by Cat Johnson
He didn’t want to live like that anymore.
The knowledge tickled the back of his mind, but the words never made it out of his mouth. Maybe because his mouth was too busy biting her neck, marking her. She raked her nails down his back, likely leaving marks of her own.
Their sex always had been intense. Rough. Passionate. Almost violent, just like their relationship. The worse the fight, the harder the makeup sex. Today’s argument had been nothing compared to their usual, but Jace was too needy, too deprived for too frigging long to not take her hard and fast.
Two fingers thrust inside her told him she was wet and ready. The damn woman always had gotten off from arguing with him. Jacqueline threw her head back, eyes slammed shut from the feel of his invasion. He could bring her to orgasm fast enough. Just a thumb or his mouth on her would do it. He knew her so well, it would take no effort at all, but he was mad and he needed to be inside her. Needed to pound away the emotions.
Jace reached for the drawer next to the bed.
“There aren’t any more in there. You used the only one left last time you were here.”
There’d been plenty of times he had gone without protection with Jacqueline throughout the years, but not now that they were broken up. Especially not after Tuck’s revelation about Emma and Logan’s unplanned surprise. He sat up. “I have some in my gear bag. Be right back.”
“You what? You carry condoms in your gear bag?” Her eyes opened wide.
Crap. He realized his mistake too late. Jace knew that tone, knew that look. He sighed. “Yes, I have a box of condoms in the truck.”
“Why? Who are you fucking at the arena, Jace? Her? The one I heard on the phone tonight?”
“I’m not having sex with anyone besides you, Jacqueline.”
He should lie and tell her he’d picked up a new box because he’d remembered they’d used the stash he always kept in her drawer, but she’d see the box wasn’t new. Some were missing.
He could tell the truth, that he’d started carrying that box around with him shortly after they’d broken up. Since he hadn’t been with anyone else, he’d never used even one. The strip missing were the ones he’d given to Tuck the night he met Becca. But there was no winning a fight with Jacqueline when she got jealous and irrational.
“You’re a pig! You fuck your little tramp and then come here to my bed?” Jacqueline reinforced her accusation by grabbing the phone next to the bed and throwing it at him.
Only his quick reflexes blocked it from hitting him in the face. It bounced off his forearms as he held them in front of him. She threw a pillow next, which was fine. That couldn’t hurt, but when she reached for the lamp— the new wrought iron lamp he’d noticed when he’d walked in—he took a step back.
He couldn’t count how many times he’d walked away from a fight with Jacqueline, scratched and bruised. Being a bull rider, he was always hurt, so no one questioned or even noticed a few more injuries. The physical stuff healed. The hurt inside . . . not so much.
Yanking the plug from the wall, she hoisted the lamp over her head and his anger broke through. Jace had never once laid a hand on her. Even when she’d broken his nose, he’d done nothing but try to protect himself from the blows.
No more. He grabbed her forearm and held tight, hard enough to leave bruises from his fingers. The way he teetered on the edge of losing his temper and his control, if she hit him with that lamp, one or both of them would end up in the hospital.
“No, Jacqueline. No more.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to—”
“No. No more berating me, or jealousy, or hitting me. No more sex. No more phone calls. Nothing. I have never once cheated on you. Never given you cause to feel or act the way you do. I can’t do this anymore. Don’t call me. Don’t text. Don’t come by my house or my work. I’m sorry, but we can’t even be friends. We sure as hell are no good at it.” He managed to keep his voice calm even as his heart thundered.
The hand that held her shook, but still he held tight. He stayed strong. He couldn’t do this anymore. Live in limbo. Hang on to a small thread of a relationship that he knew deep down was toxic to them both. She’d begun to act crazy months after they’d started dating, but he’d lived in hope she’d get over it, that she’d realize he wanted to be with her and only her. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen.
Jace released his hold on her and remained braced to block a blow, but it didn’t come. She stood before him, wide-eyed and shaking, looking small and vulnerable and making him want to do the one thing he couldn’t let himself—wrap his arms around her and comfort her.
This woman drove him nuts. He’d survived two of the rankest bulls on the circuit tonight, but he’d be lucky to get out of her apartment without a concussion or a few broken bones from a hundred and twenty pound woman wielding a bedside lamp.
In the midst of it all, he felt sorry for her. How crazy was that?
Jacqueline was his drug, his addiction, his kryptonite, and because of that, the only thing to do was go cold turkey. Walk out that front door, drive away, and never look back. No matter how much it hurt both of them.
“Good-bye, Jacqueline.” He turned and headed for the bedroom door. Flinching at the sound of the lamp hitting the floor, he kept walking.
“Jace.” The sound of her footsteps followed him down the hallway. “Please, wait.”
He put one hand on the doorknob and turned it, ignoring her plea and the sob that followed it.
Outside, the cool night air hit his face as he strode for the truck.
“Fine. Never come back!” Her front door slammed behind him, hard and loud, the sound cutting through the quiet of the night. With the truck doors locked and the key in the ignition, he let himself glance back, half expecting to see her running at him with the lamp, or the baseball bat he knew all too well was in the hall closet. But the front door didn’t open again. He pulled away from the curb. Only then, did Jace let himself breathe freely again.
The first text came before he’d left her block.
I’m sorry. Please come back.
In the past, this would have been where he’d make a U-turn. Spin the truck around, go back, and bury the anger with makeup sex. Things would be fine until the next fight began. He couldn’t do it anymore. Drawing in a bracing breath, he stayed on course for his own apartment.
The second text followed before he’d driven five more miles.
Where are you? Going over to fuck her? Have fun!
Jace shook his head and swiped a palm over the moisture in his eyes.
This Jacqueline—the angry, irrational one—was a hell of a lot easier to resist than the soft, tear-filled one. He hit the button to power down his phone. He knew her. The texts and phone calls wouldn’t stop all night. In fact, there was a good chance she’d drive over, if not tonight, then by tomorrow at sunrise, and bang on his door until he let her in to prove he didn’t have a girl inside. In fact, given the mood she was in, it was almost a certainty.
He couldn’t go home. The battle would just continue there. Knowing that, he swung a sharp left and headed away from his apartment, toward the practice arena used by the Oklahoma State rodeo team he sometimes helped Tuck coach.
He’d slept in his truck before, and chances were he’d do it again. It was part of life on the rodeo circuit. Sometimes it was easier to pull over and sleep for a few hours rather than get a hotel room for the night. It was sure as hell cheaper. There’d been other times he’d spent the night in the truck in a parking lot, sleeping off a drunk. He didn’t drink and drive, but that didn’t mean he always took a taxi home. The truck was good enough for him for one night at times such as those, and it was good enough now.
Eventually, he’d have to turn on his phone again and go home. He’d figure out what to do about that later, after some sleep and distance. Jace cut the engine and stared out into the night. Peace and quiet. Nothing but the stars and the empty practice arena.
Easing the seat back as far as
it would go, he tilted his hat lower, slumped down and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be a better day. True or not, he had to believe it.
Chapter Four
Tara was startled awake by something she couldn’t identify in her current state of exhaustion. She was lucky she remembered where she was, she was so tired. Slowly, the surroundings began to make sense, and so did the noise that had awoken her.
No way. That could not possibly be Tuck and Becca having sex in the next room. They wouldn’t do that knowing Tara had slept in the guest room just one thin wall away. Would they?
As the sound of moaning filtering through the wall grew louder, Tara decided that yes, they would.
Pale morning light was just beginning to filter through the window blinds when she forced herself all the way awake. Figuring that getting up and heading for the kitchen, even at the insanely early hour, was better than staying in bed and being subjected to the horror of listening to her brother have sex, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Last night, Tara had had just enough energy to take off the clothes tinged with arena dirt and had slept in her oversized white T-shirt. It was good enough to sleep in; it would have to be good enough to make tea in. The hem reached down to mid-thigh. She was covered enough to stumble out of the spare room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. If her sex-maniac brother came out to the kitchen and found her in her shirt and no pants, too bad. She might be up, but she wasn’t awake enough to get dressed.
She was so not ready to be awake yet, but at least she was on the other side of the condo and out of hearing range.
Padding around the kitchen barefoot, Tara decided, sex sounds aside, it wasn’t such a bad place. Tuck had good taste for a man and he always kept his stuff impeccable. That must be the army training. Now that he was married to Becca, she’d added a few more feminine touches, such as the teakettle and the assortment of flavored teas. It had to be Becca. Tuck would sooner drink out of a puddle along the side of the road than drink hot chamomile or vanilla chai tea.
Tara perused the assortment, smelling a few, reading the boxes of a few others. Finally she settled on one. She grabbed a cinnamon teabag and dropped it into one of the mugs she found in the cabinet above the stove. While she waited for the water to boil, she glanced around her.
Nope, the place wasn’t too bad at all.
The condo was nice and big. The town of Stillwater was centrally located. It had lots of places to eat and plenty of men Tara’s age with OSU right there. It might be the perfect place to come back to and crash between travels to the competitions in the next three weeks. If Tuck loaned her his truck as she expected him to, it would work out perfectly. He’d have his precious vehicle back when she wasn’t using it.
She glanced at the stove and made a face at how long the hot water was taking. It was true—a watched pot didn’t boil. She wandered over to the refrigerator. Might as well get out the milk she’d need for her tea. As she reached for the handle, a brightly colored orange magnet caught her eye. She squinted at the magnet’s text, promoting the place in Drumright that had catered Tuck and Becca’s wedding, and the restaurant’s famous fried bologna sandwich.
Tara shook her head and laughed. Tuck and his fried bologna. Her brother was nuts about the stuff.
About to yank the door open, Tara noticed what was held under that fridge magnet. She froze with her hand on the handle and her stomach in knots. Staring back at her, eye level, were the smiling faces of Logan and Emma in their wedding photo.
Becca’s newly married sister now lived just a few miles away with the man Tara had loved since she could walk. Emma had stolen Logan from her and married him just weeks ago.
Tara flashed back to the last time she’d spoken to him. She remembered standing in his parents’ kitchen on the day of his wedding, professing her love to him and begging him not to get married. Logan had said he’d never love Tara that way then left her there alone and went to get married.
In a nutshell, that was why she couldn’t live at Tuck and Becca’s during her internship. In spite of all the things in the plus column for Tara staying with them between events for the next three weeks, there was one big—huge—reason why she couldn’t and it was staring her right in the face from beneath the Joseph’s Fine Foods magnet.
“Shit.”
“Why are you cussing at my fridge?” Tuck’s gruff morning voice came from behind Tara.
She grabbed the milk, swung the door closed, and turned toward her brother. She wasn’t about to tell him it was because his wife’s sister had stolen the love of her life, but she had a question of her own for him. “Why are you and Becca having such noisy sex so early in the morning when you have a house guest?”
“Our house guest was uninvited.” He got a little red-faced and then scowled, but it was hard to look tough with bed head and the creases from the pillow still visible on his cheek. “The way I see it, I can do whatever I want. It’s my house and my wife.”
“And my ears and my lifelong trauma that will require therapy.” Annoyed, Tara poured the hot water, boiling or not, into her mug and dunked the teabag.
Tuck wandered to the counter and frowned at the empty glass coffee carafe. “You didn’t make coffee?”
“No. Why should I? I hate coffee. Remember?” She took her mug to the island and perched on a stool.
“I forgot.” He let out a breath and reached for the bag of ground coffee on the counter next to the coffee maker. “Shit, my head hurts.”
“I guess you shouldn’t have drunk all that wine then.” That was another thing Tara hated—wine.
The sisters fabulous—Becca and Emma—loved nothing more. Thanks to them, even her beer-loving brother had caved and drank it. Tara sighed. There’d been far too many changes lately, and it had all started with the invasion of the Hart sisters from New York.
“You shouldn’t be picking on me the morning after I was nice enough to let you sleep here.” Tuck shot a glance at Tara over his shoulder. It might have been meant to be intimidating, but a barefooted Tuck in boxer shorts and a T-shirt wasn’t going to scare her.
“Where’s Becca?” Tara knew he was always on better behavior when the little woman was around.
“Shower.”
Tara cringed at Tuck’s answer when she remembered what she’d heard and how Becca probably needed a shower after all that noisy sex.
Ick. Too much information. Tara decided to push that image away and move on before she got ill. “So I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“About what?” He sprinkled one heaping teaspoon of ground coffee into the filter, then, frowning, dumped a bunch more in without measuring. Thank goodness Tara didn’t drink coffee. She could imagine what that pot was going to taste like.
“I signed up for an internship. It’s one of the last things I need to complete the program and get my bachelor’s degree.”
“Good. About time.”
She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. It was not the time to fight with Tuck. She knew what he thought, but she’d needed that semester off before starting college to decide what she wanted to do with her life. It wasn’t as if she’d been a bum, lying around the house watching reality TV all day. She’d worked odd jobs here and there.
“Anyway, I’m working with the sports medicine team that follows the Central State circuit.”
“Hmm, that’ll be good for you. Maybe you’ll be a little more understanding of me and Jace when we drive home from a competition all torn up from a run in with a bull.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, driving to the competitions. My car broke down—”
A noise on the counter interrupted Tara. She glanced over to see Tuck’s phone attached to the wall charger, light up and vibrate its way across the tile.
“Hang on. Someone’s texting me.” Tuck reached for the phone and frowned. “It’s Jace. He wants to know if I’m awake so he can come over.”
They’d gotten home late. She sure as hell
wouldn’t be up if she hadn’t heard her brother and his wife. It was too horrifying to think more about that so she pushed it out of her mind and said, “This early? Why?”
“With Jace there ain’t no telling.” Tuck shrugged. He punched something into his cell, set it down on the counter, and then glanced at her. “When did you get yourself a car?”
“Never mind that.” She dismissed the question with a wave of a hand. Tuck’s looming lecture about her foolishness for buying a car on her own, and the disastrous results of her actions, would overshadow what she really needed to focus on—borrowing his truck. “The point is, I have to get to every one of the organization’s competitions for the next three weeks to fulfill my internship requirement and now I have no car. So I was wondering if I could use your truck. You and Becca could carpool to work.”
“Nope. You’re not touching my truck. Sorry.” He said the last over his shoulder as he strode to the front door, flipped the deadbolt open, and then came back to the kitchen.
“Then can I borrow Becca’s—”
“Oh, hell no.” Tuck shook his head while heading for the coffee machine.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the worst driver on earth. I’ve been living with the dents and scratches you’ve left in every vehicle I’ve owned since the day you got your learner’s permit and first got behind the wheel.”
“But I have to get to the competitions or I won’t get my degree. How am I supposed to do that? Bus? Or maybe hitchhike? Yeah, that’s real safe. Momma and Daddy will love that plan.”
Sometime during Tara’s rant, Jace had let himself in the front door. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen but she didn’t bother saying hello. She was too busy being shocked at her brother’s lack of common sense in seeing how logical it was for him to lend her his truck.