Hard to Lose (The Play Hard Series Book 4)

by K. Bromberg

  I’d give anything to kiss her right now. Fucking anything.

  But I need to get her food first.

  Then I’ll kiss her.

  The funny thing is I thought I was starving, but when we sit down at Lou’s café and order, I lose my appetite. Or maybe not lost my appetite but rather found something way more interesting to pay attention to: Chase Kincade.

  “So New England, right?”

  She stops mid-chew and smiles. “How’d you know?”

  “I figured it was either NY or LA—a big city anyway. Which one?”

  “New York.” She pauses a beat before asking. “Why?”

  I chuckle and take a sip of my milkshake. “Because you’re mesmerized by the slow pace here. You stop and stare as if people being nice to you just because is abnormal.”

  “Like how you were helping the lady in her car earlier,” she murmurs, and I think of ninety-five-year-old Delores, her beloved weekly trip to Grandy’s, and her all-knowing smile.

  “Doesn’t everyone do that?” I ask.

  “No. Actually, they don’t.” She gets a look in her eye across the dimly lit patio, but when she shakes her head it clears from her eyes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re just nothing like I expected is all,” she murmurs and leans back.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know, but not you.” She laughs. “You’re nice and considerate and you took me to build LEGO. I mean, who does that?” Her tone is playful but there’s genuine sincerity that tells me she’s utterly surprised by tonight.

  “Don’t all your dates take you in their power suits to build LEGO?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think you’re used to guys who are so self-absorbed with looking the part that they forget the point of a date is to have fun and get to know each other.”

  “That’s quite a presumption,” Chase murmurs.

  “Perhaps. Maybe not, but I think you were expecting me to be more like them and are a little surprised that I’m not.”

  “You use a broad stroke when you paint a picture, don’t you?”

  I shrug and lean back, arm on the top of the chair beside me. “Am I wrong?”

  “You can’t say something like that and not explain yourself. Why do you think I only date self-absorbed guys?” she asks.

  “Because you’re big city. All the big-city guys I’ve met before are self-absorbed and more worried with looking the part, with being on an Instagram date so they can post photos and get likes. They’re all about the show and less about doing something real and getting to know the woman they’re with.” I shrug unapologetically. “Standing behind a bar night after night allows you to learn a lot about people.”

  “And that’s something you’ve learned, is it?”

  “Among other things.”

  She laughs. “And what, may I ask, do you post on Instagram?”

  “Nothing. I don’t do social media. If I need to talk to someone that matters, I’ll pick up the phone.”

  “Humph.” She studies me and for the briefest of seconds, I wonder what she sees. “So you think I date Instagram-fixated men who only care about themselves, do you?”

  “Am I wrong?” I repeat.

  “No.” She shrugs shamelessly. “You’re unexpected.” And the way she says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, takes me by surprise. “And I love that.”

  “I could say the same of you. I expected to be at LEGO and Lager tonight, but I most definitely didn’t expect to have my ass handed to me by a city girl who can hold her liquor.”

  “I think that’s my most favorite compliment to date,” she says playfully. “What about you? What’s your type? Where are you from? Give me the good stuff.”

  I chuckle and prefer to avoid the topic altogether. “What do you want to know?”

  “FU-Bar? Why there? Is it yours? What’s up with the name?”

  “FU-Bar is named aptly after FUBAR, another term you’ll hear if you stick around here long enough.”

  “And it means?”

  “Fucked up beyond all recognition.”

  She laughs and it’s such a great sound. “I’ve heard that before. I just didn’t put two and two together. Isn’t it used for a mission gone wrong or something?”

  “A mission. A training exercise. A disastrous date. Anything.”

  “I sure hope you don’t think this date has been FUBAR,” she teases, and I’m quick to shake my head.

  “Furthest thing from it.”

  “Whew. Good for me.”

  “And me.” I smile.

  “Speaking of FU-Bar, the bar feels very you.”

  “And what exactly do I feel like?” I ask, curious how she sees me. Fucked up beyond all recognition?

  “Warm and welcoming but with the edges steeped in your service.” She eyes me with a smile toying at the edges of her mouth.

  I purse my lips, liking her assessment. “That’s fair.”

  “Is it yours?”

  “In a sense.” I nod and think about all the nights the four of us spent beneath a darkened desert sky. We either sat and wished for home or talked endlessly about the bar we were going to open. The pipe dream was our solace as a means to combat the nerves we had while out driving our Humvee through IED country. “We made a pact to open a bar together. Whoever made it back anyway and . . . well, I was one of the lucky ones who did so”—I shrug away the guilt—“I followed through with my promise.”

  “One of the lucky ones?” she asks. “I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about the military—or even the veteran—culture, but I have a feeling that those who come home, don’t always feel so lucky. Is it right to assume there’s a lot of guilt there too?”

  If only she knew just how accurate that statement is. I’ve never felt lucky just . . . confused.

  Why me?

  Why was I spared?

  But I won’t delve in to that depressing topic right now. Nothing like sucking the life out of a fun date with survivor’s guilt.

  “I’m lucky because I get to live in a town where people look out for each other. I work in a place I love. And I have friends who I trust my life with. So lucky, yes.” I sigh, the sound so very contrary to the words I say. But I ignore her question about guilt, hoping she’ll take the hint that this area of my life is currently off limits.

  She studies me for a moment, those intelligent eyes noticing what I’m not saying perhaps.

  “You’re kind of incredible.” Her smile is sincere, inviting, and the need to kiss her grows. “Can you please tell me you have some horrible habit that makes you not so perfect? It would make me feel a little less inadequate sitting across from you.”

  “I drink milk from the carton sometimes. Every once in a while, I don’t rinse my dishes before I put them in the dishwasher,” I confess then take the bill from our server and set it beside me. “Does that help tarnish my image?”

  “You are quite the rebel.” And there’s a moment where the two of us just stare at each other as people walk by on the sidewalk and waitstaff swerve between tables. The silence between us sparks with what feels like anticipation for what might come next, while sexual tension also reverberates between us. For the life of me, I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman so badly.

  “So, Chase, what other information were you fishing for?” I narrow my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, and smile at her.

  “I wanted to know your type,” she says. She wraps her lips around her straw and sucks on her shake. All I can do is stare.

  “My type?” I ask, forcing myself to avert my eyes, because that sight is not boding well for me walking out of here and not having a hard-on. She nods, her lips curling up at the corners. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “Preferably she wears red Converse, has a killer competitive streak, and likes chocolate milkshakes.”

  “That’s all you’ve got for me?” She angles her he
ad to the side as I wonder how to explain.

  “I don’t do this often.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “It’s rare that I find a woman I’m interested in enough to want to.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  And I’m smitten.

  Shit. Where did that come from, Gun?

  “Where are you from then?” she asks.

  “A little bit of everywhere. Once you’ve been in the military—grown up in it and served in it—you’re kind of from every place you’ve been.”

  “So your mom or dad was in the military?”

  “My father was before he died in combat.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I nod, never wanting to dwell on that aspect too much. “Then my stepdad was in the service. And the stepdad after that.” I give a self-deprecating laugh. “We don’t have enough time in the day to delve into that chaos. What about you? Mom? Dad? Only child?”

  She does a double take. “Only child? Why would you say that?”

  “Because only children are typically more independent and know what they want,” I say. “That’s you.”

  Chase smirks. “I am the last of four girls.”

  “Your poor parents,” I groan.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She smiles as if she’s thinking of them, and I notice a softness to her expression that tells me they’re close. You spend enough time around other soldiers and behind a bar, you to learn how to read people. “But it’s just my dad. Our mom died when we were little.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  She shrugs. “As you unfortunately know, it’s more shocking to others when they hear it than it is to you since it’s been your reality for more of your life than not.”

  “Very true.”

  “So on to happier things.” She nods and twists her lips for a moment as she studies me unabashedly. “Nix told me you were a badass. Care to elaborate?”

  Fucking Nix. I shake my head and emit a half-sigh, half-laugh.

  Nothing makes you a badass in combat. Fear. Worry. The unknown. The what-ifs. Horror. That’s what combat is about. I shiver from the memories that still haunt me and my dreams.

  “Some days just living to see another day in combat makes you a badass,” I finally say.

  “Your humility is becoming.”

  “Thank you, but I assure you I’m not all sunshine and roses all the time.”

  “No one ever is,” she murmurs.

  If she looks at me like that one more time—those big blue eyes a mixture of amusement and desire—I’m going to have trouble standing up.

  “You ready to go?” I slide cash under the salt shaker and hold my hand out to her. She takes it and we head out of the outdoor café back to the street that’s still bustling with people.

  Music is playing now, a local live band at the end of the long table. Kids have sat down and are building their own creations while their parents are dancing or chatting with friends.

  This is Destiny Falls. Take it or leave it. In my early days here as an enlisted soldier, I wasn’t sure which one I wanted of the two. Now as a civilian, I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else.

  “Thank you for this,” Chase says as we skirt around the edge of the dance area. “Like I said, it was unexpected and perfect.”

  “Is that so?” I tug on her hand so that she turns and our bodies meet. Desire surges through me in all the most torturously delicious ways as we stare at each other, our lips inches apart, and I finally give in to what I’ve wanted to do all night. Hell, since she first walked into FU-Bar last night.

  Her breath hitches. I can feel it against my chest, and I know she feels this too. The sexual tension. The desire. The pure need.

  And just as I lean in to kiss her—

  “Gunner? Is that you?” comes from behind me in that high-pitch drawl I would recognize anywhere. Fuck.

  I debate kissing Chase anyway, but it’d be rushed and interrupted, when I most definitely want it to be neither of those. I want more. Much more.

  “I’m sorry in advance.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chase

  I stare at Gunner, not understanding what he means. When his name is called again, his shoulders sag in defeat and he chuckles sardonically.

  He turns, and I’m met with an assault on all senses by a woman old enough to be either of our mothers. The voice owner’s hair is blonde and teased to epic heights. Her clothes are tight, her heels are high, and her makeup dramatic.

  But not as dramatic as her voice and her expression when she finally meets Gunner’s eyes.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. Full stop. I thought that was you over here all by your lonesome,” she says and Gunner’s hand tenses against my back.

  “Not by my lonesome at all,” Gunner says, offering a polite smile to her.

  “Well then.” She reaches out and rests a hand on Gunner’s bicep, and I swear to God I get jealous, even though his arm is wrapped around me. “I am so glad that I saw you standing over here because I wanted to let you know that I made a pie today, and I know how very much you like my pie. I made sure to use the tartest, juiciest apples,” she all but moans. “And the sauce is gooey and warm just like every man I know likes it.”

  I cough out a laugh as my eyes all but bug out of my head. She hasn’t looked my way once—she only has eyes for Gunner. And hands apparently. He’s tried to shrug his shoulder away and she just keeps her hand planted firmly around his bicep.

  Gunner clears his throat when she finally stops talking about her ooey, gooey mess and how it will absolutely melt in your mouth. “Thank you, Heloisa. I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “Oh come now, sugar. You know I love treating the men around here to my pie, but I know you especially love my apple,” she practically purrs. If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I would never believe a woman could be this . . . whatever she is. “I even have some apples set aside, marinating in sugar and cinnamon, so if you tell me a time you’d like to stop by, whether it be a day or in an hour or two, I can cook another pie up real quick so that when you dive into it, it’s warm and juicy and oozing with everything good and mouthwatering that you like.”

  I stare, blinking at Heloisa as she flirts herself right out of her skin-tight pants and into Gunner’s.

  Meanwhile, Gunner shifts on his feet and stutters, “Thank you for the offer—I’m more than appreciative, but—”

  “But you’ll be by later, right?” She winks and licks her lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “No. I won’t. I . . .” But just as quickly as Heloisa and her warm, moist pie came into the picture, she stalks right out with her hips swinging so noticeably I’m surprised she doesn’t throw her back out.

  We both stand there staring at her and shaking our heads. “What—or rather who—was that?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna ask,” I say playfully.

  “She’s harmless. Just a lonely, old widow who comes into the bar sometimes and—”

  “And you entertain her so as not to be mean to her?”

  “Something like that,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

  “Dare I ask if her warm, apple pie is as moist and delicious as she swears it to be?” I tease, imitating her voice, and I love that Gunner turns ten shades of red. “I mean, she was just offering to have sex with you.” I’m still astounded. And aghast in the oddest of ways.

  “She was not,” he says but starts laughing.

  “It’s the warmest, juiciest, hottest thing you’ll ever sink into,” I mimic until I burst into laughter. The kind of laughter that doesn’t stop, especially when you want it to. And every time I meet Gunner’s eyes, I start laughing even harder, to the point where the humor renews itself all over again.

  “Oh. My. God,” I say in between laughter.

  “Full stop,” Gunner pipes in.

  I double over again, my sides hurting and my cheeks aching. I hold on to him to stea
dy myself. But when I look up, I find his mouth inches from mine—right back to where we were before Heloisa interrupted us.

  Except this time, there’s no Heloisa. There is just Gunner, his big brown eyes, tempting lips, and his fingers reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

  He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is soft and tender and makes my insides feel like I’ve just grabbed a live wire.

  I want more . . . so much more that it’s almost embarrassing.

  And with his hand on the side of my neck and his thumb brushing over the line of my jaw, Gunner delivers a little bit more.

  He kisses me again, but this time his tongue slips between my lips and meets mine briefly in a kiss that hints at things to come, but doesn’t make a gross public display of affection to the people still present in the middle-of-town event.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he murmurs, the heat of his breath against my lips. My body hums with the desire that has been building since I first saw him tonight.

  “Well, I know a place you can go if you want pie,” I offer, to which we both erupt into laughter again.

  * * *

  Sex with Gunner is definitely on my list of items to cross off while in Destiny Falls, and while I have no problem having a one-night stand occasionally, this is a small town. People talk in small towns, and the last thing I need is a bad reputation when I might need some of the locals’ help to find Ryan.

  Yes, the same Ryan I haven’t even mentioned to Gunner yet when he’s a bartender and knows more people than most in town.

  However, my resolve to not have sex with him tonight on our first date was tested the moment I saw him standing in front of Grandy’s. And I know it was thrown out altogether when he kissed me on that grassy hill under a dark sky.

  And now that I’m standing under his front porch light as he unlocks his front door, I know I’m going to dive in and appreciate the decadent temptation that is Gunner.

  In fact, it wasn’t even like it was a discussion—but more like a known fact that this was where we were going to end up after that first kiss.