Wasted: Falcon Brothers (Steel Country Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  “How did you know?” I laugh.

  “I know everything.”

  “Fine, who’s in the wedding?”

  He shrugs. “Already won the bet.”

  “He’s right, babe,” Blue interjects, reminding me he’s here.

  “So, what is it I have to cook for you?” I ask, almost forgetting Blue is here for a late lunch, but it’s a harmless bet.

  He smiles. “I want bacon.”

  I laugh. “Bacon’s easy.”

  “Chocolate covered bacon.”

  “That sounds really disgusting.” I shrug. “But a bet’s a bet.”

  I look back at Blue. “Meatloaf?”

  He smiles and nods. I nod back at him then look at Grayson.

  “Did you want lunch, as well?”

  “Sure,” he says. “I’d love the same thing Blue’s having.”

  The way he says it makes me smile, but only on the inside.

  I’m allowing myself to get carried away, wrapped up in my thoughts of Grayson Falcon and all the raw sexiness he exudes. Mix that with the pent-up frustration of being handled with kid gloves for years and the fear that what happened could happen again, add a dash of feeling comfortable with him almost immediately, and you have an emotional equivalent to the effects of a Long Island Ice Tea. Too many of those and you get wasted, like black-out, remembering nothing wasted, like wake up to videos of yourself online being slut-shamed wasted.

  “I’ll be right back with your lunches.”

  While I dish out the meatloaf and plate the food to warm up, since Pearl leaves at two, I think about all the reasons I should force myself not to allow myself to imagine that Grayson Falcon is interested in me.

  Growing up, my mom was sick a lot during my “formative years,” and many of my issues derive from that. That’s what the school psychologist told me several times when my father asked that he see me during my senior year.

  After Mom passed, I found out my then boyfriend, Jeff, who had been amazing for the two years we dated, was sleeping with a girl in the next town over, and had been for a year. I was crushed.

  When I broke it off with him, he acted like I had crushed him, throwing things at me like, he wouldn’t have been with her if I had slept with him. It made me sick, and I had a momentary lapse of judgment where I felt he might be right. That maybe during my “formative years,” I was so incredibly broken that him sleeping with that girl was forgivable. Therefore, I gave him my V-card. Then, well, then I caught him doing her.

  I thought Jeff loved me. He never pressured me, was always there to comfort me, and never in a million years would I have thought he would do that to me. He and I were perfect. Homecoming king and queen, class couple, everyone said we were perfect together.

  In college, I was able to be someone else. No one knew about the years I laid with my mother for hours, wanting to be close to her, afraid she would die without me being there. No one knew anything about my pain, my hurt, my past.

  When one of my roommates found my homecoming pictures, word spread. Somehow, the popularity that comes with being the Queen Bee in high school meant something in colleges, as well. Except, my homecoming win was probably more of a pity win than a popularity one. Nonetheless, at college, more and more boys wanted to date me. So, I dated...lots of them.

  I won’t say I was easy or sexually free, but I will say that I wasn’t letting the delayed growth, hindered by my “formative years,” compromise my future growth personally. I will say that my college years were to be experienced in the fullest. I will say that this small-town girl, once wrapped so tightly in love, hope, grief, and loss, wasn’t the same as the college girl who loved parties, and even liked being the butt of a joke from time to time. It was liberating until...it wasn’t.

  Chapter Five

  Body Language Issues

  Grayson

  When Mandee came back out of the kitchen, there was a little less friendly or flirty. I have yet to determine which it is. Either way, it’s understandable, since boy Blue was here, and I wasn’t feeling as charged up, either.

  I like that feel. That charge that comes with...well, comes with her. She’s a breath of fresh air; clean, floral smelling air, but fresh all the same. Different than the women I am accustomed to; almost childlike in some ways, but the exact opposite in others.

  I shoveled down the meatloaf and listened to boy Blue go on and on about fishing, and then when he asked me to go with him, I was out the door, avoiding any more fucking talk about spending time in the middle of the lake on a boat with him. Fuck. That. I fish off a dock with family until I need to get the hell out of there, too. Always need an exit plan. Always.

  In an effort to keep ideas out of my fucking head about what I want to do to Mandee, Phoenix’s friend, a chick who knows more about my personal...tastes than any other fucker on the planet, I decide to make sure she sees me in action, not just hears the shit I do.

  §

  I’m buzzed on beer, wound up like a twine, and watching Blue twirl Mandee around like a redneck with two left feet.

  I don’t like it one damn bit, yet I have been watching it for almost two weeks. Every damn time I come in here at night, he is all over her. Then, when I come in during the day, I watch her make wedding plans, asking my damn input on what Garrett would like.

  I answer her as honest as possible, saying, “He’s not gonna give a damn. He’s gonna wanna take his wife as far away from everyone else and fuck the hell out of her.”

  She laughed, thinking I was joking. I wasn’t. I also wasn’t thinking of what Garrett’s gonna wanna do. I was thinking—am thinking—of what I want to do with her, something that will never fucking happen.

  I laugh at the idiot I am being as I take another sip of my beer and nod to the chick who’s been eyeing me all night. She will work just fine.

  Five minutes, two slow songs in, and the girl I’m dancing with has been fucking my leg since a minute into “Body Language” by Gyth Rigdon. I’m not really into it, though, because I’m watching Blue kiss Mandee. Kisses like a fucking bird. Pecker.

  When she sees me watching, I don’t give a damn because, right now, I’m three sheets to the wind and it’s her fucking fault.

  I want to go over there and show him how to kiss her. Kiss her so she’s not watching me watching her.

  Now he’s kissing her ear while the little thigh grinder I’m dancing with is rubbing a hand across my denim, causing Mandee to look away. Then he really fucking kisses her.

  Fuck. This.

  “You wanna fuck?” I ask the girl working my cock that’s not even close to hard.

  Not her fault, though. It’s little boy Blue ball’s and his pecker kisses.

  She nods.

  “I’m Billy Boy,” I tell her as I somewhat push her off me and take her hand before leading her out the door.

  I tell her the drill—separated, just need a release—as I look over my shoulder at Mandee, all wide-eyed and clearly not enjoying that kiss he’s giving her, while I walk out the door.

  §

  As far as fucks go, I suppose this is all right, I think as I pump in and out of her soaked pussy. As all right as a fuck over a sawhorse in the addition my brother Gage has a crew working on for Garrett’s reception.

  Apparently, Mandee’s old man was pissed at the improvements they wanted to make, so him and Gage compromised. He told the old man that he could knock some off the reception bill, threw out some of the figures he and Phoenix were getting from other venues, for their upcoming nuptials, and convinced him it was a fair deal. He caved.

  That man looks at me like I’m shit under his shoes every time I walk in the place and he’s there, but Blue, he likes that fucker...

  Anyway, Gage knows the old man didn’t want to put the money into the place, but Gage told me, if his stubborn ass fiancée was going to work at a dive bar, it wasn’t going to be a fucking dive.

  “What’s wrong?” I hear and look down at...shit, whatever the fuck her name is, as she
looks back at me.

  “Sorry, darlin’.” I smack her ass and commence fucking.

  I sliver my eyes after way too long of looking at a girl I really don’t want to be inside of, trying my best to get there, to bust a nut, but I’m fucked up. Whiskey dick isn’t a term my cock is familiar with.

  Her narrow, little ass isn’t what I want to be looking at, so I close them even tighter and picture the porcelain skin; doe eyes; long, milk chocolate hair; hips I could sink my fingers into; and an ass I would chew up like a starved man.

  “Fuck. Yes,” I hiss as I finally go off to the thought of that girl...Mandee.

  §

  “Hey,” I hear a whisper and open my eyes. Mandee is standing over me, looking down at me. The moon is lighting her up from behind, making her look even more angelic, more like something I have no right wanting.

  “Did we...?” I begin.

  “No, of course not.”

  I close my eyes and chuckle, feeling semi-foolish, but not giving a shit because the fucking world is spinning.

  “Grayson, you can’t sleep out here on the picnic table,” she says, tugging at my hands and trying to lift me up.

  “You gonna take me to your bed?” I mumble as I attempt to sit up.

  “I can take you to yours,” she replies, tugging harder now, forcing the issue.

  When I’m up and sitting on the edge of the picnic table out behind the bar, Mandee is between my legs, giving her lips a quick swipe with her tongue. I reach up and press my thumb against her moist bottom lip and rub it back and forth. Then I remember she was kissing Blue Boy and rub it harder, trying to erase the memory of his lips on hers.

  She grabs my wrist, stopping me. “What are you doing?”

  “He kissed you.” I look up to her big, brown, doe eyes. “I didn’t much fucking like it, either.”

  I can see her face contort in confusion, and I’m sure it’s turning that sweet shade of pink I want it to, or not.

  Her eyebrow slowly creeps up. “Why?”

  She isn’t asking a cute little question this time. There is a hell of a lot of that innocence lost, and her voice is thicker. I think, anyway, but I’m fucked up.

  “I want a taste of those lips.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “Well, you’ve tasted a lot of lips lately.”

  She yanks me up to my feet, and I can’t help smiling because her tone was not as chipper or sweet as it normally is. There’s some brass to it.

  I can’t help leaning in a little. Fucking hot lips. I want to kiss them.

  She steps back and tugs me forward. “Now, let’s get you home.”

  “I can get home,” I tell her, pulling away as we get closer to my bike, pissed she avoided me.

  “In one piece, Gray, in one piece.” She grunts, pulling me back.

  Those fucking noises she makes, the grunts, her change in tone, her goddamned eyes singing a song to me, her being so damn close. Mix that with the cloud caused by Jamison, and it’s all stirring me up.

  “Gray?” I ask, knowing she’s never called me that. It’s always Grayson.

  “That’s what they call you.”

  “They?” I ask, looking in those eyes for another chorus. Hell, I just need a note, a hint that she fucking wants the damn release I want to provide.

  “Your family.” She looks away after a few beats, fumbling around in that big, old bag she carries everywhere.

  “You’re family now?”

  She stops and looks up at me. “Sorry I know—”

  “You can call me Gray,” I interrupt, wanting her comfortable enough to call me any fucking thing she wants because, when she is under me, I want her comfortable enough for her eyes to sing me a fucking full-length album.

  Her lips curl up, and I bend in to take them, but she gives me the cheek.

  Fuck.

  She looks at me, confused again, and I can’t help laughing at my drunk ass.

  She shakes her head and smiles as she returns to digging in that bag.

  “You need a new bag, hot lips,” I tell her then reach inside it. “I’ll get you one for the ride home.”

  “I like this one fine,” she says.

  I finally pull her keys out and hit the unlock. Well, I hit a button and the damn alarm goes off.

  “Shit!” She laughs, snatching them up and releasing me.

  I grab the tailgate of her truck to steady myself.

  Wasted, I’m fucking wasted. How the fuck does that happen?

  She starts up the truck and the alarm silences in seconds. Then she’s there again. She’s fucking everywhere.

  “Let’s get you home,” she says.

  “You know the way?”

  “I think I do.” She smiles as she opens the passenger door for me.

  Once I’m in, she shuts the door before I have the chance. Then I watch as she gets in the driver’s seat and sends a message to someone, probably Blue balls.

  “He good in bed, Mandee?”

  Her mouth opens slightly as she looks at me then sighs.

  “Too personal?” I ask, sitting back in the seat, knowing damn well it is and giving not one single fuck.

  Her phone rings.

  “He’s no ordinary man, so let’s give him a hand, ’cause everything he’s done for us, he’s done for love.”

  Fuck, it’s her dad.

  She opens the door and gets out, shutting it behind her. I turn and watch her answer, unable to hear a damn thing she’s saying, but she looks pensive.

  When she gets back in, she puts the truck in reverse, pulls out of the parking lot, and starts driving toward the Landing.

  “Don’t wanna go there,” I tell her.

  “Well then, where?”

  “The woods,” I answer, leaning farther back while shit starts spinning like a fucking Tilt-A-Whirl at a county fair.

  “The woods?” she asks with a quiver in her voice.

  “Yeah, hot lips, the woods.”

  “Hmm,” she sighs, and I’m out.

  §

  I wake up when she’s pulling into Falcon’s Landing.

  “Mandee, what the—”

  “I can’t drop you off in the woods.” She shakes her head from side to side, causing the scent of her thick, chocolate hair to fuck with my nose, my senses.

  “Well, you can’t drop me off here, either. Just stop the truck,” I grumble, pissed she’s not acting like she wants me.

  “Why?”

  “Because you and I have secrets,” I tell her. Fucking more to come, too, just not tonight.

  “Are you sure you can make it—”

  “I’m good,” I say as I open the door.

  She slams on the brakes and comes to one hell of a stop. “Gray, you—”

  “Night, sweetheart,” I grumble as I jump out and slam the door behind me.

  The road is lit up by the lights of her Chevy, and I’m walking a straight line. Or, at least I fucking hope so. No need for that girl, Mandee, to see me walking sideways when that’s exactly how I want to make her walk...after I’m buried inside her.

  When I get to Mags’ cabin, I climb up the stairs and sit in her rocker, close my eyes, and try to make the world stop spinning. It takes forever.

  I’m fucking pissed about getting so fucked up I couldn’t drive home, but I’m even more pissed that I not only want, but need to fuck that girl, Mandee.

  §

  I wake at the same fucking time I do every day—first morning’s light. I force myself to stand and walk to the potted flowering plant next to the door, knowing Mags leaves a key under the thing, like she used to when we were kids and she knew I would be wandering home late. She was always up, waiting. Like I assume a mother would, if the mother’s head wasn’t so deep in secrets, lies, and her own fucked up shit she wasn’t actually present. Now Mags has been staying down at Gage’s house since her fall when she busted a hip.

  I grab up the key and open the door. I walk in, kick off my boots, then strip down and head to the bathroom t
o shower off last night’s stench.

  After my shower, I throw on my clothes then head out, trying to figure out if I want to start hoofing it toward town to get my bike or walk down to the house to get some fucking bacon.

  Standing at the edge of Mags’ little drive, I decide to hoof it. No need to expose a secret that I am battling whether or not to give in to the way my dick is dragging me, or the way my head is—a battle foreign to me.

  My head is swimming in a cloud of what the fucks and a hangover as I make my way down the drive, toward the road, knowing I’m in for a long fucking walk.

  Chapter Six

  Who Wrote the Book

  Mandee

  I awake to my book of love on my chest. I needed to write inside its pages last night, but I just couldn’t.

  Why?

  Love wasn’t on my mind. Grayson Falcon and probably the biggest regret of my life was.

  I dodged a kiss. Several kisses, in fact.

  I cover my face and groan before closing the book and pushing it under my pillow. I know what love isn’t. It isn’t what I feel for him. That is pure lust. Not that I am beyond giving in to lust...I am. I just don’t want to hurt Phoenix, and she would be the person I cried to when the secret was revealed and the knowledge that I would want to be under him, over him, kissed by him, again and again. Because, aside from his illegal good looks, he is honest about not wanting love, and I am more than sure he’s the kind of guy I could absolutely fall for and get crushed by. But, the fact remains; I am incredibly attracted to him, more so than I have ever been to anyone.

  “You know what would happen then, Travis Tritt?” I ask my orange and white tabby as he jumps up on my bed like he does every morning when I wake. I hold my hand over my heart. “Ouch. Ouch would happen.”

  Rubbing his head against me, he flops down for a belly rub.

  “You’re such a good and faithful boy, Tritt,” I tell him, rubbing between his ears now.

  Faithful like Blue, I think to myself. Safe, steady, predictable Blue.

  Well, predictable until last night when he kissed me much differently than he ever has before.

  Different isn’t always better and timing is everything.