Dude Interrupted (G-Man Next Generation Book 2)

by ANDREA SMITH

  “How’s my favorite equestrian niece?” he teased, giving a playful tug on my ponytail as he came up beside me.

  “Hey Uncle T,” I greeted, returning his smile, “We both know you’re safe in saying that since Preston hasn’t been on a horse in what? Three years?”

  He chuckled and helped me hang the rest of the tack. “Aw, you know you’ve always had a special place in my heart. Just wanted to come by and see how your new help is getting along. Heard something about him getting off on the wrong foot with the boss lady,” he finished giving me a wink.

  I shook my head. “Hannah the Horrible,” I replied giggling, “She couldn’t wait to tell you, could she?”

  Hannah was a year younger than me. She and Sarah were identical twins, and Uncle Tristan and Aunt Gina’s youngest children. They had an older brother, Reese who was a year younger than my older sister, Preston. Yeah, we were all cousins. Related on my dad’s side of the family. And Hannah worked over at the Belle with me teaching dressage to the beginners.

  “She might’ve mentioned something about your having to drag his ass out this morning. How’d it go from there?”

  “He’s definitely got an attitude and a half, but from what I heard, once he got his butt into gear, he apparently is a pretty hard worker. We’ll see,” I finished with a sigh. “I don’t fully understand the connection you and Daddy have with this guy’s family,” I admitted, going over to the sink to wash my hands.

  “We’re not blood related if that’s what concerns you,” he answered snickering.

  I felt my cheeks redden. I knew he was teasing, but jeez, I was sure Hannah filled her daddy in on just how hot Bryce Slater was; she’d practically creamed her panties when she saw him walking over to the paddock this afternoon.

  “Holy shit,” she had gushed. “Who is he?”

  I’d looked up from where I’d been picking a stone lodged in one of Derringer’s hooves, and saw Slater headed over towards the track. He had his sexy strut going, and my eyes lingered on his ass, the picture of his morning erection flashed back in my mind. I shook it off.

  “He,” I said succinctly, “is a royal, freaking pain. Bryce Slater is his name, and please, don’t get me started on him.”

  Of course, that had only piqued Hannah’s interest and curiosity that much more. So, I ended up telling her as much as I knew about him.

  “He is seriously drop dead gorgeous,” she gushed. “I bet you won’t stay pissed at him for long. Maybe he’ll be the one to get your mind off that asshat, Trent.”

  “Hannah will be glad to know that,” I replied to Tristan, coming back to the present. “She was slobbering when she saw him this afternoon.”

  Tristan’s smile immediately faded like I knew it would. Served my uncle right for teasing me that way. He was more protective over Hannah and Sarah than Daddy was with Preston and me, which was pretty bad if you knew my father.

  “His brother-in-law is Trace Matthews,” Tristan explained, “Back in Napa, the Matthews family operated a winery near our family’s business. Long time neighbors from way back then. Bryce’s father and Trace are related by marriage, and good buddies. It seems the guy got into a little trouble back home. The family needed some help, so we obliged. But I’m telling you, Avery, if he gives you any problems, you bring it to me, okay?” His tone was serious.

  “Sure, Uncle T,” I replied, “But I think I can handle Bryce Slater.”

  “Just be gentle,” he teased. “Hey, I’ll let your dad know that you’ve got everything under control here. He says he hasn’t heard from you all week.”

  I rolled my eyes as I dried off my hands. “You and he are both so protective. Is that a family trait or what?”

  He grinned as he followed me out the door, switching off the lights behind us. “We’re dads with daughters. It ain’t easy, trust me, darlin’.”

  “I’ll call Daddy tomorrow, I promise. And when does Sarah get back from her camping trip? We miss her at the Belle.”

  “Saturday,” he replied, “Wanna come over to the house Sunday for a barbecue?”

  “Sure,” I replied, “See you then, Uncle T.”

  When I got back to the main house, my grandparents’ man servant, Thatcher, was right there to assist me as soon as I stepped foot inside the door.

  “Miss Avery,” he greeted, “Martha left your dinner warming in the oven, shall I set a place at the table for you?”

  Always so formal, Thatcher had been with my grandparents forever it seemed. As Grandma put it, Thatcher had his own brand of stubbornness when it came to pomp and circumstance.

  “Thanks, Thatcher,” I replied, “I’ll eat in the kitchen, no reason for you to fuss with setting the table. Sorry I’m late. I’m gonna eat and go on upstairs, no worries.”

  “As you wish, Miss Avery,” he replied. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m at your disposal.”

  I ate my dinner quickly, and then went upstairs to my suite. I used the same one that had been my father’s when he lived at home, and I liked the fact that some of his memorabilia remained.

  I went into the large en suite bathroom, and poured some bath salts into the Jacuzzi tub that I adored. I released a long sigh as I sunk down into the bubbling water, resting my head back on a rolled up towel I’d placed near the edge.

  I closed my eyes, letting my mind go completely blank as I relaxed in the tub. I savored the feel of the warm jets of water as they soothed my tired muscles. And then my mind wandered to a place I wasn’t comfortable going. Dark, raven hair; ice blue eyes, a chiseled jawline with a bit of scruff that was pure sexy. And his back. Perfectly sculpted, well-muscled, and a professionally done Celtic knot over his left shoulder blade.

  I opened my eyes quickly, as if that would chase the visions from my mind. I grabbed my bath sponge and liquid soap, and started to scrub my body, as if to cleanse the indelible images of Bryce Slater that seemed intent on taking up residence in my mind this evening. What was up with that?

  I’d barely gotten over the disaster that had been my first serious relationship with Trent Madison, from back home in Georgia. We’d gone together since I was fifteen, even though I hadn’t officially been allowed to date him until I turned sixteen.

  He’d been my first. My only. It should have been thoughts, images, and memories of Trent that flittered through my mind right now. Our breakup was still relatively fresh, although not particularly as devastating as one might think. But then, I’d been the one to break up with him, so maybe that was why I hadn’t come out of it nearly as shattered as I thought I would. We’d simply outgrown one another at eighteen. We had different goals and dreams.

  But Bryce Slater? He wasn’t even close to the type of guy that would or should spark my interest.

  And yet he had.

  I slid down fully beneath the water to wet my hair for washing. And as I lathered it up with shampoo, I gave myself a mental lecture on the risks and pitfalls of ever letting my guard down around someone as reckless as Bryce Slater appeared to be.

  Uncle Tristan might not have wanted to fill in the specifics on Slater when we’d talked in the barn earlier this evening, but Daddy had no such reluctance when he phoned me a week ago to let me know he was coming.

  A little trouble. Right. Drinking, smoking pot, and apparently getting busted for both, along with being charged for public lewdness at the same party. I’d say Slater needed a major attitude adjustment going forward if he expected his juvenile record to vanish.

  Daddy said his family had hopes for him to clean up his act so that he’d be prepared to go into the military in a year. I, personally, didn’t see that happening, but then again, I didn’t want to judge him too prematurely. I didn’t know his side of the story.

  At any rate, I decided to withhold my judgment until I had more one-on-one interaction with Bryce Slater. I didn’t want to be too judgy too fast. I knew I'd been overly tough and well, quite frankly, bitchy to him. I also knew why. Bry
ce Slater, despite his attitude and past brushes with the law, totally and undeniably fascinated me. And that scared the crap out of me for some reason.

  Chapter 7

  Bryce

  I’d been here at Camp Horsey-Horse (my name for this place) for damn near two weeks now. At any rate, it was coming up on my second weekend, and I’d not had my ass chewed majorly by the big boss since that first day.

  Oh, there were little things. Naggy chick things she’d spout off here and there, but I didn’t count those. They were minimally insulting, and actually kind of amusing. I knew she got a kick out of sparring with me so why spoil her fun?

  “Slater, you realize a horse has four hooves, right? You missed the front left hoof with the pick.” Or how about this one:

  “Hey, Slater, the liniment goes on the knee not the fetlock.”

  This might be one of her favorites because I’ve heard it three times now. “Slater, if you must sing while brushing the horses, can you please move along from hip-hop?” To which I corrected her: “Hey Little Bit, don’t you know good rap when you hear it?”

  At any rate, I deserved a night on the town after two weeks of working my ass off I decided. It was Friday night. We’d gotten paid, and life was about to get good if only for the weekend.

  But I had no wheels which seriously sucked. So I used my available resources and managed to talk Marvin into going out for some Friday night entertainment. It didn’t take too much convincing. He was going to pick me up, and we were going into town to party. He claimed to know some of the best drinking holes in town. Beer joints as he called them. “We can’t get the hard stuff here until we’re twenty-one,” he explained.

  “Yeah, well there’s a way to get around that,” I’d replied. I still had my fake I.D. and I sure as hell planned to use it.

  Marvin swung by my cottage at ten to pick me up as planned. He had his ass-kicking boots all shined to perfection, his cowboy hat perched on his head, and a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered as I got into his pickup truck, “What the hell did you douse yourself with, Marvin?”

  He was chewing on a toothpick, the way he always did, but that didn’t prevent his shit-eating grin. “It’s called Hombre,” he said, “It set me back a pretty penny, too.”

  “It should be called Chick Repellent,” I replied, squeezing my nostrils shut with my fingers, “Damn, boy, that shit flat out stinks.”

  He let out one of his slow, easy laughs. Marvin was a pretty laid back dude. He, by far, was also one of the nicest I’d met here. He was twenty, it was his second year working for the Sinclairs, and I could tell he was well-respected. “Quit your bitching, Slater,” he said, jacking up the volume on his truck’s radio, where a country western tune was blaring, “You need to appreciate the finer things in life, man.”

  “Yeah, whatever. So, where we going, anyway? This place have any decent dives?”

  “Thought we’d start out at Mustang Sally’s,” he said, punching the gas pedal on his truck now that we were out of the Sinclair estate and onto a county road, “Decent brew, pool tables, darts—the whole shebang.”

  “What about chicks?” I asked pointedly.

  “You looking to hook-up, Slater?”

  “Like you’re not?” I asked, my disbelief evident in my tone, “What’s your deal, Marvin?”

  He chuckled again, and I was starting to get just a bit irritated, as if he thought my gig was hilarious. “My deal is I have a steady girl at school. We’re cool with going without for the summer, Bryce. We survive it,” he said, enunciating the word “survive.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I could survive it too, Marvin. But you know what?”

  He shook his head.

  “Survival can be real over-rated, dude. I’m on a mission tonight to quench my thirst with some local pussy. Now is this place going to be able to accommodate that?”

  Marvin laughed, “Whatever, dude. You’re on your own in that respect. Yes, they’ll be chicks there, and yes most of them with their guys. No doubt you’ll have no problem splitting the herd and finding you a willing partner for the night. But please, do us both a favor and make sure she ain’t taken. The dudes around here don’t like to share, got it?”

  “I’m cool, Bro. I’m not looking to get into a fight. I’m just looking to get laid.”

  Mustang Sally’s turned out to be pretty damn lit. Marvin knew a lot of the locals, and we drank a couple of brews with two of them and waited on a pool table to open up.

  “Play partners?” Marvin asked, quirking a brow. Spoken like a true shark I thought to myself, chalking my cue.

  “Sure. I think I remember how to play. Who’s with me?”

  “We playing straight up?” the dude named Frankie asked. Hell, I wasn’t familiar with any of them, but I was willing to risk partnering with any one of them.

  “No hustlers here, right?” I asked, scanning Frankie and the other guy, Nick’s, faces.

  “No hustle,” Nick replied. “I’ll partner with Slater, Frankie with Marvin. Barrel is twenty?”

  “Cool with me,” I replied, racking up the balls. “Eight ball, we’ll take solids, stripes will break first.”

  As it turned out, all of us were pretty well matched skill-wise, which made the games challenging for a change. Back home I had the reputation of being the hustler, and truthfully? It got boring. This was jam.

  Nick and I were forty bucks up in the fourth game when a chick with long blonde hair came over and draped herself across the table, knocking two stripes into the rail, one of them bouncing off and hitting a pocket on the other side.

  “Fuck, Lacy,” Nick hissed, “What the hell?”

  The chick was drunk. That much was obvious. She had a ton of makeup on, and her mouth was painted up a bright red which accentuated her full lips, which were right now, in full pout mode as she gazed up at Nick. “Aww…don’t be pissed, Nick,” she cooed, batting her lashes at him. “How else was I supposed to get your attention, huh? You invite me to meet you here, and then BOOM! You just ignore me like I’m nothing. That’s just wrong, baby.”

  “Oh Christ,” Nick snarled.

  “That pocket counts,” Frankie piped up.

  Marvin just chuckled and swigged his beer while we all watched Nick lift the chick up and off the table, where he planted her firmly on her feet, his gloved hand raised, and his index finger jabbing the air in front of her face to make his point.

  “How many times do I gotta tell you Lacy, we ain’t together, huh? I’m sick of having to tell you what you already know, girl. You called me. I told you I’d be here. You said you’d probably see me here later. That does not constitute a plan to meet up with each other, dig?”

  I kinda felt sorry for her, but hey, I also knew where Nick was coming from. I’d been there, too. Still, there was something to be said for having that type of conversation outside. His voice was loud enough that people at the other tables had stopped shooting and were gazing over at our group.

  “You are a piece of shit!” Lacy hollered, her fists now pummeled against his chest, but it didn’t faze Nick, other than to further irritate him. “You just fucking used me then tossed me away like I was nothing but a piece of trash to you! How do you sleep at night, huh?”

  Nick swigged his beer before placing the bottle back on the tabletop. He chalked his stick and then replied, “Usually drunk and on top of someone, darlin’. Too bad it won’t be you tonight.”

  Everybody froze. I wasn’t sure what the deal was, so I looked over at Marvin who simply shrugged like it wasn’t one. By this time, tears were pouring down Lacy’s cheeks, making black streaks from her eyes clear down to her chin.

  I tossed my stick onto the table and walked over to where she stood. “Hey. Lacy?” I said softly, “You’re kinda interrupting the game here. How about if you and I step outside for a minute so everyone can catch their breath?”

  She looked up at me,
and wiped her cheek with her hand. Finally, she nodded. “‘Kay,” she said, moving away from Nick. She grabbed her purse from a nearby table, and as I followed her outside, I couldn’t help but notice the tight black denim skirt she was wearing, her bare tanned legs, and the flimsy white cotton top that clung to her body like a second skin.

  Once outside, she dug a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her purse. She held out the cigs to me, “Smoke?” she asked.

  “Thanks,” I said, pulling one from the pack, and accepting the light that followed. I took a long draw. Damn! It was nice to have a smoke after going without for a couple of weeks.

  She took a drag on hers, her long painted nails accentuated the fingers that clutched the cigarette.

  “Thanks for that in there,” she said quietly, nodding her head toward the building. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Hey, we all have our moments,” I replied, taking another drag. “You gonna be okay?”

  She nodded. “Eventually. It’s my own stupid fault anyway. I should know better. Nick doesn’t do anything more than fuck. Shame on me for thinking I was different.”

  “So, you and Nick aren’t a thing?”

  She shook her head. “Well, obviously not,” she replied, tossing me an eye roll. “Who are you anyway? I haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “Bryce Slater,” I replied, “And yeah, my first time in here. Just got a job over at the Sinclair place. I’m from D.C.”

  “Oh,” she replied, dropping her cigarette to the pavement, and grounding it out with the heel of her shoe. “Guess it sucks to be you. Who’s your boss? Preston or Avery? They’re both bitches as far as I’m concerned, although I totally dig the twins.”

  I chuckled, as I finished my cig and flicked it out onto the street. “Don’t know Preston. Avery is my boss lady. She’s not all bad.”

  Lacy popped a piece of gum into her mouth, and offered me one. “Thanks,” I said, taking it. “So, how do you know the Sinclairs?”

  “Oh sweetie, everyone knows the Sinclairs. My God, they practically own Bristol. I grew up here. Of course, those girls didn’t. Sarah and Hannah went to the same school as me. I graduated a year ago. They’re a couple years younger than me. I’m nineteen, you?”