by LK Farlow
“Dancing?” I spit back at her. “Y’all aren’t dancing. You’re grinding all over this schmuck while he just stands here like a pole. You wanna dance, let’s dance.”
And just like that, loser number one is forgotten and replaced. By me. I wrap an arm around her waist and draw her body into mine. I match every roll of her hips verbatim, and together, we get lost in what has to be, hands down, the most erotic foreplay of my life.
Too bad this won’t lead anywhere. She’s testy enough every time we sleep together, so I’m not about to lure her into my bed drunk. Her anger I can handle, because the way I see it, that’s her denying her feelings. But regret? Yeah, I couldn’t stomach that.
Six songs later, Azalea isn’t losing any steam. No, if anything, she’s getting more fired up. Twirling herself around, she brings herself face-to-face with me. Her emerald eyes are glassy, and her smile is wide. She drags her eyes down my body and licks her lips as if she likes what she sees.
“Wanna take a breather?” I ask her.
“No,” she whispers, circling her arms around my neck. “I want to stay right here. I want to keep feeling you with me, Drake.”
“Anything you want, Little Bit, always.” I pull her body into mine, leaving no space between us. The crowd around us dances on, but we’re hardly moving. Barely even swaying. Her pull is too strong, so magnetic, and I’m helpless to fight it.
Bringing my lips to her ear, I gently sing the lyrics of the Thomas Rhett song we’re swaying to, telling her through his words exactly how I crave her, because damn, if those aren’t the most perfect lyrics. Sums shit up just right.
She draws my face down to hers and breathes against my lips. “What’re you doing, Azzy?”
“Kissing you,” she murmurs before pressing her lips to mine. And kiss me she does, long and slow, and I love it. Gentle nips and low moans, she kisses me straight through another song.
Our moment is broken when Seraphine wedges her way in between us. “Azalea Josephine, is this your idea of stayin’ on top of things?”
Azalea giggles and nods her head. “Gotta be on tops to stay on tops,” she slurs.
“What’re y’all talking about?” I ask, glancing between the two of them.
“We’re talking ’bout me bein’ on top of—”
Seraphine slaps a hand over Azalea’s mouth. “Okay, that’s enough of that. You’ve had too much to drink.” Turning to look at me, she says, “I think it’s past this one’s bedtime. Can I trust you to get her home safely?”
“You can trust me with her life,” I tell her as I scoop Azalea into my arms.
“Where’re we goin’?” Azalea asks, with her eyes pinched shut and her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.
“We’re going home, Little Bit. Gonna get you all tucked in.”
“With you?” she asks, nuzzling into my chest. I think about it for a minute or two before answering her.
“Yeah, with me.”
8
Azalea
“Wake up, Little Bit,” I hear Drake whisper as he lifts me from the passenger seat of his truck. The way his strong arms support me, and the feel of his hard chest under me, has my mind going a million miles a minute.
“You gonna take me to bed?” I whisper, my voice full of want.
“Yes, ma’am. You need a good night’s sleep.”
I trail my fingers up his neck, tangling them into the collar of his shirt. “But what if I don’t wanna sleep?”
“Tough shit, Azalea. I’m not about to fuck you while you’re drunk.”
“Not drunk anymore. Not even tipsy. Swear it,” I say, sliding my tongue along the shell of his ear.
“Yeah, okay.” He snorts, like I’m lying.
“You want me to prove it to you?” I ask incredulously.
“If that’s what you feel you need to do.”
I wiggle out of his hold once he crosses the threshold into his house. “No way. I’m not gonna beg you for sex, D. I’m not that hard up.” Pinning him with my glare, I wave my hand up and down my body. “You don’t want some of this? That’s fine. Get me a shirt to sleep in and your ass can take the couch.”
“Now, hold on. Let’s slow it down. Didn’t say I didn’t wantcha. Just said I wasn’t interested if you were drunk. I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than take advantage of you, Azalea.” The icy anger flowing through my veins thaws a little at his words. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll get you that shirt you asked for, and you can go shower. I’ll whip us up a little midnight snack, and we’ll see what happens. That sound good to you?”
I nod my head, feeling like a petulant child who’s been scolded.
“Good. C’mon.” Drake takes my hand and leads me to his room, even though I know the way just fine on my own. I wait patiently while he grabs me one of his T-shirts and a fresh towel.
After laying them both on his bed, he presses a sweet kiss to my forehead. “Get cleaned up and come find me.”
Freshly showered and dressed only in Drake’s shirt, I set off to find him. I step into the kitchen just as Drake is plating the bacon, along with a heaping portion of cheese eggs and toast. This man sure knows the way to my heart. Too bad it’s not my heart he’s after.
Without any preamble, I dig into the food he’s graciously prepared me. Every bite is better than the next, and I don’t hesitate to moan my approval. “Keep that up, Azalea, and I’ll give you something to moan about,” Drake says, all deep and rumbly. Guess he’s over the drunk thing.
“What was that?” I ask, hiding my smile behind my napkin.
“You heard me. You wanna go on and make all those hot little noises? That’s fine. Just know it’ll be me causing them. Not some damn eggs and bacon.”
I place my napkin back down on the table before twirling a lock of hair around my finger. “But, D, technically this is you making me moan.” Locking eyes with him across the small table, I run my index finger through the bacon grease on my plate and bring it to my lips, running it slowly back and forth along my bottom lip before sucking it in to my mouth.
I don’t have the chance to drag it back out before Drake is up and in my space, yanking me up from my seat. “You want something to put in your mouth, Bit? I got something for you.” He latches his mouth to mine, drowning me in a kiss so delicious that I’m not sure where he ends and I begin.
Skillfully, he wraps my legs around his waist and carries me back toward his bedroom, never once removing his mouth from mine. “So, I guess you believe that I’m sober?”
“Bit, after that show, I’m not sure I’d care.”
Shifting against him so that we’re perfectly aligned in all the right spots, I remind him of his earlier words. “But I thought you’d never take advantage?”
“Azalea, your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring. But I’ll ask one more time, just to be safe. Are you sober, and do you want this?” He punctuates his question by pressing his hips into mine. And God bless it, with the feel of him so ready for me, I forget the question.
Restlessly, I circle my hips, desperate for that feeling only he can elicit, but he denies me, setting me down at the foot of his bed. “Answer me,” he grits out.
“Yes,” I tell him, pulling his shirt over my head. “Yes.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs because in no time flat, his clothes are on the floor and I’m on my back.
Nestling himself between my thighs, Drake kisses his way from one collarbone to the other, and then up my neck, finally landing his mouth on mine. “You always feel so damn good,” he groans, rocking into me.
I swear to God, everything with him is better—heightened. Being with him feels like heaven and home and everything else good in this world. “Mmm, yes, always good with you,” I mewl as he works my body in the way only he knows how.
“Feels good ’cause it’s us. ’Cause we’re meant to be—” I cut him off with a hard press of my lips, not wanting to hear whatever he has to say next.
Drake’s a sweet-talker between the she
ets, always full of proclamations of love and fate and then some, but once our clothes are back on, he never pushes for more.
He dives into my kiss, picking up our rhythm so that it matches the cadence of our hearts until I’m all but hanging by a thread, which snaps when I feel him release into me.
I feel Drake move off me, but I’m far too blissed out to do much about it. Nope, I just snuggle down and replay our romp in my mind, savoring all the best moments. Which is all of it. Because, like always, sex with Drake Collins is a damn-near religious experience. That man can just about make me hear the angels sing.
Once I hear the shower click on, I sit up and scan the room for my clothing. It’s my time to go, not that I have a way home. But before I can even leave the bed, Drake is there, pulling me up and to him. “C’mon, Bit, let’s get ourselves cleaned up,” he murmurs, guiding me toward the bathroom.
He pulls back the curtain, allowing me to enter first, and while the feeling of the warm water washing over me is glorious, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Drake’s hot body crowding me from behind.
Reaching past me, he grabs a bottle that looks an awful lot like my usual shampoo and squirts a quarter-sized amount into his hand. “Is that my—”
“Shh, just relax,” he says, lathering the shampoo into my hair, working his strong fingers into my scalp like a pro.
“We should hire you to give shampoos at the salon,” I breathe out.
“This treatment is only for you, no one else.” I swoon at his flowery words, but I don’t buy into them. As easy as it’d be to melt into a puddle every time he sweet-talked me, I always let the words roll off my back. After all, this’ll never go further than what it is. It’ll never be more, and while it might be enough for now, it’s certainly not enough for forever.
“Just for me, huh?”
“Only you,” he tells me in a soft voice as he tips my head back under the spray of water to rinse the suds from my hair. He follows up with my favorite conditioner and scrubs me down with my favorite body wash, lingering in all the right places.
I try to return the favor, but Drake stops me. “This was for you, Azalea, not me.”
“How’s that fair?” I counter, watching as he twists his bar of Irish Spring in his hands before running the green suds all over his body.
“Trust me, anytime my hands are on you—hell, anytime I’m with you—I’m content. Don’t you worry about what’s fair.” Drake guides me out from under the water to rinse himself before shutting off the tap. He steps out before me and wraps me in a fluffy, charcoal-colored towel. “Put my shirt back on and get in bed,” he tells me, his voice dipping to that yummy growl he does.
“You want me to stay?”
“Bit, I don’t ever want you to leave.” His tone sounds serious, but I laugh him off, because who wouldn’t want a live-in fuck buddy?
After he straightens the rumpled covers, I climb into his bed, burrowing down into the soft sheets that smell like him. Drake switches off the light, and I feel the bed dip beside me. “Come closer,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around my middle, pulling me into him.
We both drift off to sleep, his earlier words echoing through my head. I don’t ever want you to leave. If only he meant them the way I longed for.
9
Drake
Azalea doesn’t always stay the night, but holy hell, I love it when she does. Waking up with her wrapped around me . . . there’s nothing better. It’s a glimpse into the future I’m desperately trying to make into a reality.
“Mmm—what time is it?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.
“Early, not even six.” Gently, I brush her hair off her face and out of her eyes. “Do you work today?” She shakes her head, burying it into my chest. “Good, then go back to sleep. I need to help my dad for a bit, and then we can spend the day together?”
As much as I want to tell, I ask, knowing that it needs to be her decision. Not to mention, every time she comes to me, it’s that much sweeter.
“Sounds good,” she mumbles, already falling back asleep.
I linger in bed, knowing it’ll put me behind, but the feel of her pressed up against me, with her guard down and the peace of sleep softening her features . . . yeah, it’s worth it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m out the door and on my way down to the barn, where Dad is waiting. Seeing me approach, he taps his wrist, where a watch would go if he wore one. “Sorry, Dad. Azalea—”
“Say no more, son. I got it. Now, let’s get to work so you can get back to your lady.”
“She’s not my lady, Dad.”
“Not yet, Drake. Not yet, but y’all are soulmates.” I shoot him a dubious look, but the old man just chuckles. “I’m sure of it, son.”
“How sure?” I ask, cringing at the uncertain, hopeful tone of my voice.
“Just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that girl is meant for you.” As pansy as it sounds, his words make hope spark in my heart like flint to kindling.
“You really think so?” I feel like a kid, asking this shit, but . . .
“Yeah, son, I do.”
“We got time for me to ask you a question or two?”
Dad rubs his palms together. “Ooh, girl talk!”
“Never mind, ya old ass—”
“I’ll be serious. What’s up, Drake?”
“After you and Mom split, were you scared to take a chance on Didi?”
Dad gives my words consideration before replying. “Sure, son. I was scared, but not for the reasons you think. Things with your mom . . . they were complicated. We never loved one another, not in the way a man and wife should. We were friends who ended up with a baby. Lord knows, we tried to make it work for you, son, but we just weren’t meant to be.”
“I already know this story, Dad,” I tell him, nudging his shoulder with mine.
Nudging me back, he tells me, “Shut your trap and let me finish. As you know, I met Didi shortly after you and your mom left for Arkansas. I was instantly taken with her, son, but was scared she wouldn’t be interested in a single dad. But I was more scared not to try.”
Dad’s eyes get all misty, and maybe mine do too. “I remember it like it just happened. She was standing in line in front of me at the sub shop in town, and I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, like an angel, and I just looked at her and thought, I’ve got to know her, so I worked up the nerve and introduced myself.
“The line was long, and we got to talkin’, and before I knew it, we were seated together, eating our subs and talking about everything, and when I mentioned you, her eyes lit up. After y’all met and got on like y’all did, the rest was history, Drake. I guess what I’m trying to say is, the thought of not taking a chance on her scared me more than taking one. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, Dad, it does. Now let’s get to work, old man.”
“Old man, my ass. Hop in the Gator. We got work to do, boy,” Dad shoots back, climbing behind the wheel.
With the pedal pressed damn-near to the floor, we take off from the barn, tearing across the field until we reach the section of fence we’re working on. “Damn, Dad, are you tryin’ to kill us?”
“Naw, just making sure we’re both wide awake,” he tells me with a smile as he tosses me my gloves. Silently, we set to work mending the barbed wire, and before I know it, I’m wiping the sweat from my brow and admiring our work.
“Anything else you wanna get done today?” I ask as I store our tools in the bed of the Gator.
“Plenty, son, but I’ll be working with Brent today. You head on home.”
“You sure?” I ask, just as Brent Matheson, our extra set of hands, pulls up in his old truck.
“One hundred and ten percent. Take the cart. I’ll ride back down with Brent when we’re finished working. Give Azalea a hug for me, yeah?”
“Yeah, Dad, will do.” I nod a hello to Brent as I pass his truck, and then I haul ass back to my wom—I mean, Azalea.
>
“Little Bit, you up?” I holler as I kick my muddy boots off by the door.
“Mmmhmm,” I hear her call from the living room. Trudging in, I find her curled up on my couch with her Kindle.
“Whatcha reading?”
“Nothing you’d care about.”
“C’mon now, you don’t know that. Try me,” I tell her, lowering myself onto the cushion next to her.
“Fine, I’m reading a book called Boomerangers.”
“Boom-a-what?” I ask, causing her to let loose peals of laughter, and it’s fucking music to my ears.
“It’s a rom-com about a single mom with a foul-mouthed toddler and her high school sweetheart—”
“Swear to God, you’re speaking another language.” Azalea shoves my shoulder before resting her head on it and sniffing dramatically. “Are you smelling me?”
“Yes, and you stink. Go shower, and I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Sounds good, and maybe after, we can watch a movie—”
“Did you just ask me to Netflix and chill?”
I stand from the couch and quirk a brow at her. “I don’t have a clue what that means. Be back soon, fresh and clean.”
I race through my shower, not wanting to miss a moment with her, because Lord knows, they’re fleeting. So, it’s just the basics, and I’m dressed and crowding her into the kitchen counter.
“Whatcha makin’?” I whisper in her ear, causing a full-body shiver.
“Nothing fancy, just some shells and cheese—”
“With hotdogs,” I finish for her. “Damn, I love yo–that.” I cringe at my almost-admission, praying she missed it, but judging by the way her entire body just tightened, I’m guessing she didn’t. Dammit.
Without even looking at me, she uses her shoulder to push me back and ducks out from between me and the cabinets. “Why don’t you grab us something to drink, and I’ll meet you at the table?” I can hear the strain in her voice, like she’s trying to choke back her tears, and I hate it. I hate that I’m the cause, and I hate the thought that my loving her could cause her so much distress. Guess that just reaffirms what I already knew.