wasn’t where I was hopin’ I’d end up tonight. You related to them or what?”
“Not directly, no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means my cousins are their cousins.”
Atticus didn’t have the brain power to make sense of that, so he said, “Then who are you related to?”
“Well…” The guy looked around the room and started pointing. “That one. And him. And that one over there. Her. Her. And yeah, that one, too.”
Atticus noticed he’d pointed at Brantley first, then to Ethan, and then some others Atticus didn’t know.
“Cousins,” the guy said, twisting so he could offer a hand. “Name’s Carson. And you are?”
“Let me guess, your last name’s Walker.”
“Nope. Briggs.” Carson flashed a grin. “My mama’s maiden name is Walker, though. And you are?”
“Atticus.” He shook the man’s hand, and as soon as their palms touched, Atticus knew his night was looking a little brighter.
“Nice to meet ya.”
“I’d say the same,” Atticus told him, “but I’ll refrain until I see if one of your kin is gonna come over here and warn me off you.”
Carson laughed. “Ask anyone. I’ve got no skeletons in my closet.”
“With or without, are you still locked up tight in that closet?”
A sexy curve pulled at the corner of Carson’s lips until he was doing that whole half-smirk thing. Carson raised his pink drink. “What do you think?”
Oh yeah. His night was definitely looking up.
Chapter Seven
“I have to say, this has been easier than I expected,” Becs said when Evan joined her in the kitchen.
It had been a long day. Freakishly long since somehow they’d managed to get the girls to go to bed early last night. That backfired when they woke up at the ass-crack of dawn this morning ready to party.
On the flip side, they’d been so busy keeping up with the kids they hadn’t had a chance to finish the conversation they’d started last night.
“Which part?” he replied. “Dinner or getting them to agree to go to sleep?”
She smiled. “Both.”
Damn, she had a beautiful smile.
“Be careful what you wish for. The night’s still young.”
Her smile widened. “True. Last night, we got lucky.”
Yes, they had.
“You want something to drink?”
Becs glanced around the empty kitchen. “I should probably turn in. If, by chance, we get lucky again, I’m sure they’ll be up early in the morning.”
“Yeah. Probably.” Evan knew he should go to bed, too.
If he were tired, that wouldn’t have been a problem. He should’ve been. Chasing six kids around all day took it out of you. He could blame it on the coffee, but it would’ve been a lie. The woman standing two feet away was the reason for his insomnia. More accurately, her admission last night. Not a minute had gone by since then that he hadn’t thought about it. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to broach the subject last night. Since she hadn’t either, Evan was starting to think he’d dreamed it all.
“Did you wanna keep talking about … you know … what I said last night?” Becs asked. “I mean, we were interrupted, so we didn’t get to finish the conversation.”
Their quiet time had certainly come to an end faster than he’d anticipated. The moment the third girl showed up, Sophia decided they should get in the swimming pool, which meant Evan was needed to keep an eye on things. The party was in full force from that point on. Right up until they had tucked the girls into their fancy blanket forts that Becs had helped them make in the game room. At that point, Becs had been invited to hang out with them, leaving him to ponder the conversation alone.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Becs said, her voice softer than before. More hesitant.
If he didn’t know better, Evan would’ve said she was as nervous as he was. But he wasn’t sure that was even possible.
Becs was the first woman Evan had been interested in since his wife. At least for more than an intimate encounter. And since Gayle had been his high school sweetheart and the first woman he had slept with, Evan didn’t have a long, sordid track record with women. He hadn’t actually been on a date in more than a decade. Not since before Gayle died. The women he’d been with over the years had been ones he picked up in bars, ones he ensured understood he wasn’t looking for anything more than sex, so there’d been no subsequent dinners or movies or any of that social shit required to maintain a healthy relationship. Evan didn’t do relationships, so as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t necessary.
And while he wanted to take this woman to bed—God, he wanted that more than his next fucking breath—Evan wanted more from their relationship than that. Even if it was only friendship, he wanted more. The problem was sex muddied the waters. Intimacy increased affection in many cases. Evan wasn’t ready for something complicated. Was he?
“Sorry I brought it back up,” Becs said with a sad smile. “Would you mind if I slept in Sophia’s bed? If and when I get them to sleep, I mean.”
Evan heard her words, but he wasn’t listening. He was stuck on her apology and the fact she thought he was bothered by the topic. Sure, it made him uncomfortable, but he admired her boldness. The fact that she’d brought it up had surprised him. Hell, everything about Becs surprised him.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I guess that means the decision’s mine to make.”
Decision? What decision?
Becs stepped around him. “Good night, Evan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before she could pass him, Evan reached for her. He cupped her face, pivoting to face her as he did. Without thinking about the repercussions—there would certainly be time to do that later—he kissed her.
The moment her soft lips met his, his senses were overwhelmed. Her sweet smell, her smooth skin, the barely audible whimper that escaped her as she leaned into him, her cool hands curling on the sides of his neck. And when her lips parted, allowing him entry, he knew he was in over his head.
She was sweet. Her taste, her touch. Their tongues met, a hesitant, languid mating. Evan wasn’t sure he’d ever been as turned on by a simple, innocent kiss as he was now. It was intense despite the lack of urgency. He savored her for long minutes, unable to release her even when his brain told him it was the only option.
When their lips finally separated, Evan didn’t pull away, nor did she. Her hands remained on his neck, his cradling the back of her head. Evan rested his forehead against hers and let his heart rate return to normal.
“I’ve wanted you to do that for a long time,” she whispered.
“Not as long as I’ve wanted to do it,” he assured her.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the moment was broken. Evan stepped back just as Carly and Sophia appeared in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be in bed?” Becs asked, her eyes glittering with both remembered passion and renewed amusement.
“We want popcorn,” Carly said.
“Popcorn?” Becs put her hands on her knees and bent to their level. “I think popcorn sounds like the greatest birthday sleepover snack ever.”
“Yay!” Sophia shouted, hopping up and down.
“You two go on up. I’ll bring it up as soon as it’s ready.”
There was more bouncing, followed by Sophia’s exuberant, “Goodnight, Daddy!”
“Night, baby,” he called after her.
“I think it might be wise if I sleep in the game room with them again,” Becs said when she turned around to face him. “I’m not sure sleep’s gonna come quickly tonight.”
“No, it won’t,” he agreed, but he wasn’t only referring to the girls.
“How about a deal?” Becs said. “I stay up with them tonight, and you get up early with them tomorrow?”
“I can handle that deal.”
She moved closer. “About that kiss…”
Evan swallowed and waited for her to finish that sentence.
Her voice was soft when she said, “I hope we get to do it again sometime.”
“Me, too.”
***
“I won’t lie. This isn’t somethin’ I normally do.”
“What’s that?” Atticus asked, glancing over at Carson.
They’d been sitting at the back of the bar for the past two hours, simply talking. Mostly about mundane shit like the weather, but there were a couple of instances when Atticus had gotten a glimpse into who Carson was.
“Come to this bar and not spend the entire time shootin’ the shit with my cousins and catchin’ up on what’s goin’ on in their lives.”
Atticus motioned toward the tables where a handful of people still lingered. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
Carson tilted his head and regarded Atticus from underneath thick, dark lashes. “I didn’t say I’d rather be doin’ that.”
Atticus wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad. He was enjoying Carson’s company.
He’d learned quite a bit about the sexy Carson Briggs over the course of the time they’d spent together. At thirty-one, he was the youngest of six. His mother, Maryanne, was Brantley’s father’s youngest sister. Carson had two brothers, Jaxson and Wyatt, and three sisters, Piper, Renee, and Cara. Jaxson, the oldest, had his own handyman business in Coyote Ridge, and he helped out at Walker Demo whenever Autumn, who happened to be dating Charlotte Miller, one of Atticus’s co-workers, needed assistance. Carson’s oldest sister, Piper, was a psychiatrist who’d recently started a practice in town after moving back with her son when she divorced her cheatin’ bastard of a husband—Carson’s words. Renee was married to a lawyer, and they had four kids. They lived in San Antonio. Cara, the youngest sister, was an internet influencer—whatever that was—and made more money doing it than most of his siblings combined. Oh, and in Cara’s spare time, she was a volunteer fireman for the Coyote Ridge Fire Department. And Carson was an electrician.
There was no doubt Atticus wouldn’t remember most of those names come morning, but he’d enjoyed hearing the stories. What he found interesting was that Carson liked to talk about himself the least. He could go on and on about his family, but when Atticus tried to get too personal, he somehow managed to steer the conversation elsewhere.
