Bourbon summer, p.22
Bourbon Summer, page 22
“Goddamn, Ruby.” Her body still pulsed around me.
She let out a satisfied giggle. “That was nice. Very believable, Warhammer.”
I ran my hands up and down her body. Her tits still hung out and I was getting hard again just thinking about it.
The build of my arousal was a nice distraction from how Ruby let me be myself. From how her complete acceptance of me made me think there could really be something substantial between us. “Tell me. Is there anything else you’ve read that you don’t think could really happen?”
She turned her face into mine. “I’m not sure even you could replicate zero gravity.”
“That may be out of my realm of possibility.” I kissed her bare shoulder. “How about you research while I paint?”
“You’re not talking about social media posts, are you?”
“Nope.” I skimmed my hand up her thigh. “Come up with a few things to try out so we can do them next weekend too.”
“Is that another invite?”
I’d invite her every weekend if I could. Move her in and—
Fuck, I couldn’t get too far ahead of myself. I should push it off. Skip a weekend. But in this case, I was the anti-Goldilocks. Every weekend was too much, but at the same time, it was not enough. Damn.
Buried balls deep in her wasn’t the place to think rationally. “Next weekend, Goldilocks.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ruby
Every time I looked at the stool on the edge of the bar, my face burned. I scurried past to deliver two blackberry bourbons to Jason and his daughter.
“Thanks, Ruby,” he said. “How’s Tenor?”
Questions about Tenor caught me off guard. People still thought we were steadily dating, while in reality, things were new. Whatever those things were.
Were they new—or just slow? Plodding? Tentative? I’d like to think new, but Tenor set the pace and he made bourbon, a spirit that had to age for years to be called a bourbon. I functioned at the speed of a viral post, and he worked with aging barrels.
I smiled and went for a general answer. “I’m trying to keep him out of trouble.”
Jason barked out a laugh. “It’s a tough job with that kid.”
I took their empties and went back behind the counter. My phone buzzed. I squinted at the screen. At least five tennis emojis were next to Dad’s message.
Dad: Ready to take me on?
I scanned the tables. Everyone had refreshed or half-full drinks.
Me: When?
Dad: When can your new man join? What’s his name again?
Me: Taking it slow. Don’t know that we’re at meet-the-parents level yet.
Dad: Have you met his?
I chewed on my lower lip. If I said yes, he’d get pushy. If I said no, well, I hated lying.
Me: I’ll talk to him. Mom’s not back yet anyway.
Dad: Did you hear she ditched Dave?
Me: Daniel?
I had actually thought Mom would try to make it work with Daniel. The only guy who was a constant in her life was Dad. How hard was that for her?
Dad: Whatever his name is, he’s gone. Tell your guy we’ll take it easy on him.
Me: No you won’t.
He replied with a bunch of laughing emojis.
Smiling, I looked up when the entrance door whooshed open. I caught myself before I could grimace.
“Oh, Crock— Uh, Cara. Brock. Hi.” I snatched the rag from the sink and swiped at the already pristine counter. “How was the honeymoon?”
“Ugh.” Cara rolled her eyes and took a seat on a stool. “Hot. Who goes to Jamaica in the summer?”
“But we barely left the room,” Brock added, his voice low and suggestive.
I choked when he sat on the stool Tenor had taken me on. Turning my head, I coughed into my shoulder. “Sorry. Excuse me.” My cheeks were hot, and I couldn’t look at him. “What can I get the newlyweds?”
“Ooh, a mojito. That was yummy.” She hugged Brock’s arm.
Brock didn’t return his wife’s affection. “I’ll have what that guy was having when I walked in.”
Blackberry bourbon. He wasn’t going to try neat in front of me again.
Cara leaned over the counter, her gaze tracking me as I mixed the drinks. “Why didn’t we cross paths after high school? We both stayed in Bozeman.”
Hadn’t we been over this the last time we were here? “Our lives went in different directions.” Mine had blissfully been away from hers until now.
“Is your mom still in that tiny apartment?”
The one she had paid for by herself while she raised a kid almost entirely alone? “No. She has a condo, but she’s selling and getting an RV since her job is mobile and she’s all about the outdoor life.” That had been the news during her last call. The hike had been wonderful. She wanted to do it forever.
Brock snorted.
Cara’s face screwed up. “Ew. Living in an RV is so—”
“Exciting,” I finished brightly. “For a woman who worked three jobs while going to school and raising me, it’s an adventure.”
Mom might be flaunting her empty nest in front of her little birdie, but I’d defend her choice until the end of time, especially to Crock.
Cara stiffened. “Right. Of course.” Her smile turned sweet. “Does she need an agent? I still work out of Bozeman.”
Oh. Shit. “Um, she has a guy.”
“Who? I probably know him.”
“I’ll have to ask. I can’t remember his name.” Not a total lie. Mom probably had someone in mind. It wouldn’t be Cara.
“You and Tenor going to build a house?” Brock asked. He used his straw to stir his drink. If he got half of it down, I’d be surprised. He reached into his back pocket and slapped a business card onto the countertop. “I have some availability.”
I didn’t pick it up. “Tenor has a house in the mountains.”
Brock left his card and shrugged. “Some couples have an issue consolidating places. He might have a history in his house that’s just a reminder for you.”
He had no history in his house. Except for me. Well, I was the present. One day, I might be the past. A sharp pain stabbed between my ribs. “Excuse me.”
I rushed to the stockroom. Waving my hand at my hot face, I paced where they couldn’t see me.
What was my problem? I’d made a commitment not to rush him.
But I was getting impatient. I wanted to be important to him. I wanted to be wanted by him. Physically, I was, but the more we were together intimately, the more I longed to expand on the undeniable emotional connection we had. I wanted more moments like that first time in front of Curly’s when he’d told me why being seen on a date bothered him. He’d confided in me and that had made me feel special. So terribly important to him. Yet not critical enough that Tenor declared he couldn’t live without me.
Or . . . I could just be scared of indecisive guys who came and went from my life without committing until they told me I was too predictable. Brock was getting in my head again. The ass. I couldn’t let anything he said get to me.
I sucked in a deep breath and scanned the shelves. What could be my excuse for darting away?
Glasses. I selected two and breezed back out. Cara had her head tipped toward Brock. She was drinking out of Brock’s straw.
She slid his glass in front of her. “You should come out with me tomorrow night.”
I blinked at her. “And do what?”
She giggled. “Girl things. We can come here. That is, unless you’re working.”
The idea of hanging with Cara in my safe space grated on me more than serving her. “I have plans. With Tenor.”
She pouted and whipped the little purple straw around her drink. “You shouldn’t make a guy your whole identity.”
Whoa. A slow burn of indignation started in my gut. “I’ve been told it’s my work I make my identity,” I said coolly.
“I’ll say.” She snickered. “Since the boss is your boyfriend.”
“We can do it another time.” I should’ve shut her down, but this was the second—third?—time she’d asked. Was she lonely? I knew about that. But also, what about her new husband? Didn’t she want to get lost in him?
Brock’s eye twitched. Was he wondering the same thing? Maybe he didn’t want his wife going out with me. Or was Cara his identity? Without her around, who would make him feel all powerful and manly?
Maybe I would meet Cara for a drink. We could go to Flatlanders Prohibited. That way, I could have a night out to show them I wasn’t waiting around on Tenor, and she’d never want to go out with me again after a night of Allen staring at her boobs.
“I’ll call you.” She pushed her empty glass toward the edge and tapped the counter with her finger.
Brock’s brow furrowed and he put a hand on her lower back. “Hey, hon. Let’s get home. I have plans for you,” he growled.
I held in a shudder, but Cara giggled. She slipped off her stool and draped herself over Brock. “By-ee, Rubes.”
She was on her way out the door when she turned and snapped her fingers. “What’s your number?” she called from the exit.
I was tempted to tell her to ask her husband, but I wouldn’t go that low. None of us wanted the reminder of me trailing after Brock like a lost puppy. Waiting for him at my apartment when he was two hours late—because he took a nap. In the coffee shop when he’d stood me up because he got so busy with work and “forgot” to call me.
The second time, he’d said he needed space to reevaluate what he wanted in life.
I’d been a doormat.
Was I still being a doormat? Tenor treated me remarkably better, yet I was waiting for him.
Crock was watching me and so were the customers.
Oh. “Just stop in some Friday night,” I said. “I’ll see if I’m free after.”
Perhaps Tenor would let me bunk with him if I was out late with Cara.
I did not want to go out with her.
As if I had summoned him, he entered from the lobby door. His brow crinkled when he saw Crock in the parking lot walking back to their car. He pinned me with his gaze, and concern fired in his eyes.
He nodded to Jason but swept past him, clearly on a mission. Jason opened his mouth and shut it.
“Everything okay?” Tenor asked.
The tension in my shoulders unknotted. “Cara asked me out.”
He arched a brow. “Are you going?”
“I dunno. Maybe?”
“Why?”
“I . . . don’t know. We used to be friends.”
His gaze darkened and his jaw was rock hard. “You used to date Brock. Would you go out with him again?”
“No,” I huffed.
“The guy I hated in school—he was abrasive at best. Mean at his worst. He was awful to me, and he’d corner me when no one was watching or when my brothers weren’t around. He never got physical, surprisingly, but his verbal assault always hit its target.”
“That’s awful.”
He shrugged it off like he didn’t want to dwell on it, and I couldn’t blame him. “It sucked, but I could count on him to be one thing—an asshole. Everyone could. He had a reputation. I think the worst thing that came from my interactions with him was that I thought every bully would be blatant. Then I started dating and all of Katrina’s red flags were invisible. Her comments were insidious. Little digs here and there to highlight I wasn’t like my brothers, but I didn’t notice them at first. Then, after the blowup, I thought back, and yep, it was all there. It’s okay to give someone a second chance, but you’re already questioning if she’s genuine. Cara already showed you who she is. Don’t waste your time on her.”
How did I know anymore whether I was wasting my time or not?
Cara might’ve been nicer than normal tonight, but there was a strong chance she’d devolve back into her normal style. She’d make friends in Bourbon Canyon. They’d be other entrepreneurs like her. Business professionals. Not someone who tried to look and sound trendy online all day while getting lost in smut all night. I would no longer suit her. I would become boring. And I’d be left wondering if she was really trying to use me to feel superior or if she was oblivious to how she sounded.
I knew the real answer. It was always the same. With Brock. With my other exes. Even with my parents. Just once, I wanted the answer to be different. For someone to choose me because I was me. And Tenor was. Kind of. I could wait a little longer for him, but not for Cara. “Okay. You’re right.”
He leaned close, his mouth to my ear. “I know.”
Flutters erupted in my belly. Damn Brock and those worries he’d planted. Tenor made me feel good about myself. He was a guy I could bring home. Not even Dad could find anything wrong with him. Except that he was part owner of the company I worked for. Dad probably also wouldn’t be thrilled about the age difference.
Was there a chance Tenor would ever meet my parents? We weren’t serious, but would he play one innocent tennis match just to appease my father? With Dad, the game wouldn’t be so innocent. I never thought a game of tennis would be cutthroat, but Dad turned everything that way.
I could at least get Tenor on the courts. Ease into the topic. Just in case the day came. And maybe because I wanted to see my cowboy turn into a studlete. “Think you can get away tomorrow or Sunday to hit some balls around?”
“I don’t golf.”
I smiled. “That’d be interesting with rackets.”
His right eye twitched. “I hope you’re not talking about pickleball.”
A laugh burst out of me. “You sound like my dad. What is the thing between tennis players and pickleball players? They’re often the same people.”
He drew himself to his full height. “Except when they’re not and tennis players can’t get any court time because of fucking pickleball.”
My laughter grew and his expression got more disgruntled. He’d have that in common with Dad. “Any time those pickleball players aren’t dominating the courts, then.”
He ground his teeth together and glanced away, but his lips twitched. “There is always an open court.” He caught my gaze and a devious grin spread across his face. “On the Bailey Memorial Courts.” He winked. “To further encourage the growth of Bourbon Canyon High School’s tennis team. No pickleball allowed.”
“Of course. You’re devious.”
“I believe the term you’re looking for is philanthropic.” The corner of his eyes crinkled. “And I’m free whenever you want, Goldilocks.”
Tenor
Turned out, Ruby wanted to hit the court as soon as she returned to Bourbon Canyon. This weekend, we’d scrimmaged for an hour. Yesterday, it had rained. Today, it couldn’t have been more perfect for a match. Sunny with a light breeze, it wasn’t too hot.
“You’re really good at this.” Ruby packed up her racket.
“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”
“I have some skills. My dad taught me, so I was learning when he was. He really wanted me to play in school.” She shrugged.
There was something else she wasn’t saying. “You didn’t want to?”
“I didn’t care, but Dad can be . . . It would’ve been like a football dad yelling from the bleachers.”
“That doesn’t pair well with tennis.”
She flashed a quick smile. “Neither does Dad but that doesn’t stop him from bringing his football energy to the courts.”
I didn’t elaborate on my experience. I had played from seventh grade until graduation. Tennis had kept me sane. It was a sport that tended to attract more mathletes than alpha-male athletes. I could expend my frustration on the court after a shit day. Nobody cared that I liked spreadsheets and Warhammer, and I won some matches.
My games hadn’t been as anticipated as Tate’s and Teller’s football games, but I hadn’t cared. With a gaggle of younger siblings and foster kids, my parents hadn’t wanted to risk the noise level and distract any players. The fewer the spectators, the better as far as I had been concerned. Tennis had been it for me. I’d been teased moderately less for it than I had with Warhammer.
I tucked my racket into my bag with my spare. I always carried two. Old habits died hard.
She walked to her car. Her flirty little white skirt swung around her thighs. “That was a nice treat. I got to see you in shorts, and it was a mellow game.”
It hadn’t felt mellow when I’d wanted to toss the racket and haul her to my pickup. Playing while turned on was an inconvenient experience.
Missing her all damn week was another one. I’d nearly stayed home on Wednesday just to see her. There was no reason I couldn’t miss a week, other than the sense I was being a traitor to myself. To the promises I’d made myself all those years ago when the person who was supposed to have my back stabbed it instead.
I was falling for Ruby.
Pressure squeezed my lungs together. The same sensation I’d gotten when I’d been cornered by that jackass in middle school and the first two years of high school. He’d seen the real me. He’d seen how different I was from my brothers. And he’d prodded every single insecurity until it was raw and exposed.
I pushed my glasses up. This wasn’t high school. I was a goddamn adult, and Ruby was a good person. She wasn’t superficial or fake. She wasn’t Katrina. She was special, and I couldn’t quit seeing her if I tried.
“See you Friday night?” I pulled her close, pressing her into her car door.
“Friday night.”
I claimed her mouth. Her lips were hot from the sun, her minty flavor branding itself onto my taste buds. I could’ve kept her pushed against the door for another two hours, playing a game of a different sort.
Slowly, I pulled back and released her.
“Drive safe.”
She nibbled her lower lip and shifted her weight. “Hey, um . . .”
The band around my chest returned. This was it. She was done with me. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but I knew. I just wasn’t enough for her.
“Would you ever consider a doubles game?”
Surprise eased the tightness around my shoulders. “Doubles?”
She nodded and squinted against the sun, uncertainty scrawled over her features. “Dad asked, and well, my mom would be his partner. She takes the edge off him. So . . . what do you think?”
