Rough Ride: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

by Cass Kincaid

  “That's your prerogative, man,” I bite out. “But you're still damn well going to care what Izzy thinks.”

  Chad takes a step forward, and for the first time I can smell the liquor on his breath. “Or what, Andrews? Are you going to show up and be the one to save the damsel in distress?” He reaches out and shoves me warningly in the shoulder.

  I groan inwardly. Not because it hurts, but because this is not going to end well.

  “Izzy can look after herself, everyone knows that.” There’s venom in my voice now. “But there ain't no decent man around here that's going to stand by and watch you manhandle her when she's damn well not interested,” I spit out. “Now, do yourself a favor and get the fuck out of here.”

  “Well, Jesus,” Chad laughs hollowly again. “Not only did you ruin things for her when weren’t here, but now you’ve got to show up and prove that you can meddle in things now, too? Shit, you've messed her up so bad she can't even be happy with anyone else.” He scoffs angrily again. “Christ, Andrews, you really are an asshole, aren't you?”

  My fist hits the son of a bitch’s jaw before I consciously make the decision to punch him. A series of gasps and shrieks sound around me, but everyone takes a step back instead of jumping forward to pull me away from him. And that's fine, because it only takes one shot to knock Chad to the floor. And, judging by the way he's cupping his jaw and mumbling out a string of curse words as he lays splayed out, I'd say I don't have to worry about him getting back up anytime soon.

  I look up to see Isabelle and Emily both standing there, unmoving, eyes wide as though they can't fully comprehend what just happened. “You okay?” I ask them.

  Both women nod their head, still silent. Which is a bit shocking, seeing as I’m expecting Izzy to rip me a new one over getting involved. But she doesn't. Instead, she says something that shocks me even more.

  “I want to go home.” The way she's staring at me while she says it tells me exactly what she's thinking, and I just nod.

  “I can drive you,” I tell her. I can do whatever you want me to do.

  Emily's eyes narrow, and she looks between us. “Maybe I should—”

  I'm not a fool to think that Izzy hasn't told her best friend about what happened this morning between us. They've been inseparable since grade school. Almost as inseparable as Izzy and I had once been.

  “Izzy, I'm driving you home.” My gaze lands on hers, intense and stern.

  She stands there, very still, her eyes burning with defiance. She wants to tell me no. She wants to convince herself that she doesn't want me to take her home.

  Finally, with one fleeting gaze over to her friend, she gives an encouraging nod. “It's fine,” she assures Emily. “You just got here. I knew I shouldn't have come tonight.” She glares down at Chad, who’s made it up onto his knees, still cursing a slurred streak of incoherent words, then raises her head to stare at me with glazed eyes. It makes me wonder if I'm not part of the reason she wishes she hadn't shown up. “What about your friends?” she asks me. “I find it hard to believe you came alone.”

  The corner of my mouth turns up at that. I'm trying to decide whether she's insulting me by assuming I came with another woman after what we'd just done this morning, but, really, it doesn't matter. Because she is even drunker than I thought she was. Maybe even drunker than Chad. She's always been able to hold her liquor well, but her staggering gait and glassy eyes tell me everything I need to know. “Give me two minutes to talk to Blake and Rodney, then I'm taking you home.”

  Chapter Five

  Isabelle

  I’d known in the pit of my stomach that it was a bad idea to go to Tonk’s tonight. I think my subconscious knew Jace would be there, even if I didn’t want to outwardly admit it. Hell, where else would he be on a Friday night? Home, alone? That just wasn’t his style.

  It was, however, his style to feel he needed to defend me, therefore starting a bar fight without so much as batting an eyelash. If Chad hadn’t been so damn—

  Christ, how did tonight go so wrong? I was supposed to just go for a couple drinks with Emily, pretend my rendezvous with Jace never happened, and blow off a little steam. Instead, I drank more than a couple drinks before Emily even got to my house, got confronted by Chad for the umpteenth time about rekindling our less-than-stellar romance (just like he does every time he drinks), and ended up standing by while Jace knocked Chad on his ass.

  Now, I’m in the passenger seat of Jace’s jacked-up Ford pickup, and he’s just killed the engine after pulling it into my driveway.

  I’m alone with him. Again.

  “You’re pretty quiet.” His voice breaks the utter silence between us.

  “My mind is full of a thousand things,” I confess. “But I can’t seem to think ‘em all through.”

  “I think that’s the definition of drunkenness, Izzy.”

  I whirl around to face him, and everything seems to move with me, making me feel unsteady. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

  Even with the edge in my tone, Jace’s smile doesn’t waver. “Sometimes. Let’s get you into the house.”

  He pulls open the driver’s side door, but I reach across to hold him in his seat. “I don’t need your help. But thanks for the ride.”

  Humor is still glinting in his eyes, even in only the glow of the dashboard lights, but he nods. “Whatever you say, Izzy,” he says laughingly. “And, you’re welcome.”

  I have the urge to slap the amused smirk off his face, but I can’t seem to get beyond the sexiness of his faintly upturned lips and the heat of his arm radiating through his shirt beneath my fingertips. Even through my muddled brain, one thought manages to make it through loud and clear. Get out of the fucking truck, Isabelle.

  I do exactly that. No more words, no more glances in his direction. It’s safer that way.

  At least, I’ve convinced myself it is until I trip forward while trying to pull my house keys out of my purse at the same time I make my way up the first couple steps of the rickety porch in front of my house.

  I careen forward, but I’m immediately caught from behind, two strong arms clasping around my waist to hold me upright.

  “Easy now.” Jace’s voice is soft, encouraging. “I’ve got you.”

  My heart is pounding furiously, both from the shock of his presence and the heat now emanating through his chest into my back as he pulls me against him. And, all I can think is, Yes, Jace. Yes, you do.

  It unnerves the hell out of me.

  I fumble to get the door unlocked. The lock sticks sometimes, and I’m too consumed by my plight to avoid eye contact with him to focus clearly on getting the key jiggled the right way to work. Jace’s hand covers mine as he takes the key ring from me and opens the door with only a turn of the key and a rough jerk of the doorknob.

  I don’t reach out to get the keys back, too worried I’ll touch him again. Instead, I go inside ahead of him, leaning one hand against the inside wall as I struggle to get my turquoise Ariat boots off. My favorite boots. They’re my prized possession, a gift I got from—

  “Can’t believe you still kept those,” Jace says behind me. “I kind of thought they’d have been burned in a barrel somewhere a long time ago.”

  I get the boots off my feet and turn to face him. Big mistake. Even in the dim light of my tiny kitchen, I can see the smoldering significance within them. The remembrance. “Nah, I love these boots.”

  “Just like you still love me.”

  Thank God my hand is still on the wall, because suddenly I’m feeling a lot more unsteady. “You can’t love someone when your heart’s still broken,” I advise him.

  “Is that what Easton was going on about?” he asks, taking a step forward, away from the counter he’s leaned against.

  I can’t breathe properly. Damn it, I need another drink. I still feel too much. But, maybe there’s not enough beer in the world to make me stop feeling everything the sight of Jace Andrews puts me through. “He said I couldn’t get o
ver you. That he was always going to be competing with you, even if it’s just your ghost I’m holding on to.”

  Jace reaches out for me, and I flinch, petrified by the weakness of my body paired with the strength of my desire. “And is he right, Izzy?” he whispers tenderly. “I think he is. You’re not over me. Just like I’ve never been over you.”

  He has no right to be talking about such things. No right to be standing in my fucking kitchen, taking up the space and air and time I need to distance myself from him again.

  But every curse and argument I’ve got against him disappears in an instant the moment his hand reaches up, his fingers entwining within mine before pulling my hand away from the wall and tugging me toward him.

  I don’t remember my mouth seeking his out, but his lips are on mine, parted, consuming the last of my control. I melt into him, overcome by the fire in his fingertips as they dive under the hem of my halter top and the hardness he presses up against my belly as he steps backward, pushing me up against the counter.

  His tongue steals my breath, no matter whether it’s dancing with my own, or licking and sucking a heated trail down my jaw and neck. A sigh escapes my lips, audible proof of how undeniably delicious his mouth feels on my skin.

  My hands are under his plaid shirt, grazing my fingernails over the chiseled contours of his lower abdomen, the scalding heat of his flesh making the blood in my veins boil. Jace’s breath hitches, and he presses his hips forward, pinning me to the counter. A low, animalistic growl comes from his throat, his own hands tightening their grip on my ass as he grinds against me.

  I was right. There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to dull my desire for Jace Andrews. He’s a compulsion, something my body craves deep within its core, and there’s no quenching that craving without having him inside me, losing himself at the same time I’m losing myself.

  With no conscious thought, and only my blatant desire to have him guiding my actions, I’ve got my hands on his belt when his own hands cover mine and squeeze them gently, halting my movements.

  “Enough,” he whispers. It’s gentle, but assertive.

  “I want—”

  “We both want the same thing, Izzy.” He sounds pained. “But be damned if I’ll do this while you’re drunk. I have higher standards for myself than that, and definitely more respect than that for you.”

  “But, I’m not—” I whimper.

  “Drunk?” He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, and I’m not hard as a fucking rock right now. C’mon, let’s get you into bed.” He pushes my hands away from his belt, snaking one arm around me to guide me towards the stairs. “We’ll talk in the morning, when you’re sober.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I mutter, still able to feel the tingling of my skin where his hands had been only moments before.

  “Well, that makes two of us,” Jace says, still pointing toward the staircase. “But, there’s a ton of things that need to be said. Now, let’s get you to bed, before I change my mind.”

  “So, there is a chance you’ll change—”

  “There’s no chance,” he snaps, but there’s a hint of laughter in the way he says it.

  “Then why say there is?” I whine dramatically, taking one stair at a time and concentrating on not falling flat on my face.

  “Because it gives you something to think about.” He grins, stepping up onto the stairs behind me, his hands placed suggestively on my hips. He leans forward and nips playfully at my shoulder, making a strangled combination of a gasp and groan erupt from my throat. “Sweet dreams, Izzy.”

  The sun is bright. Way too damn bright. My first thought is that I'd forgotten to close the curtains on my bedroom window before I went to sleep last night. But my next thought quickly erases that one from my mind, and my eyes snap open as I steal a glance around the room.

  I'm in my bedroom, and thankfully I'm alone. I take a deep breath, relieved. I remember very clearly that Jace brought me home last night. I also remember how much I drank, and the way my tongue had meshed so enticingly with his as we stood the kitchen downstairs, albeit briefly. While I don't remember him winding up in my bed last night, I know all too well that doesn't reflect how badly I'd wanted him to. Sober or not, Jace Andrews still had the ability to strip me of my control with the slightest fleeting glance.

  And I don't like it.

  I groan as I slide out of my bed very ungracefully. Somehow, the coffee pot seems a million miles away right now, despite only being a short distance away in the kitchen downstairs. It's on the tip of my tongue to mumble out a few choice words about my decision to drink the way I did now that I'm dealing with a dull ache in my head and a serious feeling of dehydration. Christ, it's not like I didn't know any better. About the alcohol, and about Jace.

  But that urge is quickly killed as I make my way with heavy steps down the stairs and around the corner into the kitchen. From there, I can see the sleeping form stretched out on my couch. I'd recognize those broad shoulders and Wrangler jeans anywhere, and it stops me in my tracks.

  Jace.

  I have half a mind to shake him and wake him up. The memory of him punching Chad has just drifted to the surface of my mind, and I feel justified in cursing him out for thinking he needed to create such a scene like that.

  But only for a moment. Because the bigger part of me is relieved. Relieved that there's someone else out there who wants to defend me, even when I don't need to be defended. And relieved that the Jace Andrews I fell in love with so many years ago still exists, the one who wants to protect me and put himself smack dab in the middle of conflict for me for no other reason than so that I don't have to contend with it. It's soothing to know that he still feels strongly enough for me to have gone up against Chad like that, no matter how misguided his actions might have been.

  Again, it occurs to me that my actions were just as misguided, and still are, and that I need to remember the pain and heartache Jace put me through. But my train of thought is quickly derailed.

  “Anyone would be able to hear you coming down those stairs, Izzy. Were you purposely stomping your feet to wake me up, or still buzzed enough to not realize you're doing it?” Jace rolls over on the couch, his smug smirk already plastered across his face, despite his sleepy, half-lidded gaze.

  “I didn't realize you were here,” I say defiantly, though my heart’s pounding at being caught staring at him. “I thought you'd have gone back to wherever you came from.”

  It’s a harsh thing to say, but, damn it, he’s being cocky already and I haven't even had my first sip of coffee yet. “Why didn't you go home?” I ask, trying to soften my tone a bit.

  Jace sits up, running his hands through his hair then down over his face. “I don't know,” he admits with a shrug. “I just didn't want you to be alone in this house. I haven't been around in a while, but I still know you enough to know that you’ve always handled your alcohol pretty well and might’ve been drunker than I maybe thought you were.”

  “So, you're telling me you stayed in case I was shit-faced?” I contort my face disbelievingly. “Just wanted to watch the show, in case I ended up with my head in the toilet bowl?”

  “Jesus, Izzy, it's not like that.” Jace stands and smooths out his wrinkled t-shirt. “I just told you, I didn't want you here alone. And if you had ended up getting sick, at least I'd have been here to help you through it.”

  “How noble of you,” I bite out.

  Jace steps towards me, and at first I think he's going to try to envelope me in his arms. I flinch despite the fact that he's a few steps away, and if he notices, he doesn't say anything.

  He passes by me and heads into the kitchen. “Another thing I know about you,” he says over his shoulder, “Is that you’re not a morning person. Never have been. And obviously, not a damn thing has changed.”

  I let the veiled insult slide, turning to watch him curiously. “What are you doing?”

  “Making coffee,” he says simply. “By the sounds of your surliness, you need it.”
/>
  “I can make my own coffee,” I state. “I don't need you to do it for me. I'm fine. I'm not feeling sick, and I've only got a headache to remind me of how stupid I was last night. So, you can go. You don't have to be here babysitting me.”

  Jace is just filling the coffee pot with water. At the sound of my declaration, he turns the tap off and whirls around to face me, one eyebrow arched high. “Wow,” he scoffs. “I'm not sure whether to be more offended that you deem some of the things said and done last night as you just being stupid, or that you're dismissing me like being here is some dirty little secret.”

  “You know as well as I do that half the town will have seen your truck in my driveway by now, Jace,” I inform him, crossing my arms in front of me. “I can just hear the fucking rumors now.” I hope I seem more confident that I am.

  “So, you don't want me to leave, per se. You just don't want anybody else to know I'm here.”

  “Don't read more into this than there is,” I snap. “Everybody probably already knows by now that you punched Chad and made that big scene at Tonk's last night, so your truck still being parked in my driveway this morning is not going to help the rumor mill.”

  “To hell with what people say,” Jace replies, now sporting an edge in his voice as well. “They’ll always find something to talk about, you know that.”

  I run my hands through my hair, frustrated as hell. Not only by Jace's blatant argumentativeness toward me, but also by the fact that he's right—I don't want him to leave. And that is exactly why he has to. “You're not listening,” I stammer. “I really do think you should go.”

  “Speaking of going, where exactly are you going?” Jace's gaze flits around the room, and for the first time I take in the fact that he's staring at the disarray of my living room and kitchen, cluttered with cardboard boxes and totes in various stages of being packed up.