by Rachel Leigh
An extreme hunger overcomes me as I lift her shirt over her head. “No.” I press my lips to the nape of her neck, while my hand snakes up her side then to her back. Unclasping her bra, I look down at her full breasts. I take an erect nipple into my mouth, grazing my teeth over it while her head rests back. A moan escapes her, sending me into a frenzy of need. I run my hands up and down the smooth skin of her back as she begins sliding her hips back and forth. My fingers find the waistband of her jeans. “Take these off.”
“You sure?” she questions. As if my dick digging into her wasn’t enough of an indication that I want her right here and now, I unbutton her jeans and slide the zipper down.
Her legs straighten behind her as she begins pulling them off with my help, taking her panties along with them. She looks around to be sure there isn’t an audience, but the windows are so foggy at this point that even if someone were out there, they wouldn’t be able to see inside. My mind begins to wander, but I don’t let it. I have to have her. It’s been so fucking long and she is here, willing, and sexy as hell. I can’t not do this. I’ll deal with any repercussions later.
Hands grip the side of my shirt and I lean into her as she pulls it over my head. When she goes to unbutton my pants, I stop her. Our eyes meet. “Not yet.” Moving my hand between us, I cup her pussy, rubbing my palm against her clit before sliding two fingers inside her. Her body jerks up in reaction. When her head rests on my shoulder and her breasts strain against my chest, I continue to plunge my fingers in and out of her as her want for me slides down my hand. “You’re so fucking wet.” My voice is raspy and I barely even recognize it.
Digging deeper, I begin flicking her clit over and over again, sending her body upright as her back steels. One hand meets the window while the other presses against my chest and she begins riding my hand. “You like that, baby?”
She throws her head back. “Oh God, yes,” she moans. “Faster.”
Just when I think she’s at the height of her pleasure and she’s ready to combust, I pull my fingers out and unbutton my pants, sliding them down in one quick motion before stuffing my cock inside of her. “Fuck me, Nash,” she cries out before she begins bouncing on my cock. Up and down while her fingernails dig into both shoulders.
With my hands on her waist, I guide her movements and watch as her tits bounce up and down with her. Sliding my hands up, I cup them in each hand, rolling her nipples with my thumb.
“Ugh, Nash,” she moans, her eyes finding mine. Her breaths become labored and I know she’s close.
“Come for me, baby.” I buck my hips up, digging my cock further inside of her.
Her sounds become erratic as she grips the headrest of the seat behind. Her mouth forms an O and her eyes gloss over. Just as I feel the liquid pool around my cock, I push down on her shoulders, driving myself deeper and deeper. “I’m coming.” I pull her mouth into mine full force and release inside of her.
Her body collapses into mine and I allow us this moment.
A moment where nothing else matters.
Kissing her neck gently, she comes up and presses her mouth to mine, one last time.
For the last time.
Struggling with whether or not I should wrap my arms around her bare back, I just rest a hand on her side with the other on her leg. I’m not sure how to act. I don’t want her to think that this was just sex, but wasn’t it? It wasn’t anything more. It can never be anything more.
With my dick softening inside of her, the stickiness seeps onto our compressed legs.
“We should go in,” she whispers with her head resting on my shoulder.
I nod, tapping my fingers to her side. “We should.” Inhaling her scent into memory, I stretch down and begin moving the seat forward. She pushes herself off from and climbs over to the other side.
“Do you have any napkins or anything?” Her mouth draws back in a shriek as she looks down at her naked, cum covered legs.
Stretching over, I pull open the glove box and a stash falls out.
“Thanks.” She begins wiping herself up before getting her clothes back on.
I do the same, but when she opens the door, I stay put. “I’ll be in a minute.”
Her feet hit the ground but before she closes it, she pauses briefly. “We don’t need to beat ourselves up over this, Nash. Promise me you won’t.”
I don’t give her that promise. “I’ll be there in a few. You can have the shower first.”
Biting the corner of her lip, she flashes me a comforting smile that does everything but, then closes the door.
I remain still until I see the light in the living room come on. Then I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and silently scream, “You fucking idiot!”
My hands meet the steering wheel. Over and over and over again. Grinding my teeth together, I try to hold it together, but a stray tear escapes down my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Gemma.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rowan
It’s been three days since Nash and I had sex in the front seat of his pickup truck. Three days since he’s not so much as looked at me. We’ve both been walking on eggshells, but that ends today. I’ve battled with anger, hurt, resentment, guilt, and now I’m back to being angry.
To Nash, it was just sex. I know that, he knows that. To me, it was more. Somehow over the course of the last three weeks, I’ve sprouted these feelings for a man who is intangible. Nash mimics a ghost of everything I have ever wanted in a man. His kindness, his heart, his goals. But he’s just that, a ghost of a man who no longer allows himself to feel anything that brings happiness. I’m not sure if it’s because he deems himself unworthy, or if it’s because he’s too afraid to have happiness ripped away from him again.
He walks into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and white tennis shoes. The dampened ends of his hair glisten in the light and his expression is somber. “I’m heading to Hooligans for a beer. Be back later,” he says without even looking at me. He snatches his keys off the counter and attempts to walk away, but I grab his forearm before he can make his escape.
“Wait. Can we talk first?”
His eyes slide down to my touch on his arm, then back up to mine. “Can we talk later? I’m meeting some friends.”
I nod. “Sure.” Biting the side of my cheek, I let go of my hold on him. His sorrow-filled eyes look into mine as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks away without giving me a second look.
Little does he know, I’m heading to Hooligans, too. I have to work in a couple hours. He wouldn’t know that, though, because he refuses to talk to me.
Twenty minutes after he leaves, I’m curled up on the couch watching some crazy show about a guy who raises tigers when there is a knock at the door. Tossing the blanket off me, I walk over and peep out the hole, finding a delivery man standing there with a manila envelope.
I open the door and he hands me the envelope, not even asking for a signature or any sort of delivery confirmation.
It’s addressed to Nash, of course. But it’s the return address that has my stomach dropping—California Vital Records.
It’s the death certificate. This means I can get the diary from Dr. Harris. This also means that my time here has come to an end.
I can go home now. I just don’t have the slightest idea where home is anymore.
The bar is packed full with residents of Sunnyville. There’s a bachelorette party taking place and beautiful women flock around with drinks in their hands. Laughing, flirting with men, and putting the bride-to-be on display for her last night out as an unmarried woman. She’s wearing a sash over her chest that reads I’m Getting Married while sitting on a chair giggling bashfully as a cowboy gives her a lap dance.
I can’t help but laugh and feel sorry for her all at the same time. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable, but her bridal party keeps pushing her back down for more.
They are all wearing T-shirts that say Bridesma
ids on the front and back, and one is currently stuck in between the legs of a man at the bar. I keep on my way to the side of the bar with my eyes on them. There is something familiar about the man. When she nuzzles her face into his neck and his eyes hit mine, my heart drops. The anger I’ve pushed away for the past three days returns with a vengeance. Gritting my teeth, I walk briskly behind the bar and whip out my bartending apron, tying it on and not giving him another look, nor another minute of my time.
How dare he? He treats me like I’m some sort of mistake that stepped into his broken life and then comes here and decides to make it all better by getting drunk and letting some girl hang all over him, one who is at least five years younger than him. Not that age matters. I’m seven years younger than him, but still, it pisses me off. Maybe it’s the way her white-blond hair cascades down her back like a waterfall. Or her long, tanned legs that meet her jean miniskirt sitting right below her ass. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. Of course he’d want her between his legs.
“Hey, roomie,” Nash hollers with his turned back toward me, the girl still lingering between his legs. She follows the direction of his stare. “Forgot to tell ya, there’s a showing on the house tomorrow. Find somewhere to go between nine a.m. and noon.” He winks. He actually fucking winks. And it’s not a flirtatious wink. It’s condescending in a way that tells me he knows exactly what he is doing right now.
Part of me wants to walk over there and tell him that I’ll be gone for good when he wakes up because I’m able to get what I came here for. The other part doesn’t let me.
Ignoring him completely, I begin taking orders and making drinks. “What can I get you?” I ask a handsome gentleman in a sleek black suit who pushes his way in between two elderly men at the bar.
“Two shots of tequila and a bottled Bud,” he replies with his baby blues locked on mine and the corner of his lip tugged up.
Getting his shots first, I set them down then grab his beer, twisting the top off and dropping it into the trash can next to my legs. He slides one of the shots back toward me and I give him a look of puzzlement. “One for you and one for me.” He holds the little glass up in cheers.
“I’m working. I can’t, but thanks anyway.” I slide it back to him. I look around at all the people who are waiting for drinks. “That’ll be sixteen dollars.”
“Oh come on, you can have one drink. You’ve been working hard. You deserve it.” He pushes it back to me again, and just to humor him so I can continue serving the customers waiting, I tip it back and take it all in one swallow then slam the glass to the counter. “Atta girl.” He takes his shot, then slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
My jaw drops. Any further and it would hit the top of this wooden bar. “What? That’s eighty-four dollars. Are you serious?”
“You earned it with that pretty smile.” He grabs his beer and disappears into the crowd, leaving me speechless with the hundred in my hand and the burn of tequila in my stomach.
“You must have given him the bartender special.” Nash appears out of nowhere, taking up the space that the generous hottie once filled. His eyes are squinted with a shade of pink covering the whites.
Without even responding, I move down to another customer. “Need another?” I point to his empty glass of tap beer.
He waves his hand over it and shakes his head.
“I’ll have a shot of whatever lover boy down there just bought you.” Nash appears again, only this time, he’s shoulder bumping the man on the stool as he staggers back and forth.
“Would ya back the fuck up!” the guy hisses, giving him a shove with the palm of his hand.
Nash shoves him back. “No, but you can.”
They are nose to nose, and in the right state of mind, Nash could take this man out. But he’s pretty wasted right now and he doesn’t stand a chance.
If someone doesn’t stop this soon, these two are gonna go at it. I look around at the other men, who are just gawking and waiting for a show. “Fuck you, asshole.” The big, burly man shoves him again.
“Nash, just walk away,” I demand. “Please.”
“Yeah, Nash. Just walk away,” the asshole mocks me.
But before I can even attempt to get through to him, he’s cocking his fist back and ready to plant it right on the guy’s face. Someone grabs a hold of his arm. “He’s not worth it,” the girl he was getting cozy with earlier says. My plea didn’t do the trick, but hers did, because he drops his stance and begins walking away with her. Either way, I’m just grateful a fight didn’t break out.
“If you’re done here, maybe you should just leave,” I tell the man who is still sitting there with his empty glass and a shit-eating grin on his face.
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” he snarls, then turns to his friends and mutters under his breath, “Who does this bitch think she is?” They all start laughing.
The next thing I know, the man is being jerked off from the barstool and his back crashes to the ground. Only it’s not Nash defending me, it’s the gorgeous blue-eyed guy from the end of the bar.
The unnamed man grabs the asshole by the collar of his plaid button-up flannel and lifts his chest off the ground. “You have two seconds to apologize to this young lady before you live to regret it.”
Everyone stands by idly watching. Even his buddies make no attempt to jump in. “I’m...I’m sorry. Didn’t mean what I said.” Releasing his grip with a shove, the asshole drops back down to the ground before one of his friends offers him a hand.
Still in a state of shock, I just stand there behind the bar, unsure of what to say.
“Get the hell out of here,” blue-eyes snaps at the men, then he turns to me with a smile. Straightening his jacket, he extends his hand. “Elijah Pelton.”
I put my hand in his and he brings it to his lips, giving it a soft kiss while his eyes stay fixed on mine. Pelton. That sounds so familiar. The farms, of course. “Elijah Pelton, as in Pelton Family Farms?” I ask.
“The one and only.” He takes the empty seat now that the three men have left. “Now tell me, how does your boyfriend feel about his gorgeous girlfriend working around all these horny asshole men?”
Twirling my hair, I avoid eye contact. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“In that case, can I buy you another drink?”
“I really shouldn’t. I’ve only had this job for a couple of weeks and I’d hate to piss off my boss.” I look over his shoulder and see Nash embarrassing himself on the dance floor with the bimbo bridesmaid. Looking back to Elijah, I figure what the hell. “Since I’m new, they only let me work a couple hours on Friday nights. I’m actually off at ten. If you’re still here, I just might take you up on that offer.”
He flashes his perfectly straight white teeth. “I’ll be right here.”
When ten o’clock rolls around, I’m shocked to see Nash still standing. Though, he’s stumbling out the door with the blonde on his arm. It does sting a bit. Knowing that he’s likely taking her home or vice versa. Part of me wonders if I even want to put myself through the torture of going back to his house only to hear them screwing in the room across the hall.
Elijah is still in the same spot when I toss my apron under the bar and join him with a Bloody Mary I mixed up before clocking out.
He watches me as I take a sip from the straw. “I thought I was buying you a drink.”
“You did. With the generous tip you left me. Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was my pleasure.” He turns his stool toward me. “So how does a girl like you not have a boyfriend?”
My heart does a little flip-flop. I’m terrible with compliments. Personally, I don’t like them, and I think it’s because I don’t know how to react to them. Instead of responding, I just laugh it off and change the subject. “It’s my turn to ask a question. How did you get those guys to back off like that?”
“Easy. They work for me. We’re staying at the B&B in town on busin
ess. Checking out some land. They do whatever the hell I tell them to do.”
Ah, makes perfect sense now.
“My turn. Who was that guy you were talking to earlier? You said you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t. And he’s not. He’s actually—” I search for the word. “He’s a friend.” I should have said brother-in-law, but it didn’t feel right. It also doesn’t feel right not to admit that he is in fact my brother-in-law. My chest aches as I think about him and how he left with that girl. It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does.
Suddenly feeling like I need to just go home, I suck in a few more sips of my Bloody Mary and push it away. “I’m not feeling very well, Elijah. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
His reaction to my words is written all over his face. Only it’s not what I expected. “Wait a minute. I buy you a shot, leave you a hell of a tip, kick someone’s ass for calling you a bitch, then proceed to stick around until your shift ends, and you’re leaving?”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m not feeling well.” I begin digging into my purse and pull out my tip money. “Here.” I slide the four twenties to him. “You can have it back.”
He leans forward, his mouth ghosting my ear while his hand pushes the money back in front of me. “I’ve got more where that came from if you can give me a little something in return.”
My stomach twinges, bile rising in my throat, as I lean back. “Are you fucking serious?” I hop off the barstool. “I’m not a whore and you can keep your damn money.”
He smirks deviously. “Might wanna quit dressing like one and we wouldn’t assume you were.”
Without even thinking, my hand swings from side and my open palm slaps the smug look right off his face. “Fuck you.”
Storming away, I don’t even look back. I push through the crowd and out the door to the back employee parking lot. As soon as the door slams shut, I breathe a sigh of relief. How dare he insult me that way? Sure, I show a little too much skin, but it’s because I’m comfortable in it. There was a time that I hated my body. I always wanted to look like Gemma or the tall thin Barbie doll girls like that stupid bridesmaid. I certainly don’t dress like a whore. Tugging at my shorts, I head for my car.