by Piper Rayne
Wyatt chokes on his water but recovers quickly after I give him a scathing look.
I hold up my hands. “Not at all. Savannah’s not mine. If she was, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Then what’s with the protective act?”
“I’m friends with her brothers.”
“And I’m her brother-in-law,” Wyatt pipes in with an attitude as if to say, “take that.”
I cock my eyebrow at him again.
“The baseball players?” Brent nods in understanding.
Whereas all the Bailey boys played baseball, I played football. So did Brent. For the opposing town’s team. The team who beat Lake Starlight at the state championship my senior year. We were rivals then and now.
“That’s them.”
“I’m assuming they’re in jail by now?” Brent sneers.
I eye the hallway. No sign of Savannah yet. “No.”
“Why would you say that?” Wyatt asks, which shifts Brent’s attention to him.
“They were juvenile delinquents. Started more fights than they could finish. Lucky for them they had Liam on their side.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
Brent’s sneer moves my way before settling back on Wyatt. “They did a senior prank that landed all of them in jail. They’re misfits.”
I push off the counter, but I’m blinded by a shirt landing on my head.
“Here. Put that on.”
I grab the shirt Brooklyn so nicely threw at my face. It reads, “Sorry, girls, I’m taken.” I look at Wyatt. “She seriously got you this and you wear it?”
“Hell no. I’ve never worn it,” he says.
I call bullshit, because Wyatt loves to please Brooklyn. It might only be in the house, but he’s worn it.
“Couldn’t have found a better one?” I pull it on over my head.
“Sorry, I was in a hurry.” She turns to Brent. “She’ll be right down. An important call came in. Would you like a drink?”
Brent pulls out a chair. “Sure, whatever is fine.”
“A light beer?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll take one too.” I raise my hand.
“You can take yours to go,” she says, pushing it into my stomach.
“And me?” Wyatt asks.
“You can get it yourself.” She hands a beer to Brent, taking a seat at their kitchen table. “So how does Liam know you and I don’t?”
Wyatt shakes his head, walking past me to the fridge.
Brent’s challenging eyes land on me first before returning to Brooklyn. “It was the state championship in our senior year. Kelly choked and I didn’t. Head over to Sunrise Bay High School and you’ll find the state trophy.”
I roll my eyes. Wyatt stands next to me, cracking open his beer and eyeing me to say, ‘what a fucking douche.’ Yeah, he is.
“You act like it’s a defining moment in your life,” Wyatt says.
“My high school still looks at me like I’m a god. Can’t say the same about Kelly.”
Brooklyn glances over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing in question. I say nothing.
“Everyone loves Liam. I don’t remember this. Why don’t I remember this?” she asks me.
“You were in college.”
Her gaze falls back to Brent. “That was high school. What do you do now?”
“Polish the state trophy every week?” Wyatt asks.
I bust out laughing, almost spitting out my beer. Never would I think a guy like Wyatt, so composed and professional, would call someone out like that.
Brent now realizes I’m not the only one in this room who isn’t his fan.
Brooklyn stands and holds up her finger. “I’ll go check on Savannah.”
“Thank you, we have reservations,” Brent says.
“Where?” Wyatt asks.
“I scored a chef’s table at Fazio’s. You know the one by the Portage Glacier?” He’s practically puffing out his chest in pride. Idiot.
“That’s cool. If you don’t look at the Yelp reviews.” I shrug, tossing back some of my beer. I have no idea what the Yelp reviews say, nor would I care, but guys like Brent care what people think. I guess that’s another way he and Savannah are similar.
“Whatever, Yelp sucks.” He sips his beer.
“I figured a man like you couldn’t really think for himself.”
Brent’s eyes zero in on my biceps for a split second before the legs of his chair skid along the floor and his hands press on the table to rise. Wyatt and I push off the counter.
“Here she is.” Brooklyn walks in with her arm out behind her, gesturing to Savannah.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Her hair is down and in waves instead of her usual stick-straight look. Her high heels only accentuate her long legs, and the tight dress she’s wearing ends too far up her thigh. Fuck Brent Jacobs.
“Savannah?” Brent asks as though he doesn’t know who she is.
He works one town over. Everyone knows Savannah Bailey. Her picture ends up in the newspaper for every charity event.
“Brent?”
They shake hands.
Asshole.
I’m not sure at what point all eyes turn in my direction, but they’re all zeroed in on me with a look that says, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
“Did I say that out loud?” I ask.
No one answers, but Savannah shakes her head. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
I look down and mentally kick myself in the balls because I forgot the crap shirt I was wearing. Like always, I recover quickly. “Jealous?”
“Come on, Savannah. Nice to meet you, Brooklyn. Beautiful home.” Just like the jack-off he is, Brent puts his hand on the small of Savannah’s back to escort her down the short hallway between the kitchen and foyer and doesn’t say goodbye to Wyatt or me.
“You too, Brent. Have fun, you guys.” Brooklyn follows them.
I decide it’s impolite of me to stay in the kitchen, so I set my half-empty beer on the counter and head toward the front door to say a proper goodbye as well. “I should go too.”
Savannah stops at the door with Brent. The idiot doesn’t even take the clue to open the door for her. Wanting to piss her off a little more, I slide by them and open the door for the two of them with a dramatic wave as though she’s the queen and I’m the noble attendant.
“Thanks,” she grinds out and steps onto the porch.
I take my time committing to memory how she looks.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Brent sneers, and I release the screen door. It hits the entitled fucker right in the nose. Whoops.
“Asshole,” he mumbles.
“Liam!” Savannah’s scathing gaze flies to mine.
I hold up my hands and cringe. “It slipped.”
Brent grabs his nose, cursing under his breath.
“See you guys later.” I wave, barreling down the stairs, but stop at the last one. “I almost forgot, Wyatt.”
Savannah is one stair down and stops when I do. God forbid her body touch mine. I strip off the T-shirt and toss it to Wyatt. Savannah’s gaze follows the planes of my abdomen, her eyes filling with desire.
“Thanks for the T-shirt.” This could be the stupidest move ever. Get her horny and send her on a date with someone who isn’t me, but I trust that I know Savannah better than anyone. “Sav?”
Her gaze shoots up from where my jeans hang low on my hips after a hard day’s work. “Yeah?”
“I’ll wait up for you.”
Her face flushes and she swallows so loudly. I’m positive they can hear her in downtown Lake Starlight.
“Okay,” she croaks.
I hold my smile until I turn around and make my way toward my car. Damn, I love making her speechless.
Nine
Liam
My gaze darts to the microwave clock—again.
Midnight.
Fuck, I did the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have stripped off my shirt. I shouldn’t have challenged her and sent her off
with another man. What the hell was I thinking?
I throw myself on the couch and click on the TV with the remote to try to find something to distract me.
Denver barrels down the stairs, dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing suggests he’s going out except for the fact that his unruly hair is styled. “I’m heading to Lucky’s. Wanna come?”
“Nah.”
He opens the fridge and grabs a beer, then sits on the couch before cracking it open. “Come on. I’m so sick of doing stuff by myself. Rome is busy all the damn time.”
I tip back my own beer. “He does have two kids and a restaurant to run.”
“Still. I only have Juno and Colton, and neither of them look at anyone but each other. I have no wingman anymore.”
I chuckle. “You’ve always done well on your own.”
“Agreed, but you know chicks always come in packs, or pairs at the very least.”
“Maybe you’ll find a new girl in town, like Austin did.”
He’s shaking his head before I finish my thought. “No, that was one of those damn once-in-a-millennium Hallmark movie moments.”
I don’t argue with him, though I’m not sure Hallmark starts their movies with a bang in a Jeep behind a bar.
There was a time I thought maybe Savannah and I would get our Hallmark moment. But the fact is that she’s five years older than me and I’ve been infatuated with her since I was thirteen. Add in the fact that I’m her brothers’ best friend, and I used to worry that she’d never actually notice me. I’ve yearned for her from afar for so long, but her eyes have opened and it’s worse than ever now because she’s purposely dodging me. The other side of the coin is that now I can’t jeopardize my relationship with the Baileys. They’re my family too.
“Well, good luck. Maybe you’ll find a stray cat.”
He downs his beer. “On second thought, I’ll just chill here.”
Hell no he won’t, because as soon as his sister returns from her shitty date, I plan on cornering her. Laying what’s going on between us on the table. Rip my shirt open and let her drool fall to the floor. I’m going to proposition her outright because I’m losing my ever-loving mind.
“Nah, there’s nothing on television and I’m going to head to bed soon.” I put my empty beer bottle on the table and sit up as though I’m going to do exactly that.
“Really? You’re turning into an old man.” He stands.
A good sign. Now he just has to walk toward the door.
“I’m just beat. Hours are killing me.”
“Why aren’t you at the shop tonight?”
His question is a good one. I should be at the shop, but my mind is so spun, I couldn’t work on people. I had no appointments, and Rhys was there for any walk-ins.
“Like I said, I’m tired. I shouldn’t ink when I’m not in the right frame of mind.”
He stares at me for a long time but nods and places his empty beer on the coffee table.
I won’t razz him about not throwing it away as long as he gets the hell out of here.
He stops at the door. “Oh.”
Fuck. Just go already.
“Yeah?” I act as though I have nothing better to do than to talk to him.
“After Brook’s reception, I’m heading a survival excursion, so I won’t be around. Chip was supposed to go, but he asked me to cover.”
My forehead wrinkles. “He good?”
Chip is pretty much Denver’s mentor. He’s the one who gives him majority of his bush pilot business, who taught him how to survive in the wild, and who Denver looked up to after his parents died. Usually Denver goes along with Chip—not that Denver can’t handle himself alone. When his plane went down a couple years ago and he got that music producer out of the bush with a broken leg, it proved he can handle himself.
He shrugs. “I think there’s something going on that he’s not telling me. Just asked if I’d be willing to take on some tours for him.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping to find out more before I head out, but you know Chip.”
By that, he means tight-lipped about everything. Not that I blame him. No one wants all their dirty laundry fanned out for everyone to see.
“I hope everything’s okay.”
His lips form a thin line and he pushes a hand through his hair before opening the door. “Me too. See you, old man.”
He laughs and walks out of the house, shutting the door before I tell him to go to hell. I glance at the clock. Though it felt like forever to get him out the door, in reality, it only took ten measly minutes. It’s gonna be a long night.
I click off the TV, throw mine and Denver’s beer bottles in the recycling, and head to the barn. I’ll kill some time in there while I wait for Savannah to return home.
I’m in the kitchen at seven the next morning, pouring my coffee, when I hear a car pull into the driveway, followed by a door shutting. The next thing I know, a key is in the lock. Denver returned home alone at two-thirty, saying that Lucky’s sucked, so it’s Savannah for sure. The cup of coffee I had earlier sours in my gut.
The door opens and I debate not turning around, but who am I kidding—I want to see the condition she’s in.
I’m not sure what I expected, but her hair is thrown into the same messy bun she wears when she returns from work most days. Her dress isn’t too wrinkled, which hopefully means it wasn’t balled up in the corner of Brent’s bedroom. It’s not ripped, so at least they weren’t having the kind of sex where clothes can’t come off fast enough. But she’s not wearing a bra. Her hard nipples are on display through the tight dress, and my jaw clenches with the thought that she may have had sex with him. It should put such distaste in my mouth that the desire coursing through my body vanishes, but all the want I have for her is still there.
“You’re up early for a Saturday.” She sets her keys in the dish by the front door, but keeps her purse hanging off her arm. It probably holds her underwear.
My fists clench at my sides. “I told you I’d wait up for you.”
Her gaze falls to the floor. “I thought that was some sort of power move. Brooklyn told me you know Brent.”
“I do know him, so believe me when I say I had my reasons for waiting up.”
“He’s not a bad guy.” She heads toward the kitchen.
I’m surprised at how civil we’re being. “I beg to differ.”
She reaches for her mug, but even on her tiptoes, she can’t reach it. I cage her in the corner of the counter and reach above her. She doesn’t smell as though she’s been up all night having sex. Putting the cup on the counter, I grab the pot of coffee to our right and pour her a cup.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“I want to make sure you don’t smell like him.” I inhale her special scent one more time before stepping back. I need to stop torturing myself.
“And if I did?” She turns but stays in the corner.
All I can think about is having her nipples in my mouth. My tongue twirling the stiff peaks until she moans my name. “I’d be disappointed that you fell for a jackass.”
She stares at me. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Really?”
I could probably write the Idiots Guide to Savannah Bailey’s Expressions. It comes from years of watching her. Years of looking at her first to decipher her reaction. I can pinpoint a hidden scowl by the arch of her eyebrows. Or when she’s trying to disguise being affected by something from the way her jaw flexes.
Right now, I can tell she didn’t completely fall for Brent, but she’s not going to tell me because that would mean I was right. In Savannah’s world, only she’s allowed to be right.
“Yes, and if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to help Brooklyn with some reception stuff.” She takes her coffee and her purse and heads toward the stairs.
“Are you gonna see him again?” I sit at the breakfast bar and straighten the morning paper in front of me.
Her feet stop walking
, and she hovers near the stairs. “Maybe.”
“Good to know you’re still lying to yourself.”
She whips around, and a splash of her coffee spills on my hardwood. “Shit.”
She returns to the breakfast island and puts her coffee and purse on the granite counter. When her purse flops to the side, there’s the evidence I need—her bra is barely able to stay contained in the small purse.
I close my eyes to rein in my anger—anger I may or may not have any right to—but it’s building too fast for me to stop it. If I stick around here, we’re going to end up in a screaming match that will wake Denver, and whatever this is between us will blow up in our faces. And then Dori will interfere—more than she already tries to.
I round the breakfast island. “I can’t believe you’d fuck him.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
She freezes right before pulling a paper towel off the rack. “What?”
“I can’t believe you’d fuck that egotistical jackass and strong-arm me. What gives? Is it the suit and the money?”
She tears off a paper towel. Forcefully. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Denver isn’t there.
“Who said I fucked him?”
The word fuck rolling off her tongue does something to my dick, but I beg it to stay out of this fight. I tilt my head and huff. “I’m not an idiot. You walk in here braless the next morning. I’d bet my house your panties are in there too.”
She bumps her shoulder into me to get to the spill and gets down on all fours to clean it. It’s like a form of torture, watching that and knowing I can’t have her. “You should go to your room and stop talking. Now.”
“I’m sure you’d like that. To not be responsible for what you’re doing.”
She stands, the dirty paper towel hanging from her hand. “And what am I doing, Liam?”
“You’re a fucking tease. You come home with me, make out with me for hours. Let me commit your body to memory, and then the next morning, you pretend it only happened because you were drunk. Now you’re dating some douche and letting a guy like Brent stick his dick in you.”
She looks over her shoulder because my voice is rising the longer I talk.