by Wendy Cole
“A kiss?”
I furrowed my brow at him. It wasn’t like he was a bad-looking guy, and while Boe exuded danger, it wasn’t the same kind Bard brought. Boe posed no threat to my judgment. I didn’t turn into a swooning mess at the sight of him. The sound of his voice didn’t send chills across my skin. He didn’t offer sweet words and genuine concern.
A hush fell over the yard, and it only took a moment for me to realize why.
I cast a glance behind me.
Bard stood. His expression was blank and his body stiff. He closed the space between us in a slow easy stride, and the tension in the air mounted as every set of eyes watched him. It was as if he were an unfamiliar dog that nobody knew whether or not would bite.
I lifted a brow at him. “You got something to say?”
“You two are having so much fun. I think I might be able to make it even more interesting.”
Boe snorted a laugh, looked at Zeke, then back to the man before us.
Bard didn’t smile.
“Is that right? You’re just full of surprises today,” Boe said.
His eyes met mine. “Sometimes.”
Boe reached down into the bucket, then handed out not one, but two bottle caps. One to the man in front of me.
“What’s the wager?” he asked. “I can tell you right now, Bard. You may be a stud, but I ain’t kissing you.”
A chorus of laughs echoed all around, but I couldn’t seem to find the humor. It was the way he was looking at me. Different. Determined.
“If Jessie wins, you give her the equipment, and I’ll give her the bedroom.”
I furrowed my brow at him.
“It has a door, a lock, and a full-sized bed.”
Zeke let out a low whistle, and the air seemed to charge. If I hadn’t been so on edge, so sure disaster would come at any moment, I’d have been just as enthusiastic as everyone else seemed to be.
And, I knew. Some deep instinct was warning me. He wouldn’t lose. A man like this didn’t make bets he couldn’t win.
But I was good at this. I’d always won.
A room with a door and a lock was better than the tattoo gun. A necessity. A win against karma and the temptation she threw at me.
“What do you get?”
He turned to eye the bucket and shrugged one shoulder. “Boe’s idea works for me. A kiss, nothing more.”
Oh, but it was so much more than that.
Could I do it? Risk it? If I won, I’d gain more than I’d ever had before in my life. But if I lost…
Would it really be that bad? One kiss. In perspective, it wasn’t a lot to lose. I’d be an idiot not to take the deal.
“You guys are like horny dogs,” Scarlet said, her voice dry.
Zeke grunted. “She ain’t wrong, boys.”
“No. It’s fine because I’m going to win.”
Bard turned back to look at me, and the twitch of his lip made my eyes narrow.
“We’ll take all five shots in a row. Boe goes first, then Jessie, then me.” His tone left no room for argument.
He didn’t seem worried in the slightest.
Damn, karma. I think I might have fucked up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“One more thing.” Bard crossed the yard, grabbed the rusted bucket and plopped it back two feet.
Zeke rumbled a laugh.
Boe snorted. “Alright by me.”
I nodded, but the way he positioned it took it out from directly under the nearest tiki torch. The glow still cast against it, enough to know where it was, but it would definitely be harder.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I could do this. Fuck him. Fuck this bet. I wanted that tattoo gun, and I needed that bedroom.
Boe reached down and gathered his five caps, and his eyes narrowed into slits as he aimed. He paused, readjusting his fingers against the edge, aimed again, and when he finally decided to let it fly, it landed in the same spot the bucket had sat before.
Boe cursed under his breath then glared at Bard. “You’ve been watching me?”
I stared at the two, taken off guard by the question. All I knew was Zeke was going apeshit behind me, Boe looked pissed off, and Bard. . . his lip twitched.
“What do you mean?” I asked Boe, feeling a new wave of dread as the odds seemed to have narrowed down and not in the best of ways.
Boe’s eyes shifted from Bard to me, and he huffed. “He’s been watching me practice.”
Bard spoke up. “He never moved the bucket.”
The pieces clicked together, and I turned wide eyes to Bard. The observant motherfucker…
As if he’d read my mind, his lip twitched again.
Boe, with obvious annoyance, turned back to the task at hand and missed again, and again, each accompanied by a curse louder than the last until he finally managed to hit the edge then sunk one.
One.
I had to do this.
Bard held a hand out to Boe, and to my surprise, Boe took it. They shook hands in a manly, grippy sort of way.
“I underestimated you,” Boe grumbled as he looked over with a wry smile.
I followed his gaze. Zeke might as well have been a cat that just ate all the goldfish.
Boe shook his head. “I guess I forgot who his uncle was. Sneaky fuckers.”
Zeke’s smile widened. “It’s not sneaky. It’s smart.”
“Too smart,” I said.
I wouldn’t have thought of it. Not in a million years. But I wasn’t Boe. I was a grown woman with a history. I’d survived prison, and those bitches in there were the queens of sneaky and conniving.
Bard motioned to the bucket beside me. “It’s your turn, Tequila.”
I turned away from him and grabbed my caps from the bottom.
Don’t look at him.
I positioned my first cap and took aim. It sailed like a frisbee and landed with nothing more than a clink inside its destination.
Zeke let out a whoop for me, and Scarlet followed suit with a dry Woo hoo.
I grinned and aimed the next. It sailed like the last, and the one after did the same. I managed to sink four of them with only one left in my hand when I made my crucial error.
I looked at him. I met those probing eyes, and what I found there flooded my chest with that stupid warmth. It hit me so hard, my stomach flipped. My heart skipped.
Bard didn’t look like a man competing. His expression was soft, his eyes light. He looked at me like he felt proud; like he wanted me but not in a physical way. He looked at me the way every woman wanted a man to look at her.
In a frantic move, I turned away and took aim, but he’d stolen my breath and rattled my cage. My hand shook, not much but just enough to throw me off. I flicked the cap and it sailed…just shy of its target.
Disappointed groans echoed in the air, and my shoulders slumped.
No.
I turned to look at him, and his expression was the same: unreadable to any random eye but practically screaming his victory at me.
Bard stepped around me, too close, and a prickle of awareness raised the small hairs on my arms and locked my lungs.
He gathered up his five and stood. “My turn.”
Bard didn’t take the amount of time Boe and I had. He didn’t aim. He simply lifted his hand and shot. One, sink. Two, sink. Three, sink. Like rapid fire.
Then his hand shifted, up a fraction of an inch, almost unnoticeable, and the last two hit the RV with the same speed.
I stared at him.
“There goes my bed,” he said, his voice low and smooth.
He did it on purpose. My mind raced as my heart did the same. He let me win. I couldn’t respond. My stomach went from flipping to simply trying to eat itself, and my heart felt ready to rip away from my chest and leave me for this man.
He’d planned it from the beginning.
Zeke stepped up to his nephew’s side and clasped his shoulder.
“Good job, boy,” he murmured. His eyes met mine, dancing and holding a hin
t of their own warmth.
I shook my head. “I’m tired.”
My voice came out like a ghost, quiet and detached. Stunned. I turned away without another word and walked inside the motorhome.
Bard followed.
“You want one last drink?” he asked as the door shut behind him.
I shook my head again.
He paused. “Alright. Just let me grab a couple things out of the room.”
He brushed against me as he passed, but I couldn’t say it was intentional with his massive frame in such a small space.
I followed him. What he’d just done had been the sweetest thing a guy had ever done for me. It wasn’t like the words Drake murmured when the nights had still been good. It wasn’t some gift bought at a store full of meaningless things.
He’d given me his room.
So I could feel safe.
I stood inside the last doorway and watched as he bundled clothes out of a shelf on the wall. The bed dominated the whole space with barely an inch on either side, and from what I could tell, the shelf was the only storage to be had. It had a door that opened outwards, and a glance down at the knob revealed it did indeed lock.
Bard turned and looked down at me. “I’m all set,” he said.
I was blocking him.
I didn’t move. “You lost on purpose.”
His eyes scanned my face once again, hairline to temple to jaw. “Did I?”
“You could have made those shots.”
He grinned. “I could have.” His head tilted. “But what would that have done? I stepped in because I didn’t want Boe putting his hands on you.” His eyes sharpened, just a hair. “But if it’s me you’re going to kiss, I want it to be because you want to. I want to earn it.”
My traitorous lips tried to curve across my face, but I kept them still. “I thought I said no more sweet talk.”
He smiled, blasting me full on with those perfect, pearly whites. He was hands down swoon-worthy in his natural state, but when he smiled…
“I’m just being honest, Tequila.”
I swooned. Damn him. I stared up at his perfect face. He’d given me his room knowing that damn bunk was too short for him. He’d be sleeping like an infant, all scrunched up. He’d done it for me.
Shit.
I heaved a sigh. “Come here.”
Bard’s smile dulled, eyes searching.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him. The clothes fell to the floor and scattered. I’d caught him by total surprise. His brows lifted as I released his shirt and cupped his neck.
Jesus. It was like climbing a tree.
I tiptoed the final inch and pressed my lips to his.
My heart burst. His mouth was warm and soft, the perfect size. I’d meant to give him a peck, but the moment I felt his lips against mine, I didn’t want to stop. Not just yet.
Bard let me kiss him. He was frozen at first, but when my tongue caressed his bottom lip, large arms closed around me, and the innocence disappeared.
A low rumble left his chest as he deepened the kiss, devouring me. Sinful and hot and so much more.
I hummed against his mouth, and my hands trailed to his shoulders, down his arms, then his chest. God, he was perfect.
He pulled away, his breathing hard and jaw tight.
“Alright.” He turned, still holding me, and it was then I realized my feet no longer touched the ground. Bard lowered me to the bed and stood back away from it. “Good night, Tequila.”
Good night.
I didn’t want that. I wanted a good night, not a good night.
Bard gathered his clothes from the floor, his motions stiff. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
That was it.
He walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pain. It was the only constant, and as my eyelids peeled upwards, assaulted by the too-bright morning, it hit me like a hammer to my temple.
Drinking was one of those things. I loved it while it was happening, but I’d always wake up and realize what a huge mistake I’d made.
Strangely similar to everything else in my life.
This time was no exception.
Because I had absolutely no clue where the fuck I was.
Big bed. Brown sheets. A thick, heavy blanket of the same hickory shade. The room felt like a box, something straight out of a dollhouse. My pack was nowhere to be seen. Shit. What the fuck did I do?
I sifted through my memory, searching. The party. Dancing. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking. Fuck. I was an idiot.
My eyes widened then quickly narrowed back into slits when the action shot a fresh burst of pain through my skull.
I was in a man’s bed. This was definitely a man’s bed.
Heart in my throat, I pulled myself to my knees and crawled across the mattress to the door. I said a silent prayer that it would open into a larger room. The size of this one didn’t offer any reassurances. It was too small. Motorhome small. There was only one bedroom in the motorhome, and, unless I was very wrong about my mysterious stranger, only one man occupied it.
I pushed it open as if a killer stood on the other side, and the familiar hallway greeted me.
My breath hitched.
I was in his bed. I gave in. Drunk Jessie did a bad, bad thing.
The combination of stomach acid and liquor burned as my body desperately fought to cleanse itself of the toxins. I raced for the bathroom, barely making it in time.
“Shit! You idiot,” I cursed myself. Why did you drink so much? Why?
The worst part was I didn’t remember it. I’d given in to sweet temptation and had no recollection of…the sweetness. God. What a fucking mess.
I rinsed my mouth and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. Dark circles hung beneath them like upside down haloes. I searched my neck. No hickeys. My eyes roamed. Not a bite, scratch, or lover’s bruise.
He’d probably been attentive. Slow. He’d probably taken his time. Those freaky eyes had probably read my body like sheet music and played it like a symphony.
My core tightened. Heat flooded. As stupid as it was, I wanted so badly to remember it.
My stomach gurgled. I should eat. The thought repulsed me, but if I didn’t, I would never feel better. The small shower contained two items: a bottle of coconut dollar store shampoo and a bottle of an off-brand men’s body wash. Of course, no razor, and it appeared a man like Bard didn’t need conditioner to achieve such beautiful hair.
I shook my head and turned on the shower.
Don’t think about his beautiful hair.
But I did. As the smell of coconut filled my nose, I thought about it. I probably ran my fingers through it.
I ran my own through mine, eyes closed. I probably gripped it tight to keep him close.
I was in serious shit.
I rinsed my hair, washed as best I could as I tried to ignore the masculine scent for fear it would conjure a new daydream.
It did.
I showered as if on a timer, then threw on the clothes I’d been wearing.
My steps seemed too loud as I made my way into the kitchen and walked to peek inside the mini fridge. Every motion sent a fresh dose of pain to my skull, and each dose of pain brought on a wave of nausea.
I needed food, but the fridge was sad. There were only six eggs and a carton of orange juice. I took them out without a second thought. If I really did give up the goods only to not remember, I was at least getting some fucking breakfast out of it.
A small skillet already sat on the camper stove. I looked around.
No butter? None. Shit.
My eggs would stick and taste like garbage, but beggars couldn’t be choosers…or, I guess thieves couldn’t be choosers? But thieves can be choosers.
I needed to pick better people to steal from.
Orange juice always tasted better straight from the carton. I relished the coolness and the much-needed hydration. It was almost enough to take the pounding away. Almost.
I crack
ed two eggs into the pan and waited, spatula poised in one hand, the other holding the carton up in a slow and steady sip.
A throat cleared behind me.
I turned to find Bard leaning against the doorframe. “Do you always take things that don’t belong to you?” he asked.
A smirk curved his lips, probably because his abrupt presence had me literally frozen in place, the juice carton still poised in the air and pressed to my lips.
I was probably the funniest-looking burglar to ever burgle.
My mind scrambled. He didn’t look quite like a man who’d been…satisfied. His hair hung around him in disarray, but his posture just looked like a man that lacked sleep.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, too unsure of what the hell happened to make assumptions. “I’ll pay you back.”
That was all the explanation I gave him before turning back to the stove and lifting the juice back up to my mouth.
Just keep drinking, and you won’t have to speak.
“How?” Bard asked. His heavy footsteps drew closer.
I lowered the juice. “You realize I’m here because I got a job, right?”
“I want my juice now.” His voice was low. When I turned to face him, his gaze went to my lips and lingered.
Hell no. That sealed it. We did the dirty. He was addicted.
He was trying to pay for it…with orange juice.
I narrowed my eyes at him and brought the carton back up out of spite.
His eyebrow lifted.
I chugged, fighting to hold my breath until the last drop was gone. When it was, I inspected the carton and shrugged, mouth still full of juice.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat of last night,” he said, “now that you’re sober.”
My mind exploded at the confirmation. We had. It’d happened. A memory resurfaced. It flooded back to me like tide to a shore, and my eyes widened. I’d been all over him.
The orange juice spewed out of my mouth, and…into his face.
He stumbled back and furiously ran his hands down his cheeks and along his beard. “What the hell!”
“We had sex!” I pointed a finger at him.
Bard rolled his eyes at me, still wiping the remainder out of his beard. “Oh, did we?” he asked, dripping sarcasm…and orange juice.