by Tessa Bailey
A thought occurred to him. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t let him pursue Hayden after this afternoon’s latest blue-ball extravaganza, but he could provoke her into coming to him. Their first night together had been triggered by a challenge. Whether or not she could teach him a lesson. Whether or not she could handle him. Maybe he’d made it too easy for her today. That ended now. No more Mr. Nice Brent.
Just as he had the idea, Hayden glanced up at him and frowned a little, cluing him in to the fact that he needed to hide his thoughts a little better.
“Hayden!” Story giggled into her wine as Daniel reached across the table to hold her hand. “Tell everyone about the time in college we drove to Mexico. When you rode the donkey.”
Brent had to drink deeply when Hayden’s face broke into a beautiful smile. It turned her into the girl he’d seen snuggle a pillow, making puns in the dark. Pillow-puns Hayden. Brent expected her to decline to tell the story, make a sarcastic remark, and pass the buck back to Story. But tonight she seemed different. Pensive one minute, sentimental the next. It worried him.
Hayden took one final sip of her wine and set it down with a flourish. “Well. We were bored on a Saturday and Story got a craving for tamales. Since I’d never eaten one, she insisted we road-trip to Mexico on a quest for my perfect first tamale. A little crazy, but since midterms had just ended, we needed to blow off some steam.” She nodded at Story. “Of course, this one got us lost and we ended up in some town with no name, a map we couldn’t read, and not a tamale in sight.”
As if on cue, both men at the table folded their arms and sighed, outwardly irritated by the idea of two college coeds lost in a foreign country. It only made Story and Hayden laugh harder. Even Brent couldn’t keep the smile completely off his face, seeing the two girls look so happy.
“We were starving, so we stopped at a fruit stand on the side of a dirt road. Two donkeys were tied up in back. The owner, knowing two suckers when he saw them, told us we could ride them for five American dollars. Before he’d even finished making his offer, Story had climbed onto one of the beasts and named it Maxwell. As you do.”
Story took over the telling. “We were only riding for a few minutes when Hayden’s donkey started making this horrible braying noise. Like, the worst sound you’ve ever heard. So Hayden got off his back and the poor thing just kind of…pooped out in the middle of the street.”
“Then it went into labor.”
Story could barely speak through her laughter. “Hayden ran back and got the fruit stand owner, who promptly passed out at seeing a live birth. While I tried to shake him awake, Hayden delivered a donkey baby in the middle of the street. All while sporting an Hermès scarf, by the way.”
Brent gaped at Hayden, but she was too busy enjoying herself to notice. Her entire face had lit up, animated in a way he’d never seen her. Or maybe he’d just been blind to anything apart from how she portrayed herself on the surface. Cool and disinterested. But underneath…Jesus, she was so much more. Energy and light just waiting to shine through.
Where the hell had that thought come from? Relationship Daniel had obviously rubbed off on him. But as he’d already realized, subtle coaxing wouldn’t work with Hayden. He was going to have to step up his game if he wanted a shot with her.
Resolved to stick with the plan, he tuned back in to the story. “Marco finally woke up after Hayden dumped a gallon of water on his head. He was so thankful that he named the donkey after her.”
Hayden raised her glass, smiling at everyone’s laughter. “It’s true. Somewhere in Mexico, I have a namesake with fur.” She sighed. “We never got our tamales.”
When everyone’s laughter died down, Brent bit the bullet. “So what did they name the donkey? Pampered Princess?”
Her wineglass froze halfway to her mouth. The table went silent. He could feel Daniel’s death stare but ignored it. He needed to shake her up, and it couldn’t wait another second. True to form, Hayden didn’t disappoint. She set her glass down and smiled sweetly. His gut clenched when her eyes lit up, challenging, excited. “Aw, what’s wrong, Brent? Jealous? After all, if ever there was someone who deserved to have a jackass named after him, it’s you.”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “Yeah? And what would they name it? How about…Spanky?”
Hayden’s composure slipped a little, but he only noticed because of how closely he watched her. “How about Oversized Dickhead?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complaining about my oversized—”
She shot to her feet, jostling the table. “Can I speak with you in private?”
“You need it right now?” He feigned exasperation. “We’re in the middle of dinner, woman. You’re insatiable.”
Story suddenly ducked down and peeked under the tablecloth, gasping and drawing everyone’s attention. “Brent, what size are your feet?”
His brows drew together. “Fifteen. Why?”
“Ahhh!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Hayden, shoving Daniel’s shoulder with her other hand. “Sock guy. He’s sock guy!”
“Oh yeah, he’s going to get socked, all right.”
“Brent is sock guy?” The couple exchanged a look. “But wait, you guys hate each other,” Daniel protested.
Hayden narrowed her eyes. “Jesus, you really do tell each other everything.”
“You owe me,” Story continued indignantly. “I’ve been keeping up my end of the sex talk and I get nothing in return. Nothing! You owe me some details.”
Daniel held up single finger. “Wait a minute. You talk to Hayden about what we do in bed?”
Her best friend sank down into her seat and Hayden sighed. “Oh, relax, Danny. She walks around our apartment humming like a freaking Disney princess. Birds literally perch on her shoulder when we go outside. You should be proud.”
Daniel smirked at Story. “Did you tell her about the new leg thing?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Brent griped.
Before an awkward silence could settle over the table, Story pushed back her chair and stood. “Why don’t we all just get some air?”
…
Brent and Hayden walked in tense silence, trailing Story and Daniel on the boardwalk. The sun had just begun to set, soft music drifted from portable radios on the beach, a soft breeze rolled off the ocean to cool Hayden’s skin. It was a beautiful night. Perfect for Daniel’s imminent marriage proposal to her best friend.
Hayden wanted to scream.
The man walking so casually next to her actually had the nerve to whistle. Whistle. Her willpower had never faced such a powerful test. Without it, she would have already tackled him into the sand, pinned his arms over his head…and kissed the shit out of him. That, that, is what had her so angry. She didn’t understand her reaction any more than she understood his sudden revelation at dinner regarding their physical relationship. What was his game? Getting back at her for turning him down? Or perhaps Brent thought if he bit the bullet and blurted the news to their friends, she’d have no excuses not to jump into bed with him.
Whatever his reasons, she found her resolve weakening at an alarming rate. He looked edible in his dinner clothes, all raw maleness wrapped up in gray trousers and a loose black dress shirt, barely containing the solid muscle beneath. His swagger held an extra hint of arrogance tonight, doing precious little to dim his appeal. Her hormones were still performing a sultry tango in her stomach, left over from the drive and the almost-sex in Brent’s room. Combined with her frayed nerves, courtesy of her upcoming decision, Hayden felt ready to snap. She felt out of control. She needed something. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that something was the six-foot-five hormone-whisperer walking beside her, whistling the Happy Days theme song.
She couldn’t hold on to her irritation anymore. “Stop whistling, Flo. You’re scaring people. When a man your size whistles, he’s just chopped up half the cast of a horror film.”
Without missing a beat, he started whistling the theme song to Halloween.
“Did it piss you off?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, then. Mission accomplished.” He shrugged. “After all, that’s what enemies do, right? Piss each other off? And I’d say dinner just won me the gold medal at the piss-your-enemy-off-Olympics.”
Hayden halted abruptly and Brent followed suit. “Do you honestly think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’re ridiculously transparent.” She poked him hard in the chest with her finger. “You think you can goad me into changing my mind?”
“Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind, too.” His irritation finally showing through, Brent shoved his hands into his pockets. “Had you considered that?”
That brought her up short. No, she hadn’t considered that possibility. Perhaps she’d finally succeeded this afternoon in pushing him away. Exactly what she’d wanted to happen, right? Except the thought of him moving on so quickly make her chest feel heavy and tight. Wanting to hide the emotions she didn’t feel capable of keeping off her face, Hayden ducked her head and kept walking. She heard him curse and follow quickly behind her.
“Hayden, wait—”
They both fell silent when they noticed the scene playing out before them. Just ahead, silhouetted by the pink-streaked sunset, their best friend was down on one knee proposing to the other. Only, it wasn’t Daniel as they’d expected. Story smiled up at a dumbfounded Daniel from where she knelt on the boardwalk, holding up a ring box.
Hayden couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that rose from her throat. She should have suspected her friend would take convention and knock it on its square ass. At that moment, she couldn’t have been more proud of her friend. Over the last two months, she’d transformed into someone who didn’t take no for an answer. A woman who made her own decisions and to hell with what anyone else thought. A little blond force to be reckoned with.
It occurred to Hayden then that she herself had turned into quite the opposite. Someone who followed her marching orders, didn’t make waves. If she did her duty like a good soldier and married Stuart, she’d never experience the kind of romantic bliss currently radiating from Daniel and Story. She’d never be loved. Would never love anyone back.
Her self-pity didn’t belong there, not when the person she treasured most in the world was experiencing her perfect moment in the sun. She hated herself for having that feeling. Hated her impossible situation. Hated the man next to her for making her feel things she might go the rest of her life without ever feeling again.
Hayden felt Brent watching her and turned. Somehow he managed to look as troubled as she felt. She felt moisture coating her cheeks and a jolt of surprise passed through her. When was the last time she’d cried? Her sophomore year of high school. She’d been laid up in bed after having her tonsils removed, woozy from painkillers. Beaches had come on and she hadn’t been able to find the remote control to change the channel.
Brent reached a hand out to swipe her tears away, but she jerked out of his reach. Fist clenched in midair, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. She could tell from his expression that he knew her tears weren’t of the happy variety. “Hey. What’s going on with you?”
“N-nothing.” She swiped impatiently at her tears. “I was…I was just thinking about that movie Beaches.”
A single eyebrow rose. “That had to be the last thing I expected you to say.” He looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe not the last. If you’d said something about the Mets’ batting order, I might have fainted.” When she didn’t respond to his attempt at levity, he sighed, but thankfully he didn’t press, nor did he look at her with anything resembling judgment. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? I’ll…tell them you went to find your camera.”
“Thank you,” Hayden managed, before taking off in the opposite direction from which they’d been walking, feeling Brent’s gaze on her back as she went. She was thankful for the reprieve. In her current state of mind, she’d only tarnish her friends’ happy moment.
Her intention had been to return to her room. Experience her first cry in a decade with a pillow pressed to her face. Instead, she found herself veering into the first bar she passed upon entering the casino. Before she’d even settled onto the barstool, she’d signaled the bartender.
“Tequila, please.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brent paced the hallway outside Hayden’s room, trying to hold on to his patience. After congratulating Story and Daniel, who’d been too enamored with each other to do anything but acknowledge him with a smile, he’d gone in search of Hayden. Obviously, he’d tried her room first. Then he’d checked the pool and every chick-themed store in the place. Explaining his bigfoot-sized presence in Bath & Body Works had been a real scream.
Why had he let her go off by herself, clearly distraught? He’d watched her standing there in the waning sun, tears streaming down her cheeks, her beauty and vulnerability knocking the breath out of him. Then it all changed. Her features clouded, her shoulders sagged. If his ill-advised comment just seconds before did that to her, he’d kick his own ass. He’d said it expecting her to come right back at him with a rejoinder as she always did, yet she’d abandoned the fight. She must know he didn’t mean it. Jesus, wasn’t it obvious how badly he wanted her? He could no more change his mind about her than he could fit into a child-sized leotard.
He heard the elevator ping and hoped like hell it was Hayden inside. Instead, two thirty-something women got off. Stumbling around a little, they were clearly tipsy. They both came up short when they saw him, bursting out laughing when one got brave and sent him an exaggerated wink. Brent sighed. Then it dawned on him where Hayden would have gone. Good thing he wasn’t a detective like Troy or the streets would be overrun with criminals.
Before the elevator could close, he stuck his hand in between the doors to stop their progress and got on, impatiently pressing the lobby button. He started with the bar closest to where he’d seen her re-enter on the casino level. Gypsy Bar. Blaring music and laughter greeted him when he walked inside. When the doorman asked for his ID, Brent gave him a look that said seriously man? And kept walking.
He checked the bar area first, not finding her there. Early on a Saturday night, the room hadn’t yet filled to capacity, but was still reasonably busy. Several customers were already dancing, Brent noticed. Then he did a double take. Hayden, drink in hand, danced in the middle of a large group like her life depended on it. Arms in the air, hips twisting. He’d never seen her look so uninhibited apart from their one night together when she’d transformed before his very eyes. As Brent moved closer, he saw that her skin was rosy and slightly dewy from exertion, the blue dress clinging to her curves as she moved her hips to the rhythm. Her hair had finally given up its battle with perfection, curling at the ends, a dark wave coming down to obscure half her face. She looked how he imagined she would if he ever got her into bed again. Without a time limit or any ridiculous rules. He got hard thinking about it. Watching her dip and sway, he imagined her on top of him instead, riding out her orgasm with the use of his body.
If you stand here ogling her like a jackass any longer, you’ll embarrass yourself. Not to mention, he wasn’t the only male who’d taken notice of Hayden. When one such guy elbowed his buddy and nodded in Hayden’s direction, Brent’s feet were moving purposefully toward her before he’d even made a conscious decision. When he got within five feet, she looked up as if she’d sensed him. Heat thrummed low in his belly when he got a close look at her. Perfectly polished Hayden made him hot, but this girl…fuck, she burned him from the inside.
She’d always accused him of being a caveman. Right now, he could freely admit she’d been right. A furious, pounding need began inside him. Something about her lost expression, her defenselessness, ca
lled to that deeply primal part of him. The one that demanded he throw her over his shoulder and take her home so he could pleasure her, see to her needs, until she fell asleep and forgot why she’d been troubled in the first place. When she woke up again, he’d be inside her. Between thrusts, he’d gladly inform her that her man had taken care of her problems, just like he always would. Then he’d fuck her back to sleep.
Eyes scanning his face, her lips parted just slightly, telling him he’d done a poor job of hiding his inner thoughts. He didn’t care. The caveman was rearing its head, urging him to rip off his shirt and let her look her fill. Let her see who’d come to take her to bed. The protector in him demanded answers. Demanded he find out why she’d been crying. Find out what could possibly put that forlorn expression on her face, distress her to the point she felt compelled to act out this way. So unlike her usual self.
He sensed, however, that an interrogation was the last thing she needed. So doing his best to tame the caveman, he opened his arms, relieved when she simply walked into them. She stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, stretching her body flush against his, and he held her, swaying them on the dance floor.
After a few minutes of silence between them, she spoke haltingly next to his ear. “I’m so happy for Daniel and Story, you know. So happy. I just…” Her fingers slid into his hair and his eyes shut. Brent could hear the ever-so-slight running together of her words and put her at about four drinks. Not drunk exactly, but her decisions would be influenced. He needed to remember that. “But it must be amazing, you know? Getting exactly what you always wanted. Having so much…control of your future.”