“Well, thank you for what I’m taking as a compliment,” I say. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted on any other ‘big fucking deals,’ should they happen.”
Peck bursts out into laughter. “That’s gold.”
“Coming,” Navie shouts down the bar. She taps the wood in front of me with her knuckle and grins. “Please don’t get into any trouble tonight. I don’t really have the money to bail you out.” She winks. “Come on, Machlan.” She grabs his arm and pulls him down the bar with her.
Peck toys with the label on his bottle and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “So …”
“So …”
We grin at the same time.
“Machlan is an asshole,” Peck says. “Just kind of ignore what he said.”
“No way. He said I was cute. I’m not ignoring that.”
Peck’s grin turns into a smirk. “He said you were hot. Not cute.”
His lips twist around like he’s not sure what to say next. I’m not sure either. I’m not sure I can talk because my temperature just spiked to a million degrees. But if I don’t say something and just sit here in all my feels, this could get weird.
“Well,” I say, “I’m okay with him thinking that too. It’s not bad for the ego to think a guy finds you attractive.”
“He’s not wrong, you know.”
Our gazes collide in the small space between our bodies. His smirk digs in deeper, pulling mine along with it.
The room gets hotter. His cologne stronger. My shirt feels like its plastered to my skin as I let Peck Ward taunt me with his eyes.
Dear Lord.
He leans toward me. I’m not sure if it’s to whisper something he doesn’t want to be heard or if it’s … something else. But as I bend toward him, ready to accept either thing, the music overhead changes, and the bar erupts with chants of Peck’s name.
“Can you excuse me for one second?” He grins. “I’m being beckoned.”
Pulling back, he shoves a hand up in the air. The crowd roars loader.
The iconic song by Ginuwine that has absolutely nothing to do with a pony pulses through the building. Peck downs the rest of his beer and then hops up on the top of the bar.
My heart pounds in my chest as I watch him roll his hips as he plants his feet on the bar. He looks down, his hat over his forehead and hiding his face.
He pops an invisible collar. Cheers erupt from the back of the room. He lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to show a sliver of skin, and I wonder if this happens regularly. If it does, where the hell have I been?
I get situated in my chair and watch as he grabs the bill of his hat with one hand and his junk with the other. He thrusts his hips forward a couple of times before twisting his hat on backward. His eyes find mine immediately, and he grins.
Raising a brow, I grin back. He laughs. I can’t hear it over the roar of the music, but I wish I could.
He dances down the bar, gyrating and rolling with the beat. A whistle breaks out through a lull in the lyrics, and Peck tugs on the neckline of his shirt. His hips tilted forward, hat on backward, tongue sticking out of his mouth makes me crazy.
I can only imagine him doing that in that stupid white towel. Or less.
Knowing how hard his body is was one thing. Now I have to know that he can move the damn thing? Having knowledge of both of those delicious pieces and not being able to partake in them shouldn’t happen. It’s not fair.
I squeeze my thighs together as Peck dances back down the bar. He stops in front of me, towering over my perch in the chair.
“Not bad,” I mouth.
He points in my direction and then bends his finger, curling it for me to join him.
I lean back. “What? No,” I say, shaking my head.
His grin grows wider. He squats down, extending a hand my way.
The crowd loves this, goading me to join him. Blood roars through my veins as he looks at me with a sexiness that I’m not even sure he realizes he possesses.
“Peck …”
He reaches forward and takes my hand. His palm is hot and sweaty and such a turn-on that all resistance melts. I climb onto the top of the bar, ignoring Navie’s shocked face a few feet away, and stand next to Peck.
My brain gives up trying to process the sensations ripping through me at the speed of sound. It switches on autopilot as my endorphins take over.
Peck’s eyes are glued to me as he turns me to face him. I can feel the heat off his body.
The song hits the chorus. Peck puts a hand on my shoulder, leans back, and pops his hips toward me.
“Come on, Dylan,” Navie yells behind me. She’s seen me dance before. I’m not great at it, but I’ve danced a time or two on top of a bar.
I take a deep breath. Go big or go home. I shake my head. Don’t think of home. Home is him in the kitchen with a towel. Think of this.
With a teasing little shrug of my shoulders, I turn away from him. He dances up against me as I sit back and shake my ass against him.
A muffled groan hits my ear as his hands plant on my hips. We move together, in sync, his solid build up against me. His fingertips dig into my skin, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and touching my body. My head rests against his chest.
The lights are hot as I breathe in the scent of his sweat mixed with his cologne and try to not lose all control.
He takes my arm and throws it behind me, over his neck. My fingers touch the dampness of his skin. He rolls against me. I press back. We move in a circle and end up facing the other way.
The crowd roars as I bend forward and shake my ass his way. He bites his lip for effect, making me laugh, before pulling me against him once again.
“Damn, Dyl,” he whispers in my ear. But I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear it. Instead, I look at him over my shoulder and wink.
“That’s enough,” Machlan shouts.
It’s only now that I hear the crowd. I’d forgotten they were there.
It takes everything I have to press away from his body.
The crowd boos as we separate.
The back of my shirt is damp from his body, and the eyes of the crowd suddenly feel heavier than before. I look at Peck. His hat is skewed on his head, his cheeks pink from the dance. An effortlessly sexy smile breaks out across his face, and I forget all about the crowd.
“That was awesome,” he says. He doesn’t wait for my reaction. Instead, he hops down as the song comes to an end and takes my hand again. I give it to him without hesitation and let him help me down.
Our breathing is ragged as I stand in front of him. Someone walks behind him and claps him on the shoulder, making some comment that I don’t quite register.
His eyes are so blue, the color of the angry sea, as he looks down at me. A mixture of confidence and vulnerability dances across his face as he watches me for my reaction.
“You don’t dance too bad,” I say.
“You either.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling a big, lopsided grin. My hand is still encapsulated by his when he looks down at them.
“Guess I could let you go now,” he jokes.
“I mean, you can,” I say. “Or just keep me close in case your fans want an encore.”
His eyes light up. “Maybe I can instigate them into it.”
“I have a feeling you could do that with very little effort.”
He raises our interlocked fingers between us. We both watch as he separates our hands.
The energy between us thickens, preparing for the next interaction. The trouble is, I don’t know what I want that to be.
I mean, I do know. I want him to pick me up and set me on the bar and grind against me again. That’s the hedonistic answer. That’s the response of a woman who hasn’t felt this light and amazing in a very, very long time.
But the responsible woman knows that the longer I encourage physical contact with this glorious man, the more it will make things harder in the long run.
Like the next time I run
into him half-naked in the dark.
I shiver. “I, um, I need to use the ladies’ room.”
He nods. “It’s over there.” He points at a sign next to the pool tables. “Want me to walk with you?”
“I got it.”
“Okay.”
I dip my chin. As I make my way through the crowd, surrounded by bodies and laughter, I feel … exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless.
“It’s time to build up some walls,” I mutter. “Before I find myself a mess. Again.”
Fifteen
Peck
I flop down on a barstool. My heart thumps in my chest as if I just ran a marathon. Sweat dots my brow, and I wipe it off with the tail end of my shirt.
What the fuck just happened?
The smile on my face and throb in my balls will both stick around for a while. As a matter of fact, I doubt either will ease up until I figure out how to deal with Ms. Dylan Snow.
I can still feel her skin in my hands—the smooth curve of her hip. The warmth of her body and the way it molded to my palms.
Motherfucking hell.
I look toward the bathrooms but don’t see her. I have a half a notion to go back there, but there’s really no reason to. Except that I crave that feeling—the one where every cell in my body feels alive when I’m next to her.
“That was some show you put on up there tonight,” Navie says.
She slides a beer my way. Propping her elbows on the bar, she rests her chin in her hands. She’s getting comfortable. It’s her way of letting me know she’s not going anywhere until I humor her. I usually do, but tonight, I kind of don’t want to talk. It feels like it would spoil it somehow even though I don’t know what “it” is.
“What?” I tip the drink back. It spills down my throat. The cool liquid splashes into my stomach, soothing the riot in my overheated veins a bit.
“You know what,” Navie scoffs. “What the hell was that? I mean, I loved it. I think it’s epically great. But … you know … what’s it mean?”
I shrug.
She sighs. “Come on, Peck.”
The bottle hits the bar top with a thud. “I don’t know what it means. I was just fucking around. But …” I look for Dylan again. “I’m not mad about it.”
“It looked like you were pretty damn happy about it, if you ask me.”
The corner of the label is nicked. I pick at it instead of looking at her.
I suppose it’s obvious that I am pretty damn happy about it. How would anyone not be dancing with Dylan and having her enjoy it and not be pretty damn happy about it?
I probably need to reel that in a little bit.
“See?” I ask. “That’s the thing. I didn’t ask you.”
I tip the bottle back and forth. The rattle is a nice distraction from the pressure of Navie’s interrogation.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, standing tall. “I think the two of you together are magic.”
Magic. A smile plays against my lips.
I don’t know what she means by that, exactly, but I know being around Dylan feels a little like magic. Special. Easy. Like something—anything—could happen at any given moment. And having her dance with me tonight—a stupid tradition I started years ago—was epically great, as she put it.
But magical? That’s not even a real thing.
“Hey, bartender! I need another drink,” someone shouts from the other end of the bar.
Navie’s face falls. “I’ll catch you later. But this conversation isn’t over, pal.” She starts to turn but pauses to give someone a penetrating glare over my shoulder before she walks away.
I don’t have to guess who she’s looking at.
A hand squeezes my arm. I turn around and see a pair of whiskey-colored eyes looking back at me.
“Having fun?” Molly asks. She bats her eyelashes my way to hide the irritation behind them. “It looked like you were too happy to make an ass out of yourself up there.”
I search Molly’s eyes for some thread of warmth, for some inkling that she’s in a good place tonight, but there’s nothing besides a vacant abyss that I’ve looked into time and time again over the years. The only emotion in the midst of the light brown orbs is a sadness that is as constant as the little mole beneath her right eye.
That’s what pulls me in, what weakens me, every time she pulls one of her stunts. And that’s what this is, make no mistake about it. She saw Dylan and me, and she’s not happy about it.
Good for her.
Because tonight, for the first time maybe ever, I like how I’m feeling a whole hell of a lot more than I care about her being pissed off.
“I didn’t see you come in,” I say.
She squeezes my arm one last time before letting her hand fall to her side. “Yeah, well, I just got here a few minutes ago. Long enough to see your little performance.”
The question she didn’t ask, the one about Dylan, hangs in the air. She doesn’t want to lower herself to ask who she is, but she’s not about to leave before finding out.
It’s her modus operandi, the way she operates. She strings me along just enough to think there might be a chance between us someday, and for the most part, I go with it. I tell people I love her—and I might. I care about her a whole hell of a lot, even if she isn’t the nicest person sometimes. But I see what Molly does and who she is. I know her better than anyone. And I know it’s driving her absolutely crazy to see me enjoy myself with someone else.
“Who are you here with?” I ask.
“My sister. She’s talking to some guy outside.” She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t want to wait out there like a third wheel or something.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
She flashes me a half-smile. “No. I’m fine.”
She is fine. She’s just pissed, but I’m on too much of a high to really worry about it too much.
I take a long drink. Molly stands beside me and watches like she expects me to swallow and then explain all the things she wants to know. I would if that would make her go away, but it won’t. Not a chance.
I start to get up to go find Dylan and talk her into getting a burger somewhere else when she slides up next to me.
“Hey,” Dylan says. Her smile falters as she assesses the situation. “Am I interrupting something?”
Molly’s hand goes to my shoulder. “Oh, no. You aren’t interrupting,” she says sweetly. “I was just talking to Peck.” She runs a fingertip down my arm.
Dylan watches Molly’s antics. “Oh. Okay. Don’t mind me.”
I expect her to leave, but to my amusement, she doesn’t. She sits on the stool to my right. I can’t fight a chuckle as Dylan stands her ground against a woman most women avoid.
Molly bristles to my left. “Who are you again?” she asks Dylan.
“Molly …” I warn under my breath. I hear the edge in her voice that indicates she’s about to get out of hand.
Shaking my arm out from under her hand, I sigh. “Molly, don’t you need to go find Megan?”
“No. Megan’s a big girl. She’ll be fine,” she says.
“It’s nice to meet you, Molly,” Dylan says. There’s an emphasis of her name—a confirmation that she’s put a few things together. Namely, that this is the person she’s heard about me being in love with.
Shit.
“I’m Dylan Snow,” she says.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“No. No, you haven’t. I’m new to town.” Dylan lets her gaze drop to mine. She’s hesitant, careful even, as she picks her eyes back up and looks at Molly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Molly laughs. “I’m sure you have.”
Dylan leans back. Her posture is more rigid, her jaw set firmer than before. Still, a practiced smile is on her face.
“Peck,” she says, “I’m going to head on out. I’ve had enough excitement for one day. See you at home.”
I cringe as I look at Molly out of the corner of my eye. Her bro
ws shoot to the ceiling. She grabs my forearm instinctively as she recovers from the shock of Dylan’s words.
“You didn’t mention a roommate,” Molly coos beside me. “Is this your cousin or something?”
“Nope. Not a cousin,” I say. That would make a lot of thoughts incestuous.
“Oh.”
I should say something. I should at least try to explain the situation to Molly and get her to go find Megan and do whatever it is she does on Friday nights.
But I don’t.
I don’t say a word because there’s a hint of misbehavior in Dylan’s eyes that I kind of want to see play out. She has the situation under control.
“No, we aren’t cousins,” Dylan says with a laugh. “That would make things … weird.”
“That would make a lot of things really weird,” I agree.
Our eyes meet in the space between us. Even though we aren’t touching, we’re close enough to kickstart the buzz I feel when we’re together. I want to reach out and touch her—even if it’s the top of her hand.
She searches me for an answer to a question I’m not privy to. But the longer she looks, the more my stomach clenches. Because what if I don’t have the answer? Or what if she doesn’t like the one she finds?
“As Peck’s closest and oldest friend—” Molly begins but is cut off by Machlan.
“Yeah, that’s my title,” Machlan says. He wipes the bar in front of us. “It’s definitely not yours.” He flips Molly a disgusted look before venturing away.
Molly ignores him much the same way she ignores everyone. “Peck and I have been friends since we were children. Isn’t that right? We’ve spent many nights together, curled up in his room, watching the sunrise—”
“Molly, I—”
“Why do you wear this hat?” Molly interrupts me. She takes off my hat and runs her fingers through my hair. “I love the red one with the blue socks on the front better. It brings out the blue in your eyes. I wish you hadn’t lost the one with the fish on it. It was so you.”
I duck out from underneath her hand and take my hat back from her. I shove it on my head. “Molly, stop.”
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 109