Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  And then, it was too late. He lost himself in rage and revenge.

  “Where’d you get the nickname Dash?”

  I loaded a plate into the dishwasher. “Mom. She called me Dash as far back as I can remember because I never stopped running. I only got Kingston when I was in big fucking trouble. As a kid, nothing was fast enough. I broke an arm racing my bike around the block when I was seven. Nick built me a soapbox go-cart when I was ten and I disabled the brakes. Shit like that all the time. All she could do about it was make me wear a helmet.”

  “I didn’t realize I was sleeping with an adrenaline junkie.” She giggled. “Want another beer?”

  “Depends. Am I driving home anytime soon?”

  “Before I answer that, I have one more question.”

  “Of course, you do.” I loaded the last of the dishes, then faced her. “Fire away.”

  “What’s this thing with us?”

  “Sex.” I grinned. “Really great sex.”

  “Do you think we should set some, uh . . . limits?”

  “Limits.” I arched an eyebrow. “Like anal?”

  “No. Oh my God. You’re such a man.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not sexual limits, though I do have some. I mean limits on this tryst we’re having. I’m assuming you’re not looking for anything serious.”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay then. Limits.”

  “How about we go at it until we’re sick of each other? Then we’re done.” Though depending on those sexual limits of hers and whether the sex got hotter—if that was even possible—I wouldn’t get sick of Bryce anytime soon. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” She slid off her stool, slowly coming my way. “You should know, watching you do the dishes is really sexy.”

  My cock twitched as she came into my space, running her hands up my chest. “Maybe I’ll stick around tonight. Let you cook me breakfast. Then I’ll do your dishes again.”

  “I don’t cook breakfast.”

  I dropped a kiss to her mouth and ran my tongue along the seam. “I wasn’t really talking about doing more dishes.”

  She smiled against my mouth. “Then I guess you can stay.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bryce

  “Ugh. Where is it?” I dug through the laundry basket at the base of the dryer, searching for the green shirt I wanted to wear. It wasn’t under five towels or my impressive collection of unfolded socks that never seemed to get paired.

  Abandoning that basket for the one next to the washing machine, I searched but came back empty-handed. It wasn’t on one of the many empty hangers in my closet. I’d checked all three baskets here in the laundry room. The only other place it could be was the dryer itself. Wearing only my bra and jeans, I knelt in front of the machine and began digging.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shit.” I jumped at Dash’s voice, clutching my heart. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Whatever.” I kept digging, still irritated at him for keeping me up all night. And not in a good way. “You snore.”

  His chest shook with a silent laugh. “Again, sorry.”

  Dash yawned as he leaned against the doorframe, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. His eyes were sleepy and his hair a mess. My mouth watered at that delectable skin on display.

  It was really hard to be mad at him when he looked like that in the morning. Maybe a sleepless night had been worth it for the morning view.

  His washboard abs deserved daily applause along with that V of his hips. His thighs bulged beneath the seam of those boxers, straining the elastic around sculpted muscle. His arms were roped with the same strength and smooth veins snaked down his forearms. Add the tattoos and I wasn’t all that annoyed by the snoring anymore.

  On one arm was a skull, artfully adorned—half of the face was detailed with bohemian jewelry while the other gave the illusion of metal. Both of his forearms had different black ink bands. And on the other arm, a black and white portrait of a woman smiling.

  We hadn’t talked about his tattoos, but I knew the portrait was of his mother.

  That one wasn’t sexy but it melted my heart. This man had slept in my bed. When was the last time I’d literally slept—or attempted to sleep—with another person? It had been ages since my mattress had felt the weight of two people.

  Dash had slept like the dead too. Minus the snoring. This morning, I’d tossed his arm off my naked back and slid out of bed—and he hadn’t budged.

  I’d only had a minor freak-out in the shower. It was expected since I was basically sleeping with the enemy and Dash wasn’t exactly long-term relationship material.

  I refused to let myself get attached.

  Sex. Only.

  I’d been reminding myself over and over and over, because if I didn’t keep that thought circulating in my brain, I’d forget Dash couldn’t be trusted. Worse, I’d develop feelings more dangerous than the ones already brewing.

  I couldn’t afford deep feelings or connections. Yes, it had been comforting to wake up with his long fingers splayed on my skin. He’d touched me all night. When I’d shift or move, his hand always found me. But I didn’t need that from Dash. If I needed some comfort, I’d go get a hug from Mom.

  Dash and I were working together to find information. We were enjoying each other’s bodies at night. That was where I drew the line. When we found Amina’s killer—or if the evidence pointed to Draven, and Dash accepted his father was a murderer—then this fling would be over.

  I wasn’t getting used to Dash snoring in my bed. I wasn’t counting on that delicious body and tanned skin to be around for long. I wasn’t admitting how adorable it was that he’d practically fallen back asleep as he stood in the entrance to my laundry room, watching me find a shirt.

  I dug deeper into the dryer, my eye catching the shade of green I was after. “Bingo.” I yanked it out with a smile and tugged the top over my head. The front was a V-neck, the shape loose but not drapey. And the cute little pocket over one of my boobs gave it some added detail.

  When I looked up, Dash’s eyes were open and locked on that pocket.

  “What are we doing today?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face. The stubble on his jaw was thick, nearly a beard. I liked beards.

  “We?”

  He nodded. “It’s Friday.”

  “Yes. It will be all day. So?”

  “So, it’s Friday. I don’t have to be at the garage. Let’s do something.”

  “Something,” I drew out the word. Did he just ask me out on a date? What happened to sex only during the investigation? A Friday spent together was something a couple would do. We were not a couple, though I wouldn’t say no to a day reserved for sex with Dash.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged a shoulder. “What were you going to do next to look into Amina?”

  “Oh. Right.” Amina. This wasn’t about sex or spending time with me on his day off. Silly me. Time to get back on track. “I want to know why she left town after high school. Where she’d been. Why she came back to Clifton Forge and why she called your dad.”

  “’Kay.”

  I stood and breezed by him as I left the laundry room. “I was going to go back to the high school and finish checking yearbooks. You know, the ones I was looking at when you called the cops to the library.”

  “How long are you going to throw that at me?” He followed me to the kitchen, his bare feet padding on the floor.

  “Forever. Remember? I don’t like you.”

  “Good to know.” Dash chuckled and nodded at my coffee mug. “Got any more of that coffee?”

  “Sure.” I took out a mug and set it under my single cup brewer. With a pod brewing, I faced him. The island was between us, keeping me from reaching for those tattooed arms. They were so . . . ugh. Tempting. He was so annoyingly tempting. And he really needed to get dressed.

  “Do you want to come with me to the school?” I asked, handing him his full mug. Maybe if I brought Dash along, it
would be easier to face Samantha at the school’s front desk. I was thoroughly embarrassed to face her again after being arrested. A sidekick, especially one as distracting as Dash, might take away some of the focus on me.

  “Um . . . maybe.” The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he sipped the coffee. “Do you know where she’s been living? Bozeman, right? That’s what your article said.”

  “Yep.” I’d gotten that information from Chief Wagner when he’d given me the preliminary report on Amina along with her name.

  “Let’s skip the school. Take a road trip instead.”

  I’d been contemplating a trip to Bozeman anyway. It was two hours one way, and depending on what we found, it would take up the entire day. I’d already delivered my content for this Sunday’s paper and I was ahead on Wednesday’s. If I was going to write something about Amina in next week’s edition, I’d need to get new information soon.

  “All right.” I nodded. “But I’d still like to drop by the school.”

  “Why? We’re probably not going to find much there anyway.”

  We’d likely find a few more old pictures, and while they might shed light on teenaged Amina, it was more important to know the person she’d grown into as an adult. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We can skip the school and get on the road. I need to text my dad and tell him I won’t be in today. Then we can go.”

  “Good.” He grinned. “Mind if I use the shower?”

  “Go for it. Towels are in the tall cabinet.”

  “Want to join me?” He winked.

  I ignored the rush of heat between my legs. “We don’t have time.”

  “Babe.” He set down the cup on the island and sauntered my way, his slow, steady strides raising my heart rate with every step. I gripped the edge of the island and prayed my body didn’t melt at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was rough, like the fingertips he shifted into my hair. “There’s all the time in the world.”

  “We should go.” There was no conviction behind that statement.

  “Tomorrow, don’t shower without me.”

  I suddenly wished it was tomorrow.

  With a playful tug on my ear, Dash dropped his hand from my hair and walked out of the kitchen. This time, his steps were sure and swift. Those of a man ready to get to work.

  I closed my eyes and let my heart rate settle to normal, then made us travel cups of coffee while the water ran in the bathroom.

  Dash was mere feet away, naked and wet. I unloaded the dishwasher so I wouldn’t go anywhere near the bathroom. Then I readied my purse for the trip, taking out the extra notepads I wouldn’t need for this story. I sat at the island, drinking my coffee until Dash came out wearing yesterday’s clothes and his signature, cocky grin.

  “Here.” I held out a travel mug.

  “No cup holders on the bike.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  “Cup holders.” He went to the front door to pull on a boot. “My bike doesn’t have them.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m driving. My car comes equipped with cup holders.”

  Dash straightened. “We’re taking the bike.”

  “No, I’ll dri—”

  “Babe, the bike is fun. Trust me.”

  “You told me not to trust you.”

  He grinned. “Make an exception. Riding through Montana in the summer is unbeatable.”

  “Fine.” I shoved his coffee mug into his belly and tipped mine to my lips, guzzling because I didn’t want to risk falling asleep on the motorcycle.

  “That was easier than I thought it would be.” He took a long drink from his own cup.

  “Shut up.” Did I secretly want to ride on his Harley? Yes. But I’d die before admitting that to him.

  I set my cup down on the island and began digging the essentials out of my purse and wallet. Cash. Credit cards. Driver’s license. Lip gloss. Hair tie. Gum. Phone. The jeans I was wearing were tight and the pockets wouldn’t keep it all, so the hair tie went on a wrist. The gum, money and cards into my jeans. But the other items still needed a new home.

  I looked at Dash and smiled. Then I moved into his space, nice and close. My fingers hooked in his jeans pocket, pulling it open as his breath hitched. With my things dropped into his pocket, I patted his thigh before backing away. “All set.”

  “Careful.” Dash palmed his zipper, making a blatant adjustment to his cock. “I might make you go in there to get them back.”

  My core tightened. “I might insist.”

  Outside, the morning air was fresh and clean. We walked to Dash’s bike and he sat on the dewy seat first. “Climb on.”

  “Helmets?” I hadn’t minded when it was just a slow ride through town. But the highway? I was insisting on a helmet.

  Dash opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the look on my face. I was guessing it was part fear, part excitement.

  “Please?”

  He sighed. “We’ll stop by the garage and pick them up.”

  “Thank you.” I settled into the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. Then he started the motorcycle, roaring away from the curb and down the street.

  To my relief, the garage wasn’t open when we arrived. I wasn’t ready to show up on Dash’s bike and get questioning looks from his employees about why I was wrapped around their boss. With the way Dash jogged inside to retrieve a helmet, I guessed he wasn’t ready to address our relationship with his employees either.

  After Dash insisted I wear his leather jacket and buckled the matte-black helmet on my head—he refused one for himself—we rode out of town. The crisp morning did more to keep me awake than coffee ever could, and it was a thrill to be behind Dash as he navigated the curved highway.

  I felt the shift in his muscles as he leaned us to one side or the other. The power of him and the machine between my legs. A couple of times, he’d let go of the handlebar with one hand to grip my thigh, those long fingers giving it a squeeze to make sure I was okay. I’d tightened my arms around his ribs in a silent yes.

  The familiarity of my hometown wrapped around me as we arrived in Bozeman. These were the streets where I’d learned to drive. We passed my high school and the restaurant where we’d always celebrated Dad’s birthdays. We rode by stores and buildings that hadn’t been there during my youth, the changes I’d missed living in the city.

  I’d always pictured coming back here and having a family. I’d hoped one day to return to Bozeman and go house hunting with my husband. I’d wanted to send my kids to the same school where I’d gone.

  Being here was bittersweet. The memories swirled together with dreams now gone. A pang of sorrow hit and I pushed it away, not wanting to think about my lack of husband and children.

  I didn’t need them to be happy.

  But I wanted them all the same.

  When we reached an intersection, I pointed for Dash to take a left. Then I navigated us through town and toward Amina’s address. I’d pulled it from public records one day and had jotted it in my yellow notepad in preparation for this trip.

  Dash slowed down on the residential streets as my eyes scanned house fronts for numbers.

  “There.” I pointed to a pale peach two-story home.

  We parked and I climbed off the motorcycle first, removing my helmet. Dash simply stood and raked a hand through his hair to tame the windblown mess. Two swipes and it looked perfectly disheveled. I pulled my hair tie off my wrist, twisting my mane up into a knot.

  “This was her house?” Dash pointed to her place.

  “It’s cute.” Her home was located on a pocket park. Bordered by five nearly identical homes, the park had two picnic tables and a playground for kids. The block formed a horseshoe around the park. In front of Amina’s home, there was a For Sale sign freshly staked into the green grass. “I hadn’t expected it to be listed already.”

  “Now what?” Dash asked.

  “Now”—I held out my hand—“you give me my phone and we go house hunting.”
r />   One call to the realtor and she was on her way to show us into the house.

  “Didn’t waste any time getting it on the market,” Dash said as we sat at the picnic table, waiting for the realtor.

  “It’s not like she’s coming back. I’m sure her daughter or whoever is settling the estate wanted to get it up this summer so it would sell before winter.”

  “Yeah. Nice place.”

  “It sure is. All this is new from when I grew up here. This all used to be farmland.”

  This subdivision would have been on my short list as a mother. It was exactly the kind of place I would have wanted to have my kids grow up in, where we’d know the neighbors and the children would all play together on Saturday afternoons.

  My place in Clifton Forge was a single-story home, like all the others on the street. There was minimal yard area. The HOA took care of shoveling snow from the sidewalks. I’d moved in and learned that I was the youngest person on the block, surrounded by elderly couples and a retired widower.

  As the street’s new spinster, I fit right in.

  A car door slammed. The realtor from the sign smiled and waved as she came our way. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” I smiled. Dash and I both stood, and when we were on our feet, I slipped my hand into his. The arm attached stiffened.

  Good to know how he feels about hand-holding. There was no time to let that irritate me because the realtor was speed walking our way, her hand held out the entire time.

  After introductions, she led us into the house. “Your timing is perfect. We just put this on the market yesterday afternoon. This neighborhood is so desirable right now. It will go quick.”

  “It’s adorable.” I smiled up at Dash, pretending to be the happy couple. When the realtor stepped up to the door, I squeezed his fingers. “Don’t you just love this porch, honey?”

  “Uh . . .”

  This guy. I’d held his hand and his brain had short-circuited. I rolled my eyes and mouthed pretend.

  “Right.” Dash’s tense arm relaxed. “It’s perfect, baby.”

  The realtor stood and pushed the door open to let us inside first. Then she flipped on lights behind us as we let ourselves wander.