Chloe turns to Luke and me, standing there looking adorable in the strapless pink dress, I know she hates, and says to me, “C’mon, cupcake, this isn’t our circus. Let’s get out of here.” She holds her hand out to me and I take it without hesitation, as I have every time she’s ever made the gesture. She tangles our fingers together and murmurs so only I can hear her, “You’re gonna be okay, Raif.” I know she wouldn’t lie to me. Not ever. But I can’t help but wonder if she’s right as she tugs me away from the wreckage of my non-wedding.
Luke, Chloe and I are now locked inside the calm of The White Oak Saloon or Merle’s as it’s more affectionately known to the locals. It’s Chloe’s place, was her granddaddy’s before he passed on a few months ago. Chloe, brilliant girl that she is, locked the door and closed all the blinds when we came in. She knows that people know me well enough to know that I’ll be hiding in my second home with my favorite people. And sure enough there’ve been several knocks on the front door. Chloe’s ignored them all. I felt bad that she wasn’t opening the bar up like usual until I remembered she’d planned on being closed this evening anyway to host my wedding reception.
Luke is seated next to me at the scarred but gleaming bar, his suit jacket tossed carelessly on the bar next to him. His bow tie is gone, his dark hair messy from him raking his fingers through it. Otherwise, he looks like he does any other time we sit in these same seats while Chloe works. I’m still dressed as I was when Chloe towed me away from the town square. I feel numb inside. And a little relieved if I’m being honest. The Jack Daniels is helping me not feel anything at all, though.
When we arrived, Chloe set down coasters at our usual seats, brought out two glass tumblers filled with ice, a bottle of Jack and a two-liter bottle of coke. Then she poured a Guinness for Luke and disappeared into the office behind the bar. A moment later, the central air kicks on, the voice of Johnny Cash singing Ring of Fire fills the bar, and I start drinking.
Five minutes later, Chloe emerges behind the bar in denim cut offs and a black tank top. Her feet in flip flops and her thick, dark hair, which had been curled and had tiny pink rosettes pinned in it as it hung down her back, pulled up in a high ponytail. The flowers are all long gone, but the curls remain. I’m betting the pink dress is in the trash bin somewhere in the back, never to be seen again. She left the high heeled shoes she hated in the square. I snort at the recollection causing her to look up at me, alarm clear on her face.
“What’s so funny, cupcake?” She asks me, bending down behind the bar and coming back up with a bowl of peanuts and then pretzels. “Eat something, please. I’d prefer you not pickle yourself.” She looks pointedly at the still full bottle of soda and the much emptier whiskey one.
“Not drunk.” I mumble back at her, but I shove a few pretzels in my mouth to appease her. Most men would take exception at being called cupcake, I know, but it’s something I must stand without complaint. Brought it on myself when we were watching Grease one wintery evening in our teens and Frenchie’s date to the dance called her a beautiful blonde pineapple or some such nonsense. Chloe looked at me all put out and said, “Why do men insist upon calling women food names?”
Being young and stupid, I didn’t realize the best course of action was to say I have no idea and agree that Frenchie’s date was a putz. Instead I said, “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that. I wouldn’t mind someone calling me cupcake or something like that.” And the nickname was born. I cannot—will not—tell her she was right. Never. So, I get called cupcake a lot now.
Luke chuckles. “Oh, brother, yes, you are. But it’s okay.” He takes another swallow of his Guinness, I don’t know if that’s still his first or if there’ve been more. He sighs, checking his watch. He looks up at Chloe, “You need me to take him home later?”
He sounds sober. It hasn’t been that long, maybe an hour. I’ve only had a few shots. I eye the half-empty whiskey bottle and think again about the number. I haven’t been keeping track. I don’t want to think because once I start, inevitably my brain will betray me, and Pippa will be there waiting to eviscerate me.
Chloe comes around the bar with a bottle of water and sits down on the stool next to mine. How Not to by Dan + Shay starts playing and I groan, not wanting to hear the song that has always reminded me of Pippa’s and my relationship. Chloe rests her tiny hand on my arm, comforting me and looks at Luke. “I’ve got him covered for the night, don’t you worry. If there’s somewhere you have to be, it’s okay. We’ll be fine.”
Luke holds Chloe’s green eyes for a moment and then sighs, almost sounding wistful. I shake my head at myself. That can’t be right. Sure, they dated for a few months, back in high school, but that's been over for ages. They've been friends ever since, never any awkwardness between them. Maybe I am drunk. “I’ll only be a phone call away if you need me, sweet tart.”
She smiles sweetly at him. “I know you are, Luke. Troy’s picking you up?” Everything Chloe does is sweet in my opinion. She’s one of those purely goodhearted people that God put here to help the rest of us keep our shit together. Or so I’m convinced. I take another shot of whiskey absently as I watch them.
Luke shakes his head. “I’mma walk it. Troy’s found himself a date.” Of course he has, Troy could walk into a convent and leave with dates for the next week lined up.
Chloe’s eyes flash. “No way. I’ll call Bran to come pick you up. You are not walking, you’re not exactly steady.” He opens his mouth to argue but she cuts him off. “Don’t even try it. I know you, Luke Benson. You will sit on that stool until someone comes to collect you or I will bring you home later.”
I chuckle. “Don’t bother arguing, brother. You know our Chloe doesn’t play around with people’s safety.”
He cuts me a look I can’t read and says to her, “Don’t you have enough to be getting on with here without worrying about me, too?”
She huffs out an exasperated breath at him. “Like I’d be able to relax not knowing if you’d managed to meander your way to your place and not into a ditch somewhere.”
Luke snorts at her. “Chloe, love, this is White Oak, there are no ditches.” He tilts his head to the side, clearly considering his next word. “I’d be more likely to find my way into the lake, but not a ditch.”
She glares at him, and I duck my head, so I’m not caught in the crossfire any longer. I rest my head on the bar, letting my eyes fall closed. I hear Luke say, “Okay, don’t look at me like that. One of these days you’re gonna turn someone to stone with the power of your mind. I don’t want you feeling all that guilt over little old me.”
Chloe’s clearly trying to hide laughter from her voice when she says, “You just hush, Luke.”
She rests her hand on the top of my head before running her fingers over my hair and I sigh at the touch. I hear her moving away from me and despair tugs at me. I want her to come back. I like having her next to me, touching me. But I open my eyes and watch her move around to the other side of the bar. She ducks down, coming back up with another bottle of water. She hands it to Luke.
“Drink that and sit still.” She’s rocking her Mom voice today. I watch her through my lashes as she pulls out her phone and starts texting.
A few minutes later she tells Luke, “Bran will be here in ten to bring you home. You stay in when you get there, you hear me?”
Luke sighs sadly. “You are just no fun, sweet tart.” He downs his water and pushes the empty bottle and his empty glass towards her. “Yes, I promise I will stay in once I arrive home. No wandering into anything potentially fun or dangerous for me tonight.”
She smiles at him again. “Good, because we kinda like having you around.”
She busies herself tidying things up behind the bar and I watch her absently, enjoying the way her body moves with quick efficiency. Everything bounces invitingly as she leans and stretches, putting things away and getting ready to close things up. I sit up to take another shot and see Luke’s watching her, too.
He shakes
himself when he catches my eye, and asks, “Rehearsal at two tomorrow, right?”
I nod. “Yes.” Pippa and I weren’t planning on a honeymoon since she knew the band was booked solid for the next few months. I reach for the whiskey again and notice that Chloe has taken it away and there’s a bottle of water in front of me now. I pout, but she’s at the other end of the bar and I sigh, defeated. I twist the bottle open and take a long pull before I say, “You’ll remind Brandon?”
Luke stretches as he stands when there’s a beep outside. “Yep. Troy, too.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You let Chloe take care of you, okay? We’ll see you in the barn tomorrow.”
Chloe comes around the bar to hug Luke goodbye. I notice the way his hand rests on the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest, as he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Something shifts in my chest uncomfortably, but I can’t put my finger on why. “Holler if you need anything.”
Chloe grins up at him, “I will.” She walks with him to the front door where she opens it to let him out. I hear her thank Brandon, and once she’s sure Luke’s safely ensconced in Bran’s truck, she comes back in and locks the door behind herself. I’m surprised to see the sun is going down outside. I had no idea we’d been holed up here that long. I look up and see Chloe is standing in front of me, her full mouth turned down on one side as she studies my face.
“What is it?” I ask, reaching out to catch a stray curl that’s escaped her ponytail, rubbing the silky strands through my fingers and forcing her to take a step closer. I like her closer. I’m not supposed to, and I try to hide it usually because she’s too fine, too good for me to sully. I let my other hand move to her hip and pull her so she’s standing between my knees, my back to the bar now. She smells like sunshine to me, always has. Her green eyes are huge and hooked on mine, looking like she thinks I might be crazy.
“What are you doing, Raif?” She asks softly, her voice practically a whisper. Her small hands are on my chest, just resting there and I want them on my skin. I want her. It’s a fact I try hard to hide most of the time. From Pippa, from myself, from the whole world. No more Pippa, though. And I’m so tired of wanting her and denying myself.
“I’m just touching your hair, it’s soft.” I say, trying to downplay how badly I want to pull her even closer, taste her mouth, claim some of that sweetness for myself.
She relaxes a little, her hand moving to my cheek, and then feathering my hair off my face. “You are drunk, cupcake. Want to bunk with me upstairs tonight?”
I hold back a groan when her hand touches my face, nod at her question. “I’d be much obliged.”
I release her hair, letting my fingertips trail over her bare shoulder and down her arm, my other hand still gripping her hip. I see a delicate shiver run over her and I give in to the devil on my shoulder and pull her right up against me, her body soft and warm. I drop my head and kiss her shoulder softly, like a whisper against her skin. Her head moves to the side and I move my mouth over her skin, towards the bend of her neck. The tantalizing curve there teases me, and I taste her skin, hear her sharp intake of breath. I keep going, moving up to her ear where I whisper, “I want you.”
I feel a moan tremble through her. She turns her head as her body arches into mine, as though without her permission. Her hands fist in my hair. “You don’t know what you’re saying right now, Raif.” Her voice shakes, she’s breathless already. I can tell she feels it too, this pull between us.
I cup her cheek in my hand, running my thumb over her mouth, holding her green gaze captive. “I do,” I insist. “I’ve wanted you forever, Chloe. Please…. It doesn’t have to go anywhere. Just give me tonight.”
Something I don’t understand passes through her eyes in a flash and then she leans in and presses her lips to mine. It’s a soft kiss. Tentative; but it sparks the need that’s been simmering in me, just for her. Need that I’ve felt for far too long. I lick the seam of her lips and when she parts them I slip my tongue inside to explore her mouth. Her mouth is pliant under my own, her hands clutching my shoulders while I take my time memorizing her taste and every crevice of her perfect mouth.
I stand up off my stool, my mouth only inches from hers, with the intention of putting Chloe on the stool so she’s more comfortable. But I stumble.
Her eyes go from dazed to alert in two seconds flat. Her body straightens under my hands. She looks worried now. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I swear. Come back.” I wheedle.
Her voice is firm, though, all traces of the lust she seemed to be feeling before gone. Maybe I was wrong? “You are drunk,” she says, and I can’t pinpoint the tone in her voice. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs, Raif.”
I want to argue. I want to insist that I am fine, and I want her. I want her right now before she can talk herself out of it. But one look at her pretty face tells me it would be pointless. She’s come back to her senses. Instead I simply nod and let her lead me up the stairs like I’m an old man. I should’ve known better than to think anything was going to happen between us. She’s bound to know she’s way too good for the likes of me.
Chapter 3
Chloe
When I wake the next morning, Raif is already gone. I feel shame color my cheeks when I recall his kiss from the night before. He was clear that it wouldn’t have meant anything. Thank God nothing actually happened. Just some kissing, no big deal. We’ll be fine. We came to our senses before any real damage had been done.
That fills me with a bone-achingly deep sense of sadness. The only way he’d want to be physical with me is if it was just one night. At least I know for sure now. Raif and I will never be anything more than friends. I can accept that. No problem. And the moon is made of cream cheese. I sigh at myself. I need to get moving and get the saloon up and running for the day. We lost a whole day and night’s worth of revenue thanks to Pippa and it will hurt when it comes time to pay the bills later in the month. But Raif needed his privacy and I needed to at least pretend I could help him feel better. It’s not like him to just disappear this way but I try not to examine that too closely. We’ll be fine. We have to be.
Less than an hour later, I’m downstairs setting up for the day to come. I basically grew up in this building. Whenever my grandparents could sneak me away from my mother, I was here. I helped them fill napkin dispensers to earn pocket money; danced in the corner in front of the stage while country music played on the jukebox. When I think about home, this place is what springs to mind. That’s why I stayed in my apartment upstairs after Merle passed away. This is where we spent our time together, where I still feel them both looking down on me.
The interior is designed like something from an old western movie; the classic saloon doors that swing in and out, hardwood floors that always end up coated in peanut shells at the end of the night. An assortment of battered old cowboy hats and boots are hung on the walls along with black and white pictures of movie cowboys and classic country music stars.
Behind the bar, there’s framed photos of me when I was younger, of my grandparents on their wedding day, the day they opened this place. There’s one single picture of my mother when she was a child. Her tangle of dark hair falls to the middle of her back, oversized pink sunglasses are perched on her nose as she poses with her hands on her hips in a plastic kiddie pool. She looks happy, carefree. I’ve never seen her look like that in my lifetime.
When I was younger, before I learned that my mother didn’t love anyone. Not even herself. Before, though, I’d spend hours thinking up ways to make her like me, want to spend time with me. Everything from being on my best behavior to cleaning up the house after her and her boyfriends. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing ever worked. As I got older, I stopped trying. Instead, I focused on staying out of her house as often as possible.
My staff should begin arriving soon and then I can try and find Raif and attend to a few errands I’ve been putting off. Every spare moment I’ve had for the last two wee
ks has been devoted to helping with the wedding that didn’t happen. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I shoot a quick text message to Luke asking if he’s seen Raif today. It’s still early for Luke to be up and about after drinking the night before, so I try not to stress when he doesn’t immediately respond as he normally would.
I stare at my phone like an idiot for a few moments, waiting for it to do something. Anything would do, even a measly emoticon text letting me know he’s alive. I shake myself after a full two minutes of silent communion with my empty screen, I have things to do, damn it. I am not normally this neurotic. I force the wedding, Raif, and our disastrous kiss out of my head and get to work, determined not to dwell on any of it right now.
The problem with trying to put it out of my head is that Raif has been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember. When we were kids and my mother would get black-out drunk or high and forget to cook or food shop, I would turn up at Raif’s back door and he would sneak me snacks. That was when his father was still around, so we had to hide it from the adults. Then in high school when my mother brought her new men around at night and I didn’t feel safe, I’d sneak out my window. Violet Montgomery grew accustomed to coming in to wake her son up for school and finding me cuddled up with him.
Pippa didn’t like it, but Raif was my safe place. He was the one who had always been there when my doorknob rattled at night and I felt fear creep into my chest. Or when my mother came home high and decided she didn't want me around to distract her boyfriends. I could never confide in Pippa about my mother and the way she lived. Raif knows, though, he’s seen it all. Just like I’d been there to clean up his injuries after beatings from his father.
Pippa didn’t know about any of that, though. She wasn’t good at going beyond the surface of things. Her life was easy, picture perfect, and she didn’t really take the time to see that wasn’t so for Raif or me. Either way, Pippa would never say anything to Raif about her true feelings. She felt no such reluctance with me. She'd snarled at me to stay away from her man many times when he was out of earshot and then reverted to her sweeter self when he returned. I kept my mouth shut, seeing her insecurity for what it was, but I refused to be run off.
Renegade Heart (Renegades Book 1) Page 2