Evolve Series Box Set

by Hall, S. E.

  I’m leaned against the fence, already in way-too-hot-for-Georgia gear and waiting for heat two of four to start, when I feel a small, warm hand on my arm.

  “You racing tonight?”

  I turn my head to the sultry voice, lined with invitation. “I am.”

  Sticking merely the tip of her index finger in her mouth and giving me the classic doe in heat eyes, she asks, “Are you all warmed up?”

  I know this is the part where I’m supposed to walk away, especially after my talk with Laney about being a better guy, but if they put it in your face…it’s rude not to take it. “No, ma’am. You got any suggestions?”

  “I can warm you up.” She moves closer up against me, her hard nipples poking my chest.

  “How’s that?” I don’t even attempt to hide my perusal down her top.

  Fake.

  They’re nice, and most guys live by the motto “if I can reach out and touch ‘em, they’re real enough for me,” but I’m not a cardholder to that club. I like real tits and I cannot lie. The more they bounce when she rides me, the better. Doggy style, the natural ones sway back and forth like pendulums, damn near hypnotizing me. And when I titty fuck her, I want the “give” of natural flesh to mold around my cock like a glove.

  “However you want,” she says in her best 900 number voice. “I’m Mariah, by the way.” She trails her finger along my forearm. “And you’re Sawyer Beckett.”

  I should probably be concerned with how she knows that and the way it’s screaming STALKER at me, but much like any other guy (you know, those brainless things with dicks), I’m not.

  “Well, Miss Mariah,” I run my gaze and fingertip from her neck down to the dip in her cleavage, lifting one brow and eye only, my head still dipped, “that’s an awful sweet offer.”

  Her breathing hitches and the once-ivory skin exposed by the low cut top flushes under my touch. She darts her eyes around and I watch them settle and come back to me when her plan’s decided. Taking my hand, she practically runs as she leads me across the gravel lot and in between two random buildings.

  Once we’re out of blatant sight, she’s on me, her frantic, seeking hands barely able to decide what to unzip or lift first, her mouth sloppy and unskilled on my chin, then my neck.

  “Hey, hey,” I chuckle, using slight force on her shoulders to still her. “You’re gonna hurt somebody, woman.” I lean in, letting the tip of my nose graze her neck up and down a few times in a soothing rhythm. “Little calmer?” I murmur.

  She whimpers, almost as if she’s in pain from being settled, but her touch is more controlled now as one hand sneaks into my open coveralls and under my sliders. “Ahhh,” she hums, like she found the prize without having to dig all the way to the bottom of the cereal box. In a flash, she’s on her knees in front of me, one hand moving clothing out of the way, the other gripping my dick like a vice.

  “Easy,” I soothe her, running one hand along her hair. I’m actually apprehensive of having her so excited…and so close to my dick. I’d like to leave this makeshift hideaway unscathed. “Slow, sugar,” I croon. “I want it sweet and slow.”

  That does the trick. Her eyes lock on me, seeking praise as she sucks as much as she possibly can down her throat.

  “There ya go, just like that,” I mumble.

  I’m about six licks away from the creamy center of my back alley blowjob when a sweet voice rings out, “Mariah?”

  Ahhh, fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out everything but the directive I’m mentally sending my cock to detonate before the owner of the voice calling out for my “new friend” finds us. I take over now, not usually one to force feed, but desperate times… I start face fucking her like a man with an hour left to live, cause I’m damn sure I’m gonna die coming. “Almost,” I pant, “don’t stop.”

  “MARIAH?” Shit, the voice is much louder this time. Friend found us.

  The first shot fires down her throat as my eyes fly open, head turning towards the sound of a surprised gasp. NO! No fucking way! This is an ejaculation hallucination, it’s gotta be. With odds like this, no one would bet on the races, the fortune to be had is in my bad fucking luck. I try to pull out, but Mariah latches on with a threatening hint of teeth. “I-I,” is all I manage, squeezing my eyes shut in humiliation.

  “Oh, by all means, finish.” She snickers.

  Shamefully, I do. In my defense, it’s not one of those things you can just stop. Mariah takes it all, an audible “pop” echoing against our surrounding walls when she pulls away and rises. I’d rather go blind, but I open my eyes, seeing her proudly beam as she wipes the corner of her mouth.

  “Good thing I got you a drink, huh?” She mocks, stepping forward and offering one of the drinks she’s holding to Mariah. Then she looks down at my dick and back up at me and winks. “Not bad.”

  I’m in shock, mentally willing my hand to stop shaking like a puss as I tuck myself back in, zipping up in embarrassment.

  There she stands, the apparition of my every recent dream come to life at the most inopportune time imaginable. In all the scenarios I made up in my head about how, when, and where we’d finally meet again, I assure you this was not one of them. She looks even more incredible than I remember, far more perfect in real life than my dreams. I’d remembered a dime; she’s a fucking quarter and I don’t need change.

  The purple streaks in her ebony hair are gone; she has long, deep brown locks with dark red tips now. She’s a bitty thing, maybe 5’3” tops, but her jean shorts, pockets hanging out, make her tan legs look deceptively longer than they are. On her feet are black cowboy boots that match a wide black belt that pulls my eyes to her rockin’ fucking hips.

  Badass hair, cowboy boots and the face of an angel… she’s fucking Skittles—one package, every fucking flavor!

  When I make it back up to her eyes, an almost unnatural dark green, like lush grass wet with morning dew, she’s got me locked in her crosshairs. She cocks her head at an angle and raises her eyebrows, silently and incredulously saying, “can I help you with something?” louder than actual words.

  “I gotta go.” I duck my head and start to move past her, feeling hands pulling me from behind.

  “Wait! Don’t you want my number?” Mariah calls out desperately.

  I turn around but continue my steps to the track backwards. “I’ll um…I’ll catch ya around later, okay?” I sling my thumb over my shoulder. “I gotta hurry. Race time.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Hope Sinks

  ***Sawyer***

  She’s out there, somewhere in the crowd, watching the race. I can feel the grit in my eyes and between my teeth, the balmy heat and the motor’s vibration coursing through me, but I don’t feel her eyes on me. I know it, as sure as the sun will rise in the east and set in the west, that if her eyes were on me, I would feel it.

  As we line up, I steal a quick glance to the crowd, trying one last time to pick her out—nothing. The place is packed with hordes of college guys seeking the rush and even more college girls seeking those guys; it’s a big ass meat market. There are more female heads of dark hair than not and exactly how many people are wearing a yellow fucking shirt?

  Know who I do see? Laney Jo Walker.

  When you climb onto the bleacher rail and wave your hands in the air, people tend to pick you out in a crowd.

  I give her, and Dane, who’s standing beside her shaking his head and laughing, a wave. I’m surprised that he’s here at all. What happened to the whole “stop with the destructive behavior” speech?

  I turn my attention back to the flag, the familiar surge of exhilaration taking over. When the flag drops, the flight of ten bikes takes off, slinging up dirt and clouds of dust. It only takes me three laps to gain a huge lead, so I use it to my advantage. I will get her attention.

  I’m having a fucking blast, taking the hills a tad faster now that I’m out of the pack and adding some kick twists when I’m airborne. Purposely allowing some fishtailing, flying sideways around the
corners, I keep my eyes on the track, despite the need to check the stands. Thoughts of her race through my head as fast as the testosterone through my veins. Is she watching yet?

  The last foothill before the finish line, I go all out and turn out a flip…easily landing it and crossing for the win. The horn blares and I rip off my helmet, lines of sweat dripping down the sides of my face. A flip. She had to have noticed that, right?

  I don’t know how or when Daney, my clever combination of their names a nod to the single person they’ve fused into, make it across the track, but here they are beside me. That had to be like a real life game of Frogger, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he carried her across the traffic.

  “You won!” Laney screams. “The shenanigans at the end scared me a little,” she slaps my arm, “but you won!” She’s gushing, literally bouncing up and down. See—the electricity of a race is contagious, ‘cause Laney Jo Walker doesn’t bounce.

  “Nice job, man,” Dane chimes in, holding up his fist for a bump.

  “Thanks.” I flick my eyes to him for acknowledgement, but just as quickly back to the stands. Get a pattern, one row at a time, left to right… It’s the best way to make sure I don’t miss her. Back and forth I scan as quickly as possible, getting disoriented every time a group moves. “Damn it!” I yell, throwing my helmet on the ground.

  Laney gasps. “What? Are you okay?”

  I sigh, running a hand down my face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.” I lean over to pick the helmet back up, still unable to stop my eyes from wandering around hopefully.

  “Don’t you have the finals?” Dane asks, curious arch of his brow.

  He’s right, I had advanced to the big race, but I couldn’t care less about it at the moment. Add racing to the list; one more thing getting the fun sucked right out of it. Sucked out of it. Damn. I shake my head at the ironic pun that peaked my misery in the first place.

  “Fuck the finals. I suddenly don’t give a shit,” I grumble, fiddling with the snaps on my helmet.

  “You want to go out or—”

  I cut Dane off, tired and frustrated. “I’ll meet you guys at home later. I’ve got some shit to do.”

  “You sure? I have at least one beer in me,” he offers.

  “Nah, man,” I pull Laney into me and kiss the top of her head, “but thanks for coming. I thought you hated me racing.”

  “Yeah, well, your roommate can be pretty persuasive.” He chuckles, pulling his woman from my arms to his own.

  “Saw, what’s wrong?” Laney asks, her brows dipped with a worried frown.

  “Not a thing, Gidge. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Okay.” She looks back as they walk away and I give her the best smile I can muster.

  ***

  “Sawyer, your phone’s ringing.”

  So answer it, dumbass.

  “Sawyer, it’s Dane. You want me to grab it?”

  I think I manage a thumbs up.

  “Hey, drink this, Dane’s on his way to come get you.”

  I lift my head and see that I am… Huh. I’m shitface plastered, sitting at The K. “What?”

  Kasey’s behind the bar, pushing a drink towards me. “Drink up, man. Dane’s on his way to come get you.”

  “What time is it? Who called Dane?” My mouth tastes like ass, my voice a gravelly inconvenience much like sandpaper across my skin.

  “He called ten times and I finally answered it,” he explains. “And it’s three in the morning.”

  I grab the glass and down it, bubbles tickling my nose. “What the fuck did I just drink?”

  “Homemade hangover cure. You’ll thank me in the morning.” He laughs, turning to make me a refill.

  Maybe it’s a play of the drunken mind, but I actually start to feel less fuzzy halfway through the second serving. “You should patent this shit, man. You’d be rich.”

  “Alka Seltzer and Aleve might not like that. Finish it, your ride’s here.” He looks behind me and offers a shaky smile. “Hey, boss!”

  “Thank you, Kasey,” Dane says through clenched teeth. “I’ll lock up, go ahead and head out.”

  “Thanks, Kasey,” I mumble, turning to face my angry friend. “What’s up?”

  “You tell me.” He pulls up the stool next to me. “Laney and I offer to take you out for a drink and you decline, yet you went and got hammered at your place of employment? Your phone broke? It’s three in the fucking morning; Laney cried herself to sleep, she was so damn worried!”

  “Ugh,” I groan, letting my forehead drop on the bar. “I’m fine. I’ll apologize to her.”

  “Yes, you will. Right after you tell me what the fuck is up with you. I’m done, Sawyer,” he says firmly, slamming his hand on the bar. “Start talking.”

  “Can you even remember what you felt like before you met Laney?” I turn my face up to him. “Empty and meaningless and jealous of every happy motherfucker you knew?”

  He nods, waiting patiently for me to go on.

  “She was there, at the race. Now she thinks I’m shit before we even really meet.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Skipper Stripper, the most beautiful girl on Earth. And her voice, ahhh,” I moan, letting my head fall back and my eyes drop closed. “Her fucking voice, those lips—my God. And she’s cool! I knew it!”

  “Why would she think badly of you?”

  I rub my both my hands furiously over my head. “She may have walked up on me gettin’ a blowjob.”

  “At the race?”

  “At the race.”

  “Only you.” He shakes his head back and forth. “So we’re talking about the girl from Parker’s party, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sawyer, that was months ago. That’s some serious pining time you’ve put in, bud. What if she’s not everything you’ve built her up to be?”

  I turn to him, thinking about it for a minute. “What if she is?”

  He stands, giving me a knowing smile. “What if she is? Come on,” he pats my shoulder, “let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Interview with a Vixen

  ***Sawyer***

  I’m stacking glasses, “Hurt” by Johnny Cash cranked up, when Dane comes strolling into The K. He reaches for the panel and turns down my soundtrack.

  “How’s life? Any better?”

  “Well, I fired Brock, the douchebag,” I grumble. He’s lucky I didn’t kick his ass while I was at it. “So I moved Kasey to security with a raise and myself behind the bar. Oh,” I snap, “and I finally figured out what the fucking fox says, so yeah, I’m golden.”

  Chuckling, he hands me some papers. “Good to hear. I forgot I had this interview and Laney’s waiting for me. Could you do it?”

  I skim over the resume he’s handed me. “What are we hiring for?”

  “Waitress for nights and behind the bar for lunch if she wants it.”

  “Yeah, I got it,” I assure him, not feeling like looking at his happy-in-love face. “Get outta here.”

  “See ya, brother.” He slaps the bar and winks at me.

  Why the fuck is he winking at me? God, I hope he gets some…from his WOMAN.

  I start to make my way up the stairs to Dane’s office, not at all in the mood to play nice through an interview, when Dane calls out and stops me. “Sawyer?”

  “Yeah?” I say as I turn. What the fuck does he want now?

  “Do you trust yourself?”

  “What?” I back down the two steps I’d taken and close the gap between us. “Dude, you’re winking at me, asking weird shit…did someone leave glue open around you or what?”

  “Do. You. Trust. Yourself?” he repeats, quirking one brow like he does when he’s challenging someone.

  “Of course I do. Why? Do you trust yourself?”

  “Absolutely.” He nods. “Which is why when naysayers give me shit or try to plant doubt, I have no problem ignoring them.”

  I just stare at him, trying t
o discretely discern the size of his pupils; I honestly think he sniffed glue.

  He puts one hand on my shoulder and grins. “You and I, we’re go with our gut kinda guys. Don’t change.”

  It takes me a minute to file all that gibberish away and head up to the office. If I thought he’d just thrown me for a loop with that weird talk, then what happens next is a full-out circle around the fucking globe. When I open the door, I’m dumbstruck.

  Her name is Emmett L. Young, and I finally know this because that’s the name on the resume I’m holding and she is sitting in Dane’s office.

  I told you—that guy has scary ways of making things happen. And he can wink at me and sniff glue any fucking time he wants, ‘cause I kinda love him right now.

  “Hi,” I manage as I walk further into the office and offer her my hand. “Sawyer Beckett.”

  She stands with a subdued smirk, her wide, shocked eyes quickly grazing over me. “Emmett Young,” she says as she shakes my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Beckett.” Her voice pours out like warm honey as she retakes her seat.

  “What’s the L stand for?”

  There’s a slight flinch of her face—she’s as thrown off by my question as I am. It just came out.

  “Louise?”

  “You sure?” I flirtingly challenge her as I take a seat behind Dane’s desk.

  “I’m sure, uh, it was kinda weird you asked. Not what I was expecting.”

  “Mine’s Landon, also an L. That’s why I noticed.” That is so not why I noticed. Much like the fact that I know she had cinnamon gum recently, that she tried to cover the small butterfly tattoo behind her left ear with makeup, and that she used to bite her nails but she’s trying to let them grow back… I noticed.