100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series)

by A. J. Lape

  He extended a hand to Ben. “Dylan Taylor,” he said all formally.

  Ben stood up straighter. “Ben Ryan,” he said, shaking just as ceremoniously. “The new kid in town who’s in love with your best,” he emphasized, “friend. Darcy and I’ve gotten rather close, and I’m disappointed to say you interrupted something that’s been coming for quite some time.”

  Dylan was a hair-trigger away from going gonzo. Ben? He just might be stupid.

  Dylan bent his arm back, shoving me behind his body. I knew Dylan; his attempt at being mannerly went out the door when Ben pulled on his ponkey. “You’re the guy who hit Darcy with your car,” he said accusingly. A muscle ticked in Ben’s jaw, but he didn’t comment. “Let me make something clear here, Ryan. I’m not a fan of yours for various reasons, but if you ever try to force something on Darcy she clearly isn’t ready for, then you’ll have to answer to me. And when I say answer to me,” he said snidely, “it won’t necessarily be with words.”

  Translation? Get out of my lane, fastard.

  Ben laughed with a loud sarcasm. “Well, guess what? There’s a new sheriff in town.”

  “You don’t say,” Dylan said slowly. “I thought I was the sheriff.”

  “Let me see your badge,” Ben taunted.

  A dramatic, smirky pause…and then Dylan said naughtily, “Not in front of Darcy.”

  Ben looked pensive and perplexed at the same time, and then Dylan’s innuendo slowly bled into his eyes. Fire ignited the silver, and I could tell he bit the shiz out of his tongue. My guess was he wasn’t used to the subject of your manhood being an opener. Heck, who was? But this was vintage Dylan—insinuating he was blessed with more below the belt than Ben. Dylan liked to have the last word, sometimes at someone else’s expense. Cocky, but in all fairness, Ben might be just as cocky…or cockier.

  The air crackled with testosterone as they stood stoically, sizing one another up. Dylan had two inches and about forty pounds on Ben, but Ben’s personality was so big it didn’t seem to matter. They were total opposites: jet-black hair versus a coppery brown; bulging muscles versus long and lean. Dylan’s face was classically handsome in its symmetry—the type sculptors mimicked when they thought of the gods. Ben’s was more angular and rugged—the kind in cologne commercials where you thought about shacking up in the woods. What they both had in common were egos the size of the hole in the ozone and a ridiculous fascination with me.

  Ben spoke first. “Let me start again,” he said. “I really like Darcy, and we were having a private conversation where she confided she needed to purge some things from her life. I actually have some ideas on what she could start with.”

  It was settled…Ben was definitely stupid.

  Dylan cut him off, laughing arrogantly. “Private conversation?” he mocked. “Well, I’m always going to know a little bit more than you do, Ryan, and by the way, why don’t you leave, or I’ll purge you out of existence.”

  I put my hands on Dylan’s waist. “Play nice, D.” He wouldn’t budge. “D,” I whispered, tugging his white sweatshirt, “he’s a five-time, MMA world champion. Maybe you shouldn’t provoke him.”

  Dylan totally ignored me, like his ego said it was a moot point.

  “You look like a one trick pony to me,” Ben taunted.

  Dylan’s voice dropped to a growl. “My one trick will drop you to the mat so fast you won’t even have a chance to tap out. Then I’ll get up and have dinner while you’re crying for your mommy.”

  Ben egged him on, either overly confident or overly dumb. I gave him a mean look because the way he provoked Dylan had begun to bother me. “No beating around the bush with you, eh?” Ben grinned.

  “I’m not big on diplomacy,” Dylan replied.

  “A lot of senseless wars start that way.”

  “Sometimes people just need their asses kicked.”

  “You don’t like having your power usurped?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I’m still waiting for it to happen, and you haven’t made a move yet.” If the theory of body language is true, then Dylan’s message was loud and clear. No poaching allowed. I’d seen many a movie where love triangles like this left someone hurt—why did I think that someone would ultimately be me? But I knew Dylan, and I sort of knew Ben. Dylan wouldn’t quit until the current threat was neutralized. I had a feeling the competitive persona of Ben behaved the same way. Heck, he claimed he had the trophies to prove it.

  Colliding thoughts consumed my brain. Dylan would always be my best friend. No question. But he claimed he wanted to be a couple, and I couldn’t deny the physical attraction any more than I needed air to breathe. Ben likewise had asked me out for a legitimate date. You know, where you dress up nice, boy picks you up, and then you go somewhere in public declaring you’re a couple—at least for the night. Ben pursued me. Me, I emphasized in my head when I knew he could pretty much have whomever he wanted. Enter Brynn Hathaway. Enter Collin Lockhart’s words. And something came over me. Something daring, brave, or utterly out-of-my-mind mad. I grabbed Dylan’s gaze and lyingly declared, “Ben is my science experiment, Dylan. We’re going on a date this weekend.”

  It took awhile for those words to register and for Dylan to call up the conversation that hopefully didn’t forever ruin our friendship. His chin raised a fraction, and he ran his hand tenderly down my jaw. His eyes softened. He was going to cry; I knew it, and then I’d be a blubbering fool. Instead, he looked Ben square in the face, threw his head back, and burst into laughter.

  A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.

  —Jackie Robinson

  20. Road Rage

  Dylan was smooth, polished, and seductively alluring; Ben was brusque, edgy, and had no couth whatsoever. That was too many adjectives to think about tonight. Besides, Dylan acted as if a dirty bomb had been strapped to his privates, and I needed to steer clear. I found it confusing Ben had gotten so close to me, but he wasn’t the person I thought about when I tracked on the mistletoe. No, my mind had shifted to Dylan…then I thought of Brynn…then I thought of Dylan and Brynn and a set of twins.

  I deserved a happily-ever-after, right?

  So why had Dylan even graced The Double-B with a visit? Claudia flexed her matchmaking skills and had a neighbor drop her over to pick up her van, phoning Dylan I’d need a ride.

  Sneaky woman. Could she be more obvious?

  But let me tell you. That “ride home” had been the car ride from futher-mudging Hell.

  Dylan’s car felt like a sauna. I wasn’t sure if that was the heat rolling off him or the fact I was a little warm and fuzzy inside myself. Mr. B had lumbered up to the front desk and broke up the nonverbal posturing between Dylan and Ben. Ben dispensed a cocky smile and stupidly ran his knuckles down my cheek, promising, “Later.”

  Something snapped behind him, and I realized it was the pencil Dylan had been twirling. I tried not to smile but couldn’t help it. The look on Dylan’s face was priceless. Whatever, I told myself. I’d probably never see Ben again, but it was nice to know Dylan could lose his cool and Ben had found me desirable.

  We’d driven a few miles and a stubborn line painted on his jaw while his mouth clamped shut. Sometimes I wished he’d scream, curse, or throw things upside my head. His silence was my cue to spur the conversation, and surprisingly I felt a transparency that lately I’d kept hidden.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “Seriously?” he laughed sarcastically.

  “Yes, seriously,” I said quietly.

  “I’ve had a bad day, Darcy.” Well, his day sounded pretty darn good from what Collin claimed. Brynn was all up in his umm…personal effects…and he didn’t seem to mind the intrusion.

  I ignored him and soldiered on. “He asked me out, D. Should I go?”

  Dylan glanced up in
the rearview mirror, and a deafening silence cut through the air. I’d always admired the way Dylan drove. Confident, skilled, and sexy as heck—just like the rest of him. Tonight, however, he seemed jumpy. I heard a muttered f-word, and the angel on my shoulder told me I blackened up not only my soul, but his.

  Grrrrrrrreaaat.

  I repeated the question. Dylan’s resulting sigh made me immediately regret it. “No,” he answered. “You don’t know him.”

  “I kind of know him.”

  “First I’ve heard of that,” he added.

  “Yeah, a lot of firsts are going around,” I countered.

  “…what?”

  I circled back to the original subject while Dylan’s eyes remained riveted to the rearview mirror. “Isn’t dating when you’re supposed to get to know someone?”

  After about fifteen seconds, he answered. “It is, but I didn’t actually think you’d follow through with it. Do you want to date him?” Dylan’s voice went tight. Like something caught in his throat he tried to swallow down. No, I told myself. I didn’t want to do anything except spend time with him, but somehow we’d wound up where we were with this stupid science experiment looming over my head. I simply didn’t know how to go back.

  “I don’t know,” I exhaled. “You have more experience than me. I hear you and Brynn have gotten close. She is your math partner, right?”

  Dylan’s eyes flashed angrily. “You’re trying to find any excuse in the world to start a fight. I swear, Darcy, you’re like a fricking moving target. Every time I make headway, you shoot up another diversion, and I’m back to kickoff. Do you know what makes me angrier than this so called science experiment?” Well, no, but I thought it’d be dumb to ask. “It makes me angry you think I’d even come at you if it didn’t mean something. You’ve been my best friend for years. I’d never screw with your heart unless I thought it could be the best thing that ever happened to us.” His face went blank for a moment, and I couldn’t read him. “Are you sure about your feelings for me?” he finished.

  My answer came fast. “Always,” I said sheepishly. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of in my life.”

  Instead of fostering one of those heart-pounding reunions, all it did was fan the flames on his anger. “Then that means you aren’t sure about me,” he barked. “And that irritates the hell out of me. But to make myself clear, if you aren’t willing to give us a chance, then you should never date someone who treated you disrespectfully. Ben Ryan is an ass. You saw that in the way he treated me. And I’d like to think that maybe you’ve got my back as much as I still have yours.”

  Direct hit.

  Straight to the heart.

  My voice was small, embarrassed. He was right on all counts. “Of course, I have your back, D.” Silence on his end. “I didn’t like what Ben said, but you don’t always leave room to insert dialogue. I’m sorry if looked like I didn’t care when he was goading you.”

  “Seriously, I didn’t need the assist,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.

  Now I was confused. “But you just said—”

  He cut me off. “I know what I said, Darcy, but actions are an indication of how someone feels. Sometimes I feel so unbelievably close to you, and others I feel like you have a gun trained on my heart, and you’ve pulled the trigger.”

  “I’d never hurt you,” I said quickly.

  “Not intentionally,” he amended, “but we’re off, Darc. How do I get back in there, honey? Tell me.”

  I dumbly said, “I don’t know.” Dylan didn’t say anything, just kept up with the quiet church mouse routine. “Why are you being so quiet?”

  He closed his eyes. Opened them. “I’m wondering how patient I am.”

  For those of you who are idiots, allow me to translate. Dylan was growing tired of this gig. Once again, he shot his gaze through the rearview mirror. This time with an accompanying frown. This was an emotionally charged conversation, and it grated on my last nerve that he only halfway listened. “You’re not even paying attention to me!” I snapped.

  He gave me a split second of his amber eyes. “I am paying attention, Darcy. I’m just trying to figure out why this guy has been tailing us for the last three miles.”

  “Maybe he’s just going in the same direction.”

  “Perhaps, but that car was parked outside of Belinski’s when I arrived and also when we left. A guy was sitting in the passenger seat, texting on his phone. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. When leaving, the car was empty.”

  “Do you make it a habit of casing the place?” I mockingly laughed.

  He gave me his eyes for another beat and glanced back up into the mirror. “When I’m with you, yeah. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you don’t exactly behave like your average girl. And frankly, I’m getting a bad vibe.”

  Pivoting in my seat, I tried to get a bead on the automobile behind us. The silhouette of a male illuminated its cab, but mix its headlights with the Beemer’s taillights, and I couldn’t make out anything more. Others might have been in the car, and the reason I assume that is because Dylan had witnessed someone sitting in the passenger side beforehand. That meant the passenger merely waited for the driver to return. Let’s theorize they did mean us harm. More bodies meant Dylan could be double or triple-teamed. I didn’t like those odds. My eyes snagged a partial license plate number—CBH4 something-something-something.

  While I committed it to memory, Dylan swung a left onto a side street, speeding up and taking a sharp right onto another road. The car behind us…followed. My stomach suddenly jumped to my mouth. If Dylan’s gut was right, a good possibility existed this was Brantley McCoy. He didn’t know me as Darcy Walker, but if the theory of crooks was true…that they all knew one another…then he’d be aware Vinnie Vecchione was the one who’d almost killed him. It’s plausible he saw us driving away from his home, and it was common knowledge Vinnie and I were BFFs. Thing was, Vinnie was just Vinnie. A guy who grew up hard, but his heart was always in the right place even if his actions were questionable. Brantley was different. According to Vinnie, he was only one breath away from insane.

  “Did you get a good look at him?” I whispered.

  “Not good enough.”

  Okay, Dylan was borrowing trouble. We were good. Nothing was wrong. We needed to rebound back to the conversation. Ben Ryan. Me. Science project. “D—”

  He uncharacteristically interrupted when he stopped at a red light, his eyes still riveted behind us. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said tenderly but with a mulish determination. “I know how this is going to go down between us in the end. Do I like what happens in the meantime? No. But I agreed to it. What I’m saying to you doesn’t come from jealousy, although a little bit admittedly does. It comes from me worrying about you. I will worry about you until the last breath leaves my body.”

  M’kay. That statement burned all kinds of HOT.

  I fought the overwhelming desire to launch myself across the seat and have my wicked way with him. Rip his clothes off. Maybe some hair. Anything I could get my stinking hands on sounded good. Holy cow, I didn’t have the chance because next thing I knew, the car behind us tapped the bumper. That’s right…tapped it. I gasped and shakily turned around. Yup. Still one guy. When I settled back in my seat, Dylan’s face and body hadn’t change. He merely leaned forward on the steering wheel, not tearing his eyes from the mirror.

  “D, just drive,” I begged, grabbing his leg.

  Those words were futile. Dylan never backed down. He was born a fighter, whether right or wrong. His lips parted, but his words were drowned out by another, harder double tap on the bumper. All I kept thinking was this was a Beemer. The Beemer, I emphasized in my brain. That was like breaking one of the cardinal laws of the universe. You never mar a German-made car…ever.

  After one more tap, Dylan level
ed me with a seriously deadly stare, leaned over, and cupped my chin in his hand. Tugging me across the console, his head slanted across mine, and he pressed a hard kiss on my lips. Stunned. Seriously stunned. Add speechless to the mix too. This wasn’t the kind of passion I would’ve considered ideal, but the emotions in his car would no doubt paralyze a monk. I wasn’t sure I liked this type of kiss, but I sure as heck didn’t not like it either. It was angry and challenging, and he proved it when he pulled back and ordered, “No matter what, you do not get out of this car. You hear me? Call 911 and stay put, yeah?”

  The tone of his voice was soft yet downright scary, but I still wondered if we were in the Twilight Zone. This stuff didn’t happen in Valley, but the file clerk in my brain reminded me I’d found a partially decomposed skeleton over the weekend. And you can add that Nico Drake got killed and then walked home. But you know what? That was my life. I wasn’t normal. Stuff like this happened to me…it wasn’t supposed to happen to Dylan. Before I could answer, he grabbed a baseball bat from the back seat and jumped out of the car, ready to beat the holy shiz out of the driver.

  What the ever-lovin’ minion of Hell…

  He thought I’d stay put?

  I’m a verb, for God’s sake—not some whiny, teenage girl too stunned to move. I was his wingman, and I’d never leave him unguarded, even if it meant I might get my lights punched out while covering him. Not to mention he was in possession of a deadly weapon. Even if he’d been unprovoked, the law wouldn’t look too kindly on someone swinging a wooden bat.

  I got my verb on and pushed the passenger side door wide. “No, Dylan!” I screamed.

  Dylan had no sooner made it to the driver’s side window when the car backed up in a squeal, peeled out, and tore through the intersection.