“I can feel you worrying.”
“Yeah?” I snort. “Is that something they teach you as a tier one operator?”
He nips at my ear, always turning a serious moment playful to ease my anxieties. “Mouthy little brat.”
“Your mouthy little brat,” I murmur as I snuggle into him, my ear against where I can hear his heart beating.
“Yes, Bailey, you’re my mouthy little brat. And I’ll give your mouth something to quiet it down later.”
“Cheesy.”
“Fine.” He unfolds himself from the bed, peeling my spent body off him. “I’ll see you at work tonight. And when we get home, I’ll watch you try to mock me with my dick shoved down your throat.”
I laugh and roll over to look at this beautiful, filthy, funny man who stormed into my life and turned it all upside down.
I think I’m still reeling.
I think I’m overwhelmed.
I think I’m in love with him too.
“See you tonight,” I reply with a wink.
Then he kisses me and swaggers out the door like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
38
Beau
Beau: T-minus six hours until you’re choking on my cock.
Bailey: Lol. But who’s counting, right?
Beau: Me. I’m counting.
Bailey: He’s hot and can count. Really, the whole package.
Beau: Will be giving you the whole package in T-minus five hours and fifty-nine minutes.
Bailey: CHEESY.
My palm lands flat against the cool door. The brass push bar across it looks a little worse for wear. I make note of that as I walk into the tail end of the Monday night dinner rush.
The low chatter of conversation hums through the air while George Strait plays over the speakers. Pool balls clatter against each other like a chime in the song.
I catch sight of Bailey behind the bar. Shiny, almost-black hair cascades down over her shoulders.
Her tight, drawn up shoulders.
My eyes race over her. Jaw set stubbornly, movements almost jerky, like she’s trying and failing to act casual.
She’s a terrible liar. Everything about her, from her face to her body language, absolutely gives her away. Something is wrong, and she might as well be a flashing neon sign telling me as much.
The other dead giveaway is Gary, who is sitting up straight with a half-drunk pint in front of him. He doesn’t even have his hand on it. Usually, he never lets it go once she hands it over. It bothers me because I feel like the beer must get warm, which is just very unappetizing. But then I always suppose that he drinks it fast enough for it not to matter.
Either way, he’s rigid too and watching Bailey with a glint of fatherly protectiveness in his eye that I’ve seen before. But today it’s sharper … more sober.
I check my watch.
Seven thirty. He’s usually drunk by now.
My eyes scan the room, noting the smiles people toss me as my gaze slips past. I don’t smile back. I went from relaxed to high alert, and when I hit the back corner, I know why.
Bailey’s shitty fucking brothers and her shitty fucking dad are here. I thought he was in prison somewhere, but what do I know? Truth be told, we don’t talk much about her family. I can tell she doesn’t like it. I can tell it makes her feel dirty and I never want to make her uncomfortable.
They’re happily tossing back beers, laughing, playing pool—like they belong here. Fury races through me.
Have I not kicked them off my property already?
I take a few steps their way, ready for confrontation, when I turn and give Bailey a quick glance. I must have felt her eyes on me because we make a connection instantly.
She shakes her head no.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it bleeds, then tip my head harshly toward the door before turning and storming out. Hoping she’ll follow. Needing to talk to her.
I march back out into the parking lot, freshly paved, so the place isn’t so fucking dusty all the time.
“Beau!” she calls as she clears the door.
“Over here.” I wave her back with me, going around the building to the little sheltered shed at the back where we keep the empty kegs. Pickups happen on Mondays, so there’s nothing in here right now, and I yank the door open, ushering her in. She scoots past me and I slam it shut behind us.
Light seeps in from between the boards, casting a faint glow.
Bailey’s eyes are wide with unease, and she opens with, “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
I cut her off by pressing one finger to her lips. “Are you okay?”
She nods but blinks rapidly. Fuck, my girl is tough. She’s saying she’s okay, but she’s not.
“Bailey,” I sigh her name and take my hand back, scrubbing it over my mouth. All the tension in my body pulses to the surface, writhing beneath my skin.
“Beau, please. Just don’t make a scene. They’re never as bad when my dad is around. I don’t want there to be a scene. I want them to finish their shit and get out and to just be the bigger person.”
“I’m fucking sick of you having to be the bigger person, Bailey. They know what they’re doing. I told them to get off my property and stay away from you. And yet, here they are, shoving their defiance in my face. You deserve so much better than this.”
She rubs at her temples, peering down at her feet. And I wish I could make this all so much easier for her. But I don’t know how.
She needs to get out of this town, and soon.
We both know it. We just don’t talk about it.
I don’t pretend to know how much money she needs to save up to pull the pin, but I suspect there’s a level of nerves that accompany her plan. Wanting to leave, but also afraid of starting fresh.
I worry I’m holding her back.
She turns tearful eyes up at me. “I’m so tired, Beau. So fucking tired.”
The air in my lungs empties in a heavy whoosh as my chest caves in at her admission.
I don’t know what to say to make it better, so I kiss her instead. It starts with a little whimper into my mouth, but then her hands are on the back of my neck. Her nails are in my hair. She’s gripping me to her like she might breathe me in and sustain herself on my kiss alone.
My hands start on her hips, but the minute they start to roam, the energy in the shed changes.
Our patience frays.
I want her with a violence I’ve never experienced, with a ferocity that shocks me.
I shove her against the wall, pressing my leg between hers. My thigh grinds against the apex of hers while I take her mouth and rip at the button of her tight jeans.
“Beau,” she whispers between bruising kisses, hands running up under my shirt.
“I want these pants off. Now.”
“Beau.”
“I want you to walk back in there knowing that you’re mine. No matter what happens. No matter what anyone says.”
“What?”
“I want you to walk back in there looking freshly fucked so that no one questions a single thing about us. Especially not you.”
“Beau, there are customers … ” She trails off as I yank her jeans down her firm thighs, leaving them stretched there, and run my fingers over her panties.
“Bailey, shut up and let me fuck what belongs to me. We can talk later.”
“Yeah,” is her breathy response as I rub at the cotton thong that’s now wedged between her pussy lips.
“Turn around and bend over.” My voice is sharp, bordering on demanding, but she doesn’t flinch. She knows me well enough to know there are different facets of me that come out to play, depending on the day.
She tells me she likes all the versions of me, so I haven’t bothered hiding even the most vicious parts of myself from her. The ones I’ve always left overseas or on base. I don’t have to pretend those facets of me don’t exist with her.
I love her all the more for it.
Bailey spins, palms flat against the crudely constructed wall of two-by-fours. Her bare ass faces me, her head bowed while her body rises and falls under the weight of her panting.