But not with a stranger. I opened my mouth to apologize. It wasn’t this surly asshole’s fault that my life was complete shit.
Then he turned back with a bottle of something in his hand. He shook it at me. “You want some?”
“What is it?”
“Bourbon”
I couldn’t seem to stop running my mouth. “You trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me later?”
The fire was stronger now, so I could see the way he rolled his eyes. He looked amused. “No. I’m trying to thank you for making my fire for me.” He paused and looked at the bottle. “I’m not so good with people.”
He didn’t sound surly anymore. He sounded bothered. For the first time today, my heart squeezed with something other than numb, empty grief. “Yeah, me neither.” I reached for his bottle and sniffed. “You sure you didn't put something funny in this?”
“You want me to drink first?” He reached and snatched it away with a little too much force and then took a deep swig. “No I didn’t slip a fucking mickey in there, see? Besides, it’d ruin the taste.”
“I just thought I'd should be cautious since we’re both terrible with people.” I grabbed the bottle back again.
“Like hell you're terrible with people.” His eyes followed my hand up to my face and lingered there like he was noticing me for the first time. “A pretty girl who has no trouble talking to complete strangers? Bullshit.”
I laughed as I lifted the bottle to my lips. It sure smelled like bourbon. Strong stuff too. All at once, I wanted nothing more than to down the bottle and burn away the awfulness of today. “Yeah well, I seem to be good at pissing them off.” I took a swig and swallowed, letting the burn be the excuse for the tears that were pricking at the corners of my eyes. When I spoke again, there was a catch to my voice. Because the thoughts were catching up with me. “And it seems like I’m not a very good judge of their character either.”
His silence stretched so long I snapped out of my reverie and glanced up at him.
If there had been a trace of sympathy in those eyes of his, I wouldn’t have said a damn thing. Same with pity. I wasn’t looking for a shoulder to cry on, because I didn’t want to cry about this. I didn’t want to be sad, I wanted to be angry.
But there wasn’t sympathy. Just calm, patient waiting for me to finish my thought.
So I did.
I took a deep breath. “Today has been a really, really bad day.” Then I took another long drink.
In the shadows, I saw him lift his hand and reach for me and then drop it. Then lift it again.
How fucked up was I that I wanted to go to him? A complete stranger?
But then again, my instincts were shot after today. Everything I’d thought was real and true had been flipped upside down. If something felt wrong right now, it was probably the right thing to do.
So I accepted the invitation of that hesitating hand and stepped forward.
Right into the arms of a stranger.
Chapter Three
Finn
In my life, there are two constants.
The first is the knowledge that I’m going to fuck up.
My intentions don’t matter. Even when I set out to do some good, I find a way to do the complete opposite.
Leaving was the first good thing I’d done in my life. I was almost — almost — proud of myself.
So of course I had to fuck it up.
I knew better than to start talking to a pretty girl like her. It was the exact opposite of what I’d set out to do here. But I was talking to her all the same. Enjoying myself when I shouldn't have. Flirting instead of pulling back and warning her to get away.
I also knew better than to touch her. Or to try, in some idiotic way, to comfort her.
So of course, I went and did that too.
The second constant?
That’s my brother.
Strange to say that when he’s the one I most needed to leave behind. I may not be in Beau's life anymore. But he's still in my head.
If I know that I’m going to screw up doing things my way, I try to think to myself, what would Beau do?
Beau would give this pretty girl a hug. Then he’d sit her down and share his whiskey and try to figure out why she sounded so sad. He was a good person. I wanted to be a good person.
Beau definitely wouldn’t have kissed her. But see? That’s where the first constant comes in. I fucked that up. I’m an asshole, and I always find a way to sabotage my best intentions.
I didn’t intend to let her brush against me. I didn’t intend to breathe in the scent of her hair.
I didn’t intend any of what happened next. There’s no excuse for it. Other than this: just like the girl now sitting down at my fire, I’ve had an astoundingly shitty day.
Chapter Four
Finn
During our quick, awkward embrace I’d gotten a pretty good sense of her slamming body. I kind of wanted to reach out to offer another hug, just to be sure.
Hey, I did tell you I was an asshole.
But she’d pulled herself together and was now sitting and staring into the fire. Her eyes gleamed, but not with tears. No, she was staring into the fire like it had wronged her. Anger burned on her face.
We sat there in silence as I tried like hell to imagine what Beau would say right now. “Shitty day, huh?” I finally ventured. My brother’s words in my mouth. “I know how those are.”
She glanced up. “You one-upping me?” she challenged.
That was a surprise. ”Not trying to,” I shot back. Harsh. Sarcastic. Defensive. Those were definitely my words.
She leaned forward and reached for a stick on the ground and gave the fire a practiced poke. I’d given her my chair and sat perched on the bench of the slanted picnic table that came with the site. But we were still close enough that her arm brushed my thigh when she sat back again.
I was having a hard time remembering how to breathe. She was distracting as fuck.
It’s like when you quit smoking and start seeing cigarettes everywhere. Or when you announce you’re going to start eating healthy and your brothers show up with steaks and a case of beer. I’d left a note this morning explaining to my family why it was best that I take off on my own and live in solitude.
And she barges in.
Satisfied with the fire, she sat back on her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Gazing up at the sky, she blew out a long exhale. “Yeah? Well I’ll play anyway.”
I’d forgotten what we were talking about. “Play what?”
“One-upping.”
“I wasn’t tryin - ."
“So what happened to you today?” she butted in.
This chick was pissed about something and she wanted to tell me all about it. I didn’t need to be Beau to figure that out. “Oh,” I minimized with a chuckle. “Well, I couldn’t build a fire, so some random chick came over and did it for me, completely emasculating me in the process.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s the worst you’ve got?”
“No. But it’s you’re turn.”
She pulled her arms more tightly across her chest. She’d wanted to tell, so badly, but now in the moment she couldn’t seem to find the words. Her tongue swept along the inside her her cheek as she opened and then closed her mouth.
Finally she lurched forward and reached onto the ground, coming back up with my bottle of whiskey in hand. “Hey,” I muttered, not really making any move to stop her. She drank it down like she’d just crossed the desert and it was the first water she’d found. “Jesus.” It was pretty impressive. And disturbing.
She winced and set it down, swallowing and shaking her head. “I went to my father’s funeral today,” she blurted.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “For real?”
“You think I’m lying?” She swiveled her glare from the fire to me.
I shook my head. “No, but it’d be a good way to win.”
“Ha! I always
knew I was a winner.” She grabbed the bottle and took another swallow.
“Fuck,” I exhaled. “Hey, slow down.” Beau’s words. She was a small thing and she was drinking way too fast. “You’re definitely drinking me under the table.” I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a swig of my own. The edges of my mouth curled up in spite of myself. “So if we're competing, you're winning by a mile."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a decidedly unladylike stance. My sister Claire would be rolling her eyes if she saw it. I wondered if my mystery fire builder was more comfortable in the presence of men.
Then I remembered that I wasn't supposed to care anymore.
“Your turn," she said. Her hand moved so quickly, she probably thought I didn't notice how she was wiping at her eyes.
A crying stranger invading my solitude. It was the sort of thing that I had sworn I'd never allow again. I was poison. Bad luck. The anchor weighing down the people I love.
But I had no obligation to this chick. I just knew she was pretty and getting drunker by the minute. So drunk she'd probably forget this conversation ever happened. What did I have to lose?
Fuck it. "I left a note for my family, telling them not to come looking for me," I volunteered.
“Why?”
“I…” Fuck it. “I shouldn’t be around people.”
"And?"
I licked my lips. “And… they haven't."
She looked at me. I shrugged. There was more to it. But I didn’t have the words to explain.
“So, what’s bad?” she asked. She asked a lot of questions. Too many. “Isn't that what you wanted?"
I swallowed. Then cleared my throat. Then took another drink from the whiskey bottle. But I still felt like there was something lodged in my throat. “It's what I suspected,” I finally coughed. “But it kind of sucks having it confirmed."
Her silence was steady. I’ve got a sixth sense for pity and have no use for it. My demons are my own, and I keep them close and nurture them well. If the next thing out of her mouth was anything close to “poor you,” or worse, “poor them,” I’d be gone like a shot.
But she just nodded, a small movement that got bigger as she thought about it. “Okay,” she finally said. “So yeah, that’s kind of rough. But I’ll do you one better.” Her voice had softened around the edges and I wondered if she was too wasted to take seriously.
But the next sentence out of her mouth was perfectly clear. “At my father's funeral, I found out I had some brothers and sisters."
"You… Didn't know this?"
"Apparently I didn't know my father!" She said this in a burst of hysterical, gallows humor laughter, then fell against me. Her head came to rest on my shoulder as she laughed on, making no noise except the occasional gasping squeak.
I felt my hand lift. Like I was going to pet her. Would Beau pet her? God, I was so bad at this human contact bullshit. "Okay, that's pretty good. If you're not making that up, I think you win." I let my hand rest on her back.
She shifted. I shifted. My hand slid all the way around her of its own accord. She slid down a little.
And suddenly I was holding her just like a lover.
Chapter Five
Finn
Her hair was tickling my nose but I didn’t dare move. If I moved, I'd break this spell.
She inhaled, then sighed. Her head got heavier on my shoulder. She tilted her head up to look at me and I swear I almost smiled at her. She peered at me intently.
“Do I know you?" she blurted.
And there it was.
“Maybe.” I tried to shrug her head off my shoulder, but she was either too oblivious or too drunk to get the hint. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. Doubt you actually know me.”
She pulled back and shrugged. “Fine. Be a dick. But don’t forget, I won the ‘having a bad day contest' here, so don’t be getting too high and mighty with me.”
My shoulder felt cold without her there. And my smile was curling up at the edges again. “Yeah, well. I think you cheated."
"I think you're a dick."
"I think you're pretty nosy."
Her head was tilting towards me again. "I think you're probably right you should stay away from people." Her mouth was close now. Her breath smelled of bourbon and peppermint gum.
"I think you're drunk."
Her wide eyes were now heavy-lidded in a way I couldn’t stop staring at. “I think you like it,” she taunted. “I think you like me.”
“Yeah, drunk girl? You think I'm that kind of asshole?"
But I was. I was exactly that kind of asshole. I leaned in, catching her lips with mine.
It was a jolt to both of us. She gasped, her lips parting and softening in surprise.
But she didn’t pull away and slap me.
I was looking for that slap. I wanted her to call me names. I wanted her to remind me of all the worst things I already believed about myself. Kissing her was a power move, a dick move, and I deserved a knee to the balls.
Instead she was kissing me back. What the fuck? I leaned in further, threading my hand around her the back of her neck and pinning her mouth to mine. Come on. Hate me.
She one-upped me, nipping hard enough at my lip to draw blood.
My heart beat in my ears. My whole body seemed to pulse at once. Her mouth, her skin, that tangle of hair, that little slipping tongue of hers dancing against mine. She was fucking getting to me. When all I'd wanted was to feel nothing.
I was doing the exact opposite of the right thing. Just like I always did.
I growled, pissed off that she wasn’t angry with me. I snagged my hand into her hair, yanking her head back and exposing her throat. “You’re damn right I’m an asshole,” I growled into her neck. “You want me to prove it?”
“Do it.” There was a throaty quality to her voice that wasn’t tears. She wasn’t crying, sobbing, or pulling away.
She was leaning in, exposing her throat to me, pressing her breasts against my chest. I reached up, palming one in my hand, sure that would be the moment that she came to her senses. Or fuck, that I came to mine. I'd come here to be alone.
What was one last hurrah though? Goodbye to this. She wanted it. I could feel her need trembling through her. And I knew, by the harsh, rasping note to her breathing, that if I slid my hands down between her legs, she’d be wet and ready.
The thought brought a groan to my throat. I was pissed at myself for wanting this, pissed at myself for even considering. “You have no idea who I am.”
“I have no idea who I am,” she corrected. There was that jagged laugh again, harsh and desperate, and it was like pouring gasoline on a flame. I pulled her to me and she knelt up on the bench, straddling my lap. I squeezed my hands over her hipbones and she responded by arching again. I heard the sharp intake of her breath as she brushed against me and felt how hard I was already.
“Start with a name,” I almost begged.
“Sky,” she panted as her hips rolled. She was using me to get off, to feel better about the shitty fucking day she’d had. And no matter how I tried to escape it, I wanted to do this for her. I'd fuck up her mind, but I could take care of her body.
“Sky.” I pressed down on her hips, letting her grind into my thigh. “You want me to do something for you?” I slipped the flat of my hand against her mound.
“Make it go away,” she begged. “Make me stop thinking.”
Chapter Six
Sky
I felt as insubstantial as the ash rising from the fire. Maybe I needed to feel tethered to something. Maybe I needed to hold on to him so I wouldn't float away and disappear like everything I'd ever known.
Maybe it was a desperate need for something physical, something real. And here. And now.
If I could afford a therapist, I bet that would be what she’d conclude.
But I'd bet it was a lot simpler than that. I'd bet I just wanted to punish my Dad. Fuck him. Fuck being Daddy’s Little Princess. That shiny little crown
on my head was put there by a stranger.
What better way to tarnish it than by fucking another stranger?
His Secret Heart (Crown Creek) Page 3