Karma's Kiss, page 16
He’s wearing a mischievously sly smile. Meanwhile, I tip my beer up and finish the last of it. As if by magic, Doc comes by with a third round.
“Perfect timing, Doc.” I smile and swap my empty beer for a full one.
“Sure thing. Y’all want anything to eat?”
“We’ll take some of your world-famous nachos,” Hunter says with a wink, then once Doc’s out of earshot, he jumps right back to the topic at hand. “So did it happen? Were y’all smoochin’ in the creek? I can’t picture it myself, but who knows?”
“It happened,” Sawyer states plainly. “Now change the subject.”
“What?!” Hunter explodes. “You expect me to—”
“Change the subject,” Sawyer insists roughly.
Two hours later, we’re playing darts, drunk as skunks. I’m not sure exactly how it happened. Sometime between the nachos and the cheeseburgers, Doc’s filled up with the afterwork crowd, my third beer turned into a fourth, and wouldn’t you know it? I suddenly don’t have a care in the world.
Doc cranked up the jukebox and he’s playing the song of my childhood: Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places”. There’s not a person in the bar that doesn’t know the lyrics by heart, hence why Sawyer, Hunter, and I turn to one another, lean in, and croon the chorus, giving “Think I’ll slip on down to the OH-asis” its just due.
“Damn, this is a good song. You’re up, Sawyer.” Hunter nods toward the dartboard and Sawyer steps back to take aim.
The floor and wall (and ceiling) around the board are proof of our bad aim. Well, mostly mine. Sawyer’s still fully capable of sinking dart after dart right in the bull’s-eye.
“That’s like a superpower,” I tell him, sounding thoroughly impressed.
He smiles, those dimples making my heart flutter. “You’re up, buttercup.”
Oh right. I have a game to win here.
I step up, take my position, and narrow one eye while taking aim like I’m really going to do something. The first dart I throw pings off the wooden slat beside the dartboard, ricochets off a nearby chair, and lands with a plop in a bowl of salsa someone abandoned half an hour ago.
Hunter bursts out laughing and has a hard time staying standing.
Sawyer retrieves the dart and wipes off the salsa with a shake of his head. “You’re not even aiming at the board.”
“I sure am. And you know what I’m picturing for the bull’s-eye? I’ll give you one guess.”
Sawyer comes up behind me and drops his mouth close to my ear. “I don’t have to guess. I know.” His hand’s on my waist and he doesn’t take it away. “Turn more. Yeah.” His hand slides up my arm, directly to my wrist, that little bit of connection eclipsing everything else.
I turn my body so I can look up at him. “How macho of you to give me a dart lesson. You doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”
His hand tightens on my wrist as he redirects my stance. “I’m doing it for the well-being of every person in here. They’re shaking in their boots, worried where your next dart is going to land. Poor Hunter almost lost an ear a minute ago.”
“It’s already stopped bleeding,” Hunter assures me from his perch on a nearby barstool.
I shimmy my hips like I’m trying to get comfortable in my position, but it brings me in direct contact with Sawyer. Neither of us pulls away. “Hunter, tell your friend he’s standing awfully close for someone who hates my guts.”
Sawyer chuckles behind me and keeps ahold of my arm, taking aim and throwing the dart for me, ensuring it sinks with a satisfying thump directly in the bull’s-eye.
I whirl around to see he’s wearing a winning smile. He’s confidence personified, the most handsome guy in this town and he knows it. If things were different—if the last few days had never happened—I’d sidle up close to him, slide my hands up his chest, and kiss the smile right off his face.
“You tell Hunter you kicked me off the vineyard yesterday?”
Sawyer’s eyes spark with the challenge. When I look over, Hunter shakes his head, crossing his arms over his wide chest. His eyes are half-lidded, evidence of his fourth beer. “Sure didn’t tell me. I hope it’s not true.”
I turn back to Sawyer, quirking a brow, waiting for him to fess up. Sawyer’s gaze lingers on my face, taking me in with so much interest I almost blush. I swear there’s yearning there; it’s like he wants to keep ahold of me but doesn’t know how.
“He said I’m never allowed to step foot on the property again,” I continue with a slow-spreading smile. “Am I the first person in Oak Hill history to be banned from Starlight Vineyards?”
Sawyer actually chuckles. “No. That privilege belongs to my grandfather’s old friend. Crawford caught him cheating during a game of cards. You’re the second person.”
“An honor,” I quip with a mocking bow. “Come on, Hunter, you’re up.”
“You think I can play darts right now? I’m ’bout to fall asleep at this table. Dammit, give ’em here.”
He shoves off his barstool and takes his turn, and though the darts manage to make it onto the board, they’re nowhere near the center. “Oh hell. I think that’s my sign to move on. I’m walking home.”
Ah, the perks of living in a small town. Hunter’s house is only a few streets over from Doc’s. He’ll be lying in bed sleeping off his buzz in fifteen minutes flat.
“That’s probably my cue too.”
I pat my backside as if I’m looking for my wallet and keys only to remember I ran here. No room for a wallet in my thin tank top and running shorts.
“Quitting on me?” Sawyer taunts.
I laugh as I fling my hand toward the dartboard. “You think I could possibly make a comeback? You’re so far ahead it’s embarrassing!”
“All right, so we’ll play something else.”
Hunter comes around to give me a side hug. “Bye, you two. Sawyer, you got Madison?”
“Madison has Madison,” I reply with gumption. “I’ll get home just fine. Bye, Hunter!”
I do have plans to go home; it’s late and I’m not sure what I’d hope to gain by staying here alone with Sawyer. But he convinces me to at least clean up the darts, and once we do that, there’s another good song playing over the stereo, “Heads Carolina, Tails California” by Jo Dee Messina. I tell myself I can’t leave until it’s over, and then Sawyer convinces me to partner up with him in Spades against Lee and Waylon. The two of us stare at each other across the table, acting like we’ve got some secret code.
“No table talk, you two,” Waylon grumbles.
“They’re not saying shit, they’re flirting with each other,” Lee remarks, throwing down an ace of hearts and winning the trick before sweeping the cards into a clean pile in front of him.
I roll my eyes. “We’re not flirting. I hate him.”
“Can’t stand her,” Sawyer tacks on in agreement.
“Oh yeah? I’ve seen this kind of hate before…” Lee laughs with a shake of his head.
I frown, trying to discern what he could possibly mean, and I’m no closer to figuring it out when the game is over (Lee and Waylon beat us handily), not even when Sawyer and I are walking out of Doc’s, bumping shoulders and trying to bite down our smiles.
“How’d you get here?” I ask him.
He nods toward his truck. “You ran?”
I tug on my tank top. “Why else would I be dressed like this?”
“I don’t know, but it’s been distracting as hell all night. Those little shorts…”
“What about them?”
He doesn’t say a word.
I haven’t even registered that he’s leading me over to his truck until he’s opening the passenger door for me. I laugh at the gesture. “I don’t want a ride from you! You’re my enemy. For all I know, you’ll drive me halfway to Mexico then kick me out on the side of the highway.”
“Well now that you’ve guessed my plan, I’ll have to come up with something else,” he drawls teasingly. “Hop in, Madison.”
I shimmy onto the seat and let him close the door behind me. He curves around the back of his truck, thumps the tailgate twice, and then opens his door. He climbs in, but he doesn’t start the engine. Why would he? He doesn’t want to take me anywhere. If he could, he’d toss the keys out the window and lose them in the grass.
His truck is parked way off in a cluster of oak trees, far enough from Doc’s front door that it feels plenty secluded. The dark windows are tinted and the moon’s not so bright tonight; we’ve lucked out.
Sawyer looks over the center console at me, and I don’t shy away from his intent gaze. Maybe he hasn’t forgiven me, but it’s clear he wants me. I stare at his lips and declare, “I don’t want to talk any more tonight.”
I can’t fight with him again right now. Not after standing so close to him all night, watching him throw darts and study his cards, not after feeling his heated gaze on me. I feel burned by it, hot and tingly.
“Then come here.”
I lean toward him and his hand catches behind my hair. He tugs me in and the moment we kiss, I feel it again, the desire I’ve tried so hard to suppress these last few days. Sawyer’s hungry for me. It’s apparent in the way his fingers tighten in my hair, the low groan he lets slip out as he presses against me.
He bites my lower lip and I come alive from it. Something scary grows in my chest as I climb up and over the center console and seat myself on his lap. His jeans rub against my sensitive thighs and I shift my hips, trying to find the perfect position until, with an exasperated “Madison,” Sawyer holds me steady, his hands squeezing my hips, his mouth covering mine. Our lips part and our tongues touch. A shudder rolls through me.
His calloused hands come up to tease the skin beneath my tank top, bunching it around my waist then pushing it up to gather just below the bottom of my ribs. I like how big his hands are as they cover me, skimming over my sports bra, making me whimper. His fingers dip under the tight material but then he pulls away and kisses me again, cradling my face. He continues like this, pressing the pedal to the metal one second only to back off the next. It’s like he’s restraining himself and he might have good reason for it, but it’s driving me insane. I’m the one to finally yank my shirt over my head and fling it away. It slaps against the passenger window and falls onto the seat. We both laugh, but not for long. I trace kisses down his neck and fumble with the waistband of his jeans.
God, his body is beautiful. I wish I had him spread out on a bed underneath me. I want to see all of him, feel every hard ridge and smooth muscle, but this is it—a golden opportunity—and I won’t let it go to waste.
Logistically, car sex is a nightmare. Too bad this is a standard-issue truck and not one of those super XL RVs with walls that extend with the press of a button. I can barely work my biker shorts off my hips and then I don’t even bother with my thong. It gets tugged provocatively to the side by Sawyer’s firm fingers.
Internally, I scream, Hallelujah!
Our confined quarters strangely heighten the fun, and the same goes for the fact that we’re only partially undressed. Sawyer’s shirt is off (thanks to me), but we’ve only slid his jeans and briefs down far enough to let me settle up and over him.
There’s an “Are you sure”, a “Please”, a chuckle, a groan, a long…hard sigh.
“Jesus, Madison.”
I smile a proud little smile then kiss him again. In an instant, what was fun turns into something dangerous and hot. We forgot to turn the car on and now we’re sweaty and making a mess of each other.
Sawyer’s reservations from a few minutes ago are long gone. He’s the one calling the shots now, directing us both. His mouth drags down my neck and his teeth tug on the top of my bra, exposing me more. All the while, he moves me on him, up and down, higher, lower. He thrusts his hips and fills me enough to steal my breath. His hands are so possessive and tight, concrete on my waist.
I whimper and he smiles devilishly in the dark light. I should have realized from seeing him play softball and darts and cards that Sawyer likes to win, and right now, I’m the prize on the table, me and my sanity, which he strips from me with a few swipes of his fingers between my parted thighs. Dexterous, slow, sensual circles pick up pace until I’m melting into oblivion, begging him to stay there, just like that. Sawyer’s found his own rhythm; he’s chasing his own bliss. Finally, I feel him tense and dig his fingers into my waist. He’s barely finished when—
A sharp rap on the passenger window pulls us out of our sex-filled haze.
I blink my eyes open to see red lights swirling behind the glass. A black car is parked a few yards away and there, at the passenger window, is Officer White—the sweet man who volunteers at the elementary school every year, teaching the kids the D.A.R.E. program, the man who dresses up as Santa Claus in the Oak Hill Christmas parade—carefully averting his gaze.
“Get decent, you two. Party’s over.”
Fifteen minutes later, Officer White and I stand on Queenie’s front doorstep, waiting for her to come let me in. He’s already knocked twice, and this is getting more embarrassing by the minute. Neither of us can meet the other’s eyes. I’m pretty sure this man saw my naked butt cheeks or worse.
Queenie finally opens the door, her eyes blinking against the harsh porch light. Her hair rollers are in and she’s tied a robe over her floor-length mumu-style pajama dress.
Officer White wags his thumb toward me. “This yours, Queenie?”
Queenie takes one look at my messy hair and disheveled clothes and purses her lips with disapproval. “Yup. She’s mine all right. Thanks, Dylan.”
CHAPTER 15
After last night, my childhood bedroom is a sanctuary. My Harry Potter sheets are threadbare from being washed eighteen thousand times and my pillow is so mushy it barely supports my head, but in this room, I can almost pretend I’m a child again, problem-free outside of a few puberty pimples and annoying homework assignments.
I could lie here for all of eternity if I had my way, but my anxiety about last night has made it impossible to sleep late. I’m drooling on Hermione’s faded face as vivid memories torture me. My heart rate spikes with each remembered moment. Sawyer’s mouth. His possessive hands. The delicious ache he sated oh so skillfully.
What would have happened if Officer White hadn’t busted us? Would I be waking up in his arms? In his truck?
I throw off my blankets, ignore my pounding headache (hungover doesn’t begin to cover how I feel), and decide I’m going to push through and finish the run I started last night. I need to sweat out the booze and bad decisions.
I change my route this time, hightailing it away from Doc’s and instead looping past my old elementary school and dance studio. Without having had breakfast, I don’t make it as far as I’d hoped, and by the time I’m back at Queenie’s, I’m practically dragging my feet up the front walk.
Inside, my mom is perched in her favorite chair in the living room watching her morning show. Her favorite anchor is talking about the health benefits of eating casseroles (I didn’t think there were any) when Queenie mutes the TV. She’s surveying me with interest.
“Sawyer came by this morning looking for you.” The twinkle in her eyes tells me we’re clearly not done discussing last night. I wrongly assumed I could slink off to bed after Officer White dropped me off on the front porch and that’d be the end of it. “He brought a whole tray of coffees from Golden Harvest and a pastry bag filled to the brim. I already ate one of the cinnamon rolls, but there are a few more in the kitchen.”
What?! Sawyer came here this morning while I was on my run?
“Why’d he do that?” I sound almost distraught.
“I don’t know, hun. From the sounds of it, you two had quite a crazy night. Maybe he just wanted to check up on you?”
“What’d you say to him?” I holler to her from the kitchen as I open the pastry bag and find not just cinnamon rolls but a whole selection of mouthwatering treats.
Panicked, I close the bag and stare at the tray of coffees sitting there waiting for me. On the lids, a thoughtful barista took the time to write all the different drink options: latte, coffee w/ cream, cold brew. Sawyer wanted to make sure I had something I like.
Dammit!
“I asked how his night was and if he got home safe,” my mom yells.
I pluck the latte from the tray and head back into the living room. “I’m sure he got home just fine. From what I understand, Officer White planned to drop him off right after me.”
She hums and gives me a sly smile over the top of her steaming coffee. “Must have been some ride in the back seat of that cop car together. Wish I could have seen it.”
I shudder at the memory. Officer White did all the talking, chastising us about our poor decisions. Sawyer and I couldn’t even look at each other. I was so embarrassed. I assumed Sawyer had sobered up enough to regret what we’d just done together and I didn’t want to see confirmation of that, so I kept my focus out the window. When Officer White pulled up in front of Queenie’s house, I practically wept with relief.
“You sound entirely too amused by this situation,” I say after my first sip of latte. “You’re supposed to reprimand me, you know.”
Queenie arches a brow. “What I don’t understand is what you two were doing before Dylan picked y’all up. What warranted all the fuss? Did you two get into a fight or something?”
“Not exactly…”
“Well you don’t just get arrested over nothing, Madison.”
“We didn’t get arrested.” I’m quick to point this out with an air of superiority. “Just warned.”
“About what?”
I wave away her question. “Something to do with drinking.”
Queenie cracks up at this. “If it had to do with drinking and only drinking, half this town would be getting rides home in the back of Dylan’s car.”
I turn away so my voice is hard to hear. “Okay, it was indecent exposure something or other.”
