Wicked Thing

by Angeline Kace

  “Are you saying that people knowing you,” I drop my voice, “and me … humiliates you? Because I’ll have you know that I have not slept with nearly half as many of the women in this school who claim I have.”

  She huffs and rolls her eyes. So much spunk. When she channels that into her kiss, it’s electric. “I doubt that.”

  I shrug. “It is what it is. Even if I could prove it to you, it wouldn’t make you feel any less embarrassed, would it?” I’m somewhat affronted with her response. I’ve had women pissed at me for not calling them after, angry at me for sleeping with someone else the next day, or just plain crazy after sleeping with me, but I’ve never experienced this.

  “Probably not, but can we please not talk about this here?” She looks around, and I notice that the seats are filling up quick.

  I have to change her mind about this. About me. “Only on the condition that we talk about it tomorrow. At the Rusty Nail. Eight o’clock.”

  Her jaw drops. “That sounds an awfully lot like a date.”

  “Do you like people making assumptions about you based on one thing you say, or one thing you do?”

  She arches a brow. “Touché.”

  “I don’t date and I don’t do relationships, so you have nothing to worry about.” She starts to speak, but I roll right over her with my words. “Before you answer, you should be aware that if you say no right now, we will continue to discuss this very private topic in this very public place.”

  Her maple-colored eyes reflect the red from my T-shirt as she glares at me. “Do you have twenty bucks on you?”

  “Yeah, why?” Where the hell is she going with this? I thought I had the upper hand here.

  “For the cab to the Rusty Nail tomorrow night.”

  I grin and shake my head. “Well, all you had to do was say so.” I lift up enough to pull out my wallet, grab an Andrew Jackson, and tuck it into her palm. “Eight o’clock. You stand me up, and I’ll tell everyone you have a mole on your ass.”

  “I do not!”

  “Well, then don’t stand me up.” I wouldn’t really, but she doesn’t know that.

  Professor Keating comes in and passes out the syllabi. “Eight o’clock,” I repeat as I take one and pass the stack to her.

  “I’ll be there,” she singsongs, but she’s not smiling.

  We don’t say much at all during Keating’s course requirements, but when we get to the section that talks about the group project, I lean over and whisper, “Dibs on your group, Rafferty.”

  Her eyes stare at me in horror.

  I smile. “Mole. With hair growing out of it.”

  She grits her teeth. “You better carry your own weight.”

  I lean in closer than necessary and whisper, “I did the other night, didn’t I? I also recall that I carried some of yours for a while.”

  She kicks me in the shin under the table. “Stop,” she mouths.

  I do but only to let her cool off for a while.

  Keating goes over the concepts from chapter one and then releases us.

  Carmyn gathers her stuff in a hurry.

  “We missed you last night during lawn football,” I say.

  Her face tints red. “Oh, I didn’t know you guys were playing.”

  Bullshit. Randall said he told Ava about it. But why the blush? “Well, maybe next time,” I say, picking my battles with this interesting, beautiful creature.

  I’M running ten minutes behind on purpose. If I show up on time, I look like a pansy. Any later and Carmyn might leave, if she shows up at all. I trust she will, though. She cares too much about what other people think. And right now, I’m using that to my advantage. Normally I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks of me, but when Carmyn said she was embarrassed to have slept with me, I cared. Shit, I know I get around, but I’m a good guy. I just have to get Carmyn to see that.

  When I pull into the parking lot of the Rusty Nail, I see her getting out of her friend’s red little coupe. I park my bike near the front again, right near the big-ass Texas flag painted on the building, and kill the engine, waiting for Carmyn to come to me. Ava yells something about Carmyn’s ass looking hot, and Carmyn’s shoulders stiffen. She stands and waves as her friend pulls away.

  I check out her ass. She looks more than fuckable in those skinny jeans, cowgirl boots, and that tight, red-wine shirt hanging off her shoulder just enough to tease me but still look classy. “I thought you were taking a cab,” I say as she strolls over.

  She grins. “Looks like I didn’t have to. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting your twenty bucks back, though. Consider it payment for dragging me all the way out here.”

  I give her a crooked smile. Better than her taking my money and not showing up. “I was planning on the ride over here who to tell first about the big, hairy ass mole.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Now you hold up your end and forget all about your made-up mole on my ass.”

  I rub the stubble on my chin and appraise her. “We’ll see.”

  “You better,” she threatens.

  “Doesn’t count unless we go inside.” I rest my hand on the small of her back, leading her through the heavy steel door. It’s hotter than the devil’s ball sack tonight, but she’s not moving out from under the heat of my palm.

  She surveys the rustic-grunge place as I lead her to my usual table. “Is it always this busy?”

  “Wednesdays are two-dollar drafts for the ladies.”

  “Oh, well, good thing this isn’t a date, or I’d have reason to believe you’re a cheap one.”

  I pull out her chair and look at her, serious as a heart attack. “I didn’t promise that I’d be buying you any drinks, did I?”

  Her face flushes all the way up to the baby hairs at her hairline. “No, I didn’t mean … You didn’t say you would, and I don’t expect you to. I was only giving you a hard time about the drinks. Forget I said anything.” Her eyes are downcast and she’s shaking her head.

  “Damn. You hustle an Andrew Jackson out of me and now I’m about to buy you a drink. Shit, Rafferty.”

  “No! I didn’t say—you don’t have to buy me anything. I’d prefer to buy my own.”

  I don’t listen to her. Instead I walk toward the bar to order drinks.

  “Dallas,” she calls, but I ignore her. Better to have her feel obligated to me for a minute. Not how I usually play things, but I have a feeling she isn’t going to be a usual anything. If she stays with me long enough to play another game of darts and gets to know me a little bit more than just the man all the ladies like to fuck, I’ll feel even-Steven about the whole thing.

  “Who’s the lady friend?” Gina asks. She’s seen me leave with a lot of different women, but never has she seen me walk in with one.

  “An experiment.”

  She looks over at Carmyn. Her posture’s stiff. “Nope. She won’t go for it.”

  I flinch. “For what? Who said I was going for anything with her?”

  “What the hell does ‘experiment’ mean, wiseass? And what are you two drinking tonight?”

  Gina doesn’t need to know that I want Carmyn to get to know me. I’m not even sure what I think about it, to be honest. “I’ll have the usual. And for her … let’s go with a cranberry and gin.”

  Gina lifts her cute little eyebrow at me as she fills my cup with ice.

  Cranberry and gin is a lighter drink. And it’s not specifically sexy, either. Also not my style when ordering for a lady. I have a feeling Carmyn is expecting me to bring her back a sex on the beach, or something along those lines. Which is exactly why I won’t.

  I take our drinks back to the table. A band is playing tonight instead of karaoke. It’s a nice change. And the band is damn good too. I’ve seen them play here before. They’re a native Texas band, and they play the real Texas country, not that pop country shit you hear on the radio. No, these guys are bold and self-assured. Just as the badass music writer for the local paper described them in her recent write-up.

&
nbsp; Carmyn’s loosened up enough to bob her head to the deep beats by the time I make it to the table. She looks at her glass and then at me. “What is it?”

  “Cranberry and gin.”

  She smiles, and it does something strange inside my chest. Not a flutter like I’ve heard pansyasses describe effects from a woman, but more of a melting sensation. And not cheesy, romantic-comedy, either. More like she’s melting some of the walls I’ve constructed to keep people out. I’m going to have to be careful with this one. For some reason, I get the distinct feeling things will end badly between us.

  I let Carmyn relax a little more, easing into the band and her drink. When she looks at me, catches me looking at her and doesn’t look away, I know she’s forgotten to be nervous. “Let’s play a game of darts. I’ll let you have a rematch.”

  She laughs and hops off her stool. “You’re going down.”

  I pull the darts out of the board and hand them to her. “If you’re the one taking me, I’ll willingly go.” Our eyes meet for a heated breath so hot, neither of us looks away for fear of being burned.

  She opens her mouth, her lips torturing me with how slowly they spread.

  I lick my lips and swallow.

  She breaks eye contact and aims her first dart, shooting it just outside the triple ring.

  I let her shoot the next one before interrupting. “What was your favorite activity as a kid?”

  She smiles so wide, it’s as if she’s recalling whatever it is all over again, right in front of her. “Dance.”

  I can see that. “A little ballerina.”

  “I wasn’t fond of ballet, actually. Jazz dancing was my favorite.”

  “Do you still take classes?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You always look so happy when you’re dancing. And it’s more than just because you’re drunk.”

  She laughs, and then her face turns serious again. “I quit after my parents got divorced, and then I never picked it up again.” She positions her next dart and throws. There’s sadness in her voice. Regret, sure. But something deeper.

  I pluck her darts off the board and walk back behind the line next to her. “I’m sorry to hear that. My parents divorced when I was ten. Threw my life upside down too.”

  She looks at me now and we share a moment only those who’ve experienced the same pain can understand. I’m not sure in what way her life was torn apart by her parents’ divorce, but it was. At the least, she lost dance, something she loves.

  “Do you think you’ll ever start dancing again?”

  “I never thought about it, to be honest. My major is in accounting and dance has just never been in the same place I was, I guess.”

  I shoot my first dart, landing a D20.

  “Wow! That’s pretty good. You’re kicking my ass. Again.” She doesn’t look too upset about it, though. She’s having fun, from what I can tell.

  “Well, why not sign up for a class? It doesn’t have to be one on campus. I’m sure they have studios all over the place.”

  I aim for the next shot.

  “I dunno.”

  I drop my hand and turn to her. “Why not? You love it, right? What’s holding you back?”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. A different lifetime. A different me.”

  “I still think you should do it.” I turn back to the board and hit a single four.

  She smirks and shakes her head. Yeah, I’m going easy on her. I want this game to last. Maybe the four was too noticeable, though. “What? I can’t ask you to play and then slaughter your ass. You have to get a few rounds in.” I hold back my grin.

  “Yeah, whatever. Show-off.” She struts over to the board and pulls the darts.

  “Where’d you learn to play?”

  Her eyes look far away, lost in a different time and memory, this one bittersweet. “My dad taught me. But that was a long time ago. Before the divorce.”

  “Did you guys not keep it up after, then?”

  “No, he left the board at our house when he moved out, and then it was just a sore reminder that he wasn’t there. I asked him about it once, but he didn’t act like he was interested in taking it back, so I let it go. I think he and my mom used to play a lot when I was younger. Maybe it reminded him of an earlier time with her the same way it reminded me of an earlier time with him.”

  She shoots two darts in close succession.

  I’m surprised I’m so interested in her experience. I never tell people about mine, but I feel like I have to share some too to keep her talking. “So was your dad not around much after the divorce?”

  “Oh, no, he was great. It was my mom who was a little iffy.” She glances up at me and that’s when I know I’ve pushed too far.

  I let her throw the next dart without interruption. I retrieve the darts and then come back.

  I hesitate with my first throw, and then look back at her. “My dad tried to be around afterward, but I didn’t want much to do with him.”

  Her eyes tighten and her brows dip.

  “Things got messy during the divorce. I felt I had to choose a side, and I chose Mom’s.” I fling the dart and aim the next.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  I shoot and aim the next, taking my time to go for a triple. I throw and land a trip seventeen. “Don’t be. He made his own bed.” And I leave it at that.

  “I know what you mean,” she says quietly.

  I wonder why her parents got divorced. And why her mom wasn’t around. That’s weird. I’ve heard from a lot of people about dads slacking off, but never the moms. I mean, I’m sure it happens all the time. “How so?” I ask.

  “Well, like my ex,” is all she says.

  I let her get the darts and shoot before asking her anything else. I hesitate to talk about this, but she brought it up, so she can’t be too mad at me for asking. “So you were really going to marry Becker McNally, huh?”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “That was the plan. We weren’t technically engaged yet, but we talked about it all the time, about getting married after graduation.”

  She shoots all three darts. I go to the board and grab them. I want to see her eyes when I give her my response. When she meets mine on the way back to the line, I say, “He’s a dumb-ass.”

  She smiles with her whole face. “He is. And if that’s who he is, I’m glad I’m not marrying him.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  We play the last few rounds. I change the subject and keep her talking. I like the sound of her voice. It’s feminine, but spunky and sultry. I win and ask her if she wants another cran and gin.

  She declines. “I should call Ava to come get me. It’s getting late and I have class tomorrow.”

  I realize I’ve been dreading this moment all night. I did get what I wanted, though; she stayed long enough to play me another game of darts. “Yeah, and I still have a paper to write for my capital budgeting class.”

  She scrunches her face. “Eww, that does not sound fun. And you’re only starting it tonight?” She shakes her head like she can’t fathom it.

  “I do my best work under pressure. Well, except for welding. I like to take my time with that.”

  “Oh, do you work in construction?”

  “No, I weld specialty items. Custom car parts, railings, furniture, statues. Anything really.”

  “Wow, that’s really cool.” We sit at the table as she calls Ava. I can hear her friend pestering her with questions. Carmyn tries to derail them. “I’ll talk to you when you get here. Bye.” She hangs up, embarrassed.

  “She wants details?”

  She shakes her head and tries to keep a smile at bay. “Something like that. Well, thank you. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Oh, well, thank you. And you weren’t nearly the pain in the ass I thought you’d be, either.”

  Her jaw drops. “What? Then why did you blackmail me into coming?”

  “Because I knew you’d either be a pain in the ass, or a lot o
f fun. I was betting twenty on the fun.” I smile and she mirrors me.

  “And thanks for not telling everyone about the pretend mole.”

  “You’re welcome. I never would have anyway,” I say and step away so she can’t slap me or kick me with her sharp-toed boots.

  I was right too, because she’s biting her lip and shaking her head. “You are an ass.”

  “An ass you’ve had fun with every time we get together.”

  She keeps her teeth over her lip to stop it from widening across her face.

  “Admit it.”

  “Fine. I had fun with you tonight.”

  “And …?”

  Her eyes widen—she knows what I’m getting at. “And … thanks for the drink, the game, and the twenty bucks.” She hops off her chair and heads for the door.

  I follow her because there’s no way Ava could be here already, and I’m not about to let the finest ass in this place stand outside the bar alone.

  The door opens and Carmyn looks surprised to see me as the one coming out of it. “I’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

  “How chivalrous.”

  I shrug. “I’m not all bad. No matter how much you want to believe it.”

  “What? I do not!”

  “I dunno. You seemed pretty adamant that our night together somehow lowered your level of cool.”

  She opens her mouth and then closes it. Opens it again and inhales. “It’s just not something I’d normally do, that’s all. Nothing personal.”

  Wow, have I not repeated that same line multiple times in the past? Somehow, it feels very personal, like her standards are normally so much above the likes of me. “Well, maybe that’s why you should’ve done it,” I jab at her, and her shoulders tense, but it’s too late. It’s already out.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing personal, but you’re a little uptight.”

  She glares at me.

  Shit. Shouldn’t have said that, either. Even though it is true. “I don’t mean to offend you, but letting loose sometimes and having fun isn’t always a bad thing.”

  She’s still glaring at me. “Depends on who you ask, I guess.”

  Fuck. This is not the way I wanted this to end. Real smooth, Dallas. Real fucking smooth. I touch her chin and try to bring it back to face me, but she leaves it stiff. I step in front of her.