Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  And it’s far too late to rewrite the stars.

  I blink, attempting to sever the link but unwilling to give in. Just like that, the puzzlement drops from Nash’s face. His eyes glint, his lips slanting up higher on one side than the other—arrogant yet panty-melting at the same time. Splayed palms slide lower down Sara’s hips and inward, daringly close to seeking her bubbly backside.

  One brow arcs cockily—seeming to ask a wordless question.

  It’s the last straw.

  I’m not in the mood to decipher his coded language.

  I wrench my gaze away, arching my back and pulling back slightly so I can focus back on my date—or whatever he is, seeing as I just picked him up an hour ago.

  But his focus is somewhere over my shoulder, and the way he’s staring gives off the “man on a mission” vibe.

  I clear my throat.

  His eyes peel away from whoever he’s pining after, slowly and regretfully.

  “You have your sights set on someone.”

  He eyes me warily, unable to make up his mind about whether to own up or to deny my accusation.

  “We just met, you ain’t gonna hurt my feelings,” I coax.

  His shoulders slump, as he takes a quick peek in the same direction again.

  “Who is she?” I continue to push, studying him with interest.

  Ransom shakes his head slowly in disbelief.

  “Someone I have no business feeling anything for…be it having a soft spot, or wanting to fuck her hard and rough on the back of her daddy’s cop car.” His voice is gruff, laced with defeat, and tinged with anger.

  I’m guessing that anger is aimed at himself.

  “Hey.” I lay my hand on the side of his face. It might be misconstrued as a tender gesture, but it’s just me comforting him. When it comes to being interested in the last person you should be, call me queen.

  “You can’t help who you want. It’s just the way things are. Don’t be hard on yourself about it.”

  He swallows, nodding warily. I glance back over his shoulder again, finding Nash is still watching us, only this time his eyes don’t meet up with mine. Instead, his mockful expression has hardened off as he stares at the side of Ransom’s face. Is it because I’m touching him there?

  My active imagination needs to fuck right off. It’s making me think things—feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.

  Even though I shouldn’t care, I drop my hand back to his chest.

  “And you seem to have your eye on someone as well.”

  My eyes flare as I squeak, “Me?”

  He nods. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. Is he an ex?”

  “An ex-friend, but we never dated.”

  Why am I telling him this?

  He eyes me expectantly.

  “Long, complex, very drawn-out story,” I huff, my eyes cutting back again uncontrollably. I stuff down the disappointment when I find Nash now paying me no mind, his attention back on his dance partner. Determination has hardened his features.

  “Most stories are.”

  “True.”

  Ransom groans for some reason. “Fucking Hell. Everything makes me think of her,” he admits mindlessly. I nearly jolt when he suddenly leans down, his breath tickling my ear. I try to move away, but he orders, “Don’t move. I have an idea to help both of us. You trust me?”

  I scoff. “I kind of just met you, Dude.”

  “Just go with it…”

  Then, perfectly timing the end of the song, he dips me back in that romantic, iconic pose that every girl swoons over, his lips pressing to mine.

  My hands clench his shirt desperately—I have no clue how much he had to drink before we met up. He could drop me on my head for all I know. After a few seconds, I calm down, settling into the comforting sensation of his lips moving with mine. My lashes flutter closed. As he slowly lifts me back up, the kiss doesn’t relent. Instead it deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.

  And I let him because even if it’s not a be-all-end-all kind of kiss—my thoughts still circling around my old childhood crush being to blame for that—it’s certainly an enjoyable one.

  That is, until he jerks away from me. My eyes pop open due to the the sudden disappearing act, and I immediately understand what brought it on. Nash is just releasing the collar of Ransom’s shirt, having apparently wrenched him and I apart.

  “What the fuck, man?” Ransom roars, but his eyes lack the heat to match his words. Catching my eye, he winks at me, the tiniest smirk playing at his lips.

  I can’t help but smile back at his crazy ass.

  “Do. Not. Fucking. Touch. Her,” Nash grits out, like he’s some kind of psycho-dominant-alpha who thinks he owns me or something. My heart flutters, but my brain is telling me fuck this. Who does he think he is exactly?

  “Seems to me like she liked it—wanted it even…” Ransom pushes back with words alone.

  I grab ahold of Nash’s arm just as he rears it back, no doubt with Ransom’s jaw as his intended target.

  “Nash.” I raise my voice sternly.

  He drops his arm, turning to focus on me with a piercing glint.

  “You need to sit the fuck down. You’re drunk and this man,” he glares back to where Ransom was just standing, but he’s gone now. “Fucking pussy,” he murmurs to himself, turning back to me. “He was taking advantage of you!”

  I narrow my eyes. Am I some helpless, brainless bimbo who sleeps around and needs saving from myself? Because that’s certainly what it seems like he’s thinking.

  “No. I can handle myself, you… you… Cock-blocker,” I angrily settle on.

  Brushing past him, I march straight to the bathroom with Sara hot on my heels.

  “I think Nash has feelings for you…” She states.

  “Um, yeah, no. What he has is a problem with possessiveness. It’s no big secret we used to be best friends, until everything happened and then we weren’t. What you just witnessed was the first time I ever made reference of it since the accident happened, and apparently he didn’t take too kindly to the idea he wasn’t “best” at something. Even if it was just me publicly announcing he was dethroned from the title of Best Guy Friend, ten years after said abdication…”

  She scrunches her face with amusement. “You’re absurd. Sure you aren’t shitfaced?”

  I roll my eyes, pushing the stall door open. I pee, wash my hands, retouch up my makeup, then stand off to the side, pulling up my phone to check social media. I’m so not ready to head back out there again. I don’t even know what just happened.

  Sara lets out a distraught sigh from beside me. “Hey you,” she says in annoyance, snapping her fingers and attempting to get my attention. My eyes slide over to her.

  “We just gonna hide out in the bathroom all night? You won’t even talk about the Nash incident, so if you don’t seem to be affected by it, why the hell are we still in here?”

  She’s right. I probably do look like I’m hiding out. I throw up my hands.

  “Whatever. Let’s go.” Pulling all my confidence and security back out of wherever the Hell it was I placed it, we head back outside.

  As we near the bar, I notice there’s some big commotion going on that has a lot of people standing in the way as they attempt to watch.

  I can vaguely recognize one of the voice’s—Ransom.

  Pushing through the wall of people standing in the way, I take in the scene.

  A man dressed in a law-officer’s uniform—Sheriff’s if I had to guess—is speaking forcibly at Ransom. I say at, because he’s talking down to him, not even attempting to allow for a response. Ransom is glaring back.

  I turn to the person beside me, some random dude I don’t even know. “What’s happening here?” I ask.

  “He’s getting arrested for underage drinking, I think.”

  No freaking way…He’s underage? Him with the full-sleeves of tattoos, tall and muscular build, and game that makes a girl want to throw all her inhibitions out the window? He’s at
least got to be twenty-four. My eyes slide over to the huge, unclaimed mug of beer sitting on the bar in front of Ransom. Shit.

  The officer pulls out his cuffs, and I react. Before I can even consider the consequences, I strut right on up, throwing my arm around Ransom’s neck. I stumble a little on the way to really up-play the act, then add in a silly giggle for full effect.

  Ransom watches me with a puzzled look but doesn’t say a word.

  “Hey, Babe. Did you miss me?”

  I plant a quick peck on his lips, then reach across for the mug, taking several big swigs in a row.

  The officer narrows his eyes at me, still undecided about what my part is in all of this. Sitting on Ransom’s knee, I allow the hem of my dress to rise just a smidge so that a nice bit of thigh is showing—just not my lady bits.

  I pretend to just notice the officer then. “Oh, heyyy there occifer,” I deliberately screw up the pronunciation. His eyes narrow further, his mouth drooping to a frown beneath his bushy mustache. “What’s up? Can I buy you a drink? Show some thanks for all the men in uniform out there keeping us safe?” I flutter my lashes in a way I can only wish is enticing. Hopefully he’s a red-blooded man with a soft-spot for women, and let’s pray the fact I have tattoos and purple hair isn’t cause for discrimination.

  He swallows, eyeing me speculatively. “Sorry, Miss. I was just getting ready to take this one to jail here.”

  My eyes flare, and I shrink back. “Him?” My tone rises in surprise, as I turn back to Ransom. I squeeze his chin between my fingers, rubbing my nose against him playfully as I ask, “But just what did my honey bunny do?”

  “Caught him with that beer there in front of him. He’s not twenty-one yet. Underage drinking is against the law.”

  I giggle playfully. “Oh my goodness. This isn’t his, it’s mine. I had to go tinkle, so he was holding my place at the bar for me so that no one would steal my seat…” I bat my eyes again, placing the mug to my lips to take another sip.

  “Mind if I check your I.D. Ma’am?” His voice takes an authoritative tone to it.

  I pull the clutch from beneath my arm, popping it open to retrieve my license for him then handing it over straight away.

  He studies it closely, glancing back and forth from me to the picture taken back when I was a plain jane brunette. I pull at some of the strands, twirling the ends around my finger. “Changed the color, and the DMV doesn’t really offer purple as an option for the hair-color on your ID…”

  Mr. Officer harrumphs at my explanation, passing the card back to me as his eyes meet mine. “Alright, Miss Cougar. You do realize you and your little boyfriend have about eight years between the two of you?” He shoots me a firm look as if I’m robbing the cradle right about the time my face begins to heat at the thought I just kissed an eighteen year old kid…

  How the hell was Gray okay with his and Valley’s age difference back in the day? Appearances…I remind myself. You started this act, you better keep it up. I offer a shrug as if this whole thing is no big deal, basically claiming the title of Cougar like I’m called it on a daily basis.

  The officer clears his throat. “If I catch you buying or giving any alcohol to this young punk—if he so much as takes one sip…no, if he even licks the rim—you’re both going to county.” The imaginary gavel has just swung, announcing our impending fate.

  I nod in agreement, but Ransom just can’t let it go. “You have my word.” From the corner of my eye I see him holding up three fingers like he’s issuing a scout’s honor. “The only rim I’m gonna be licking around any time in the near future—is your daughter’s.”

  Oh. My. God. The room erupts in snickers and fake coughs in attempt to cover them up. I jerk around in horror, taking in the smug look on Ransom’s face as he shoots a wink at a carefully composed blonde standing off to the side of the officer. I hadn’t noticed her before, but in an instant, her collected demeanor dissolves. Her face instantly flushes—her soft, brown doe-eyes growing big and round.

  That does it. Mr. Officer comes charging at Ransom like a bull, and here I am acting as the shield, right in the middle. With a strained, cherry-red face, he gets nose-to-nose with Ransom. “You better watch yourself, you little shit. I got my guys all over you, just waiting for you to slip up and fuck yourself over. When you do, you’ll end up the same place as that sorry excuse of an uncle of yours…or worse, where your daddy is. You know what they say…the apple never falls too far from the tree.” He spits out the words, and some actual saliva comes flying out right along with them.

  I recoil from the asshole who’s apparently threatening and throwing up Ransom’s parents mistakes and placing him in the same category, giving the officer a glare. Ransom stiffens behind me, his fist clenching against his leg. I lay my hand over it, ensuring it doesn’t go flying.

  As the officer steps away, he gives one last threat. “I’ll be waiting, Bad Apple.”

  The prim-and-proper blonde, who’s hair is in a low-bun, pulls at the officer’s arm. “Daddy, let’s go,” she forcefully whisper-shouts in horror.

  He tucks his arm around her, retreating toward the front door. As he goes, I catch her name—True—making out a little of him chewing her ass for being there tonight, how she’s grounded, and “to stay away from the likes of him.” Yet, she keeps stealing glances back over her shoulder, eyeing Ransom every few seconds, her lip tucked between her teeth and her brows pinched together until she disappears out the door.

  Ransom blows out a slow exhale. “Thanks, Lyra.”

  I scuttle down off his knee, because here I am, sitting on someone who’s barely an adult’s lap in front of a crowd. Pretty sure that respect, or whatever it is they have for him, just went up exponentially at the thoughts of banging an older girl.

  I huff. “Not a problem.” Giving him a stern look myself, I say, “Just keep yourself out of trouble in the foreseeable future, huh? And how ‘bout you keep that dirty mouth to yourself,” I arch a brow, causing him to smirk.

  “I can’t make any promises.” He says the words with a roll of his shoulders, then takes a precautionary glance about the place before a look of amusement settles over his face. “Looks like we’ve got some spectators.”

  I cringe, knowing he’s right. I’ve been trying hard to ignore the fact too. Subtly, he nudges me with his elbow, his eyes locking on someone standing behind me.

  “Wanna take bets that he was even more angry ‘bout your sitting in my lap and acting like my girl than the Sheriff was about my comment?” Ransom leans down, whispering in my ear in a way that leaves goosebumps. Dammit. It’s way too easy to forget he’s a kid, especially when he looks, and acts, anything but. I don’t even have to turn around to know who he’s talking about.

  Of course, I do it anyway.

  Nash sits there at the other end of the bar, glaring like someone pissed in his beer and we’re the only suspects.

  “Yeah right,” I mutter, only loud enough so that Ransom can hear.

  He releases an amused snort. “Trust me, if a guy reacts the way he did when I kissed you, you not even being his girl…plus, he gives you a look of hate that intense like he’s doing right now—he fucking wants you.” I swallow, my throat suddenly going dry like I just gulped down sand.

  Placing a newly produced shot glass to my lips—Maverick must be the most perceptive bartender on the planet—I knock it back.

  “That’s an impressive take on this whole scenario, Ransom, only there’s one thing you’ve got wrong. I know exactly why he looks at me like he hates me, and he’s got a damn good reason to.”

  “Shit. He can have a million and one reasons to hate you. Doesn’t mean he don’t want you still.” He smirks at me, and as if to prove a point, he leans down and kisses me lightly on the cheek. We both glance back over at Nash simultaneously.

  If possible, his eyes seem even more narrowed, his jaw clenched so hard it might break.

  Ransom snickers mischievously. “See.”

  My heart is thu
ndering in my chest as I consider Ransom’s opinion on the situation. He’s wrong though. Nash doesn’t give two shits about me—and if he does, he definitely shouldn’t. He’s getting married, and even if his fiancée is one Hell of a fake-ass bitch, I’m not down for being the other-woman in some screwed up love-triangle. Been there, done that. Have the trophy—or scars, rather—to prove it.

  Just thinking about it has me mindlessly rubbing my arms, and I’m pushing the dark thoughts out of my mind as soon as they begin to seep in. I’m getting pretty good at it, but I can’t say I was always this way.

  Suddenly grabbing a coaster, Ransom pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket, scrawling down his number and passing it off to me. “If you’re ever in a jam, give me a call.” I’m certain he’s referring to making a certain someone jealous, more so than my actually needing help. With a wink, he slides off the stool and disappears into the crowd.

  The next time I glance in Nash’s direction, the stool is empty.

  “Hell yeah. If I ever need to sneak in somewhere to steal top secret material, and there’s a guard who needs distracting, you’re riding with,” Sara laughs, showing up out of nowhere.

  “Pretty sure that’s unlikely, but you know I’d do the same for you.”

  I order another shot from Maverick, the sexy bartender, and knock it back right as the DJ is announcing a one-hour break.

  “You know what that means…”

  “Jukebox time,” Sara and I both say in unison, heading that direction before anyone else can claim the privilege of choosing some tunes. When we turn the corner to approach the little antique looking box, we find we’re too slow as someone is standing there already. I try to deviate from the path, aborting mission, but Sara grabs my arm, her voice taking on a whining tone.

  “Come on, Ly…we can still be next in line.”

  “Okay,” I grumble, stumbling a bit before I’m able to right myself right as I’m pulling out my phone to check it for messages, also admittedly clicking on my Qpid’s Contenders app to check for new messages. No such luck.