Flirting With Disaster (7 page)

He tried to prepare himself for the next
part. Reid saw what happened in the town square as inevitable. It
wasn't until Brooke was caressing Dane's hand that the next step,
kissing her, became inevitable. They'd never touched each other,
not really, which seemed improbable because they must have bumped
into each other. Their hands must have brushed when she gave him a
drink while tending the bar as a favor to Peyton.

He couldn't recall a single time they had
before their handshake in Steeped and Brewed, so he’d sat there
startled at first of the warmth of her touch. Within seconds, that
surprise had turned into an ache for her to explore more than his
hand, and then he had needed to know what she felt like under his
palms. Turned out she was supple in all the right places.

Shit. His cock hardened just remembering
that and the sound of her moans. Those memories were why he'd stood
outside The Grog. He couldn't be alone with her anymore. He'd lose
his head, because all he wanted was her mouth under his. It
wouldn't be enough until she was beneath him, moaning and touching
him back.

Reid made headway through the crowd and
reached the bar first. He leaned on it, a smile softening his
fierce expression. He glanced toward Dane and laughed.

Yeah. If his attraction was that obvious
from one look at his face, he had the right idea that Brooke and he
shouldn't be left unchaperoned.

He squeezed in beside Reid.

Brooke's smile didn't dim, but she only
nodded at him before meeting Reid's gaze. “I'm guessing Tate's here
somewhere licking your sister.”

“
Just give me something
that'll put hair on my chest,” Reid replied.

Brooke pushed out a breath and looked at
him. His gaze strayed down, and her nipples were tight points
against her low cut dress.

“
Brooke,” he
said.

She shook her head. “What can I get
you?”

“
A Coke.”

“
Coming up.”

Reid waited until she went down the bar to
get their orders. “You're a pussy, and I'm embarrassed to call you
my friend.”

He shrugged at the accusation. “I'm not
going to do this to myself.”

“
Tatiana.” Reid guessed and
made a noise like he all too well understood about ex-girlfriends
who ripped out your heart.

After one too many beers when Dane had first
moved into town, the men had somehow gotten on the subject of women
and past relationships. Reid had told Dane about Madison, his high
school and college sweetheart. In turn, Dane had told Reid about
Tatiana. There had been no winner on who had the better story, but
a friendship had grown.

Reid's gaze held nothing but understanding.
“Brooke is nothing like that.”

Dane glanced down the bar where she'd gone.
Brooke was flirting with someone. He could tell from the way she
bit down on her lip. She'd done that often with him over the past
few weeks for him to know.

Dane said, “You're right. She's nothing like
Tatiana. She's worse. She's the kind of woman who's afraid of
needing a man. If she does, she makes him pay for it.”

Reid frowned, narrowed his eyes and tried to
defend his sister's friend. “Brooke is like a rose. She's
beautiful. She's also covered in thorns, but only to protect
herself. You know that or you wouldn't have that dumb expression on
your face whenever you looked at her. And you keep looking at her.”
Reid gave him a pointed stare, probably in hopes his point hit
home. “Anyway, whatever is in the air seems contagious. Let me be
the first to congratulate you on your new girlfriend. I like her.”
He looked at Dane, his face serious now. “She's my sister's friend.
So...”

“
Ah. Big
brother.”

His friend's face flushed. “When Tate
started looking at Peyton like that I gave him the same
warning.”

Tate pushed in beside Reid. “You told me
you'd shove my balls down my throat, if I'm remembering right.”

“
I said I should, not that
I would.”

Brooke was making her way back down to them
with their drinks. Tate got the bright smile, too, when she settled
the glasses on the counter.

She said, “Your friends suck. They didn't
order you anything.”

“
I'm dating the owner,”
Tate said, “I think I'm covered.”

Reid grabbed his drink and downed half of
it. The man was having trouble being friends with his sister's
boyfriend.

It amused Dane to no end. “Karma. Such a
bitch.”

Brooke put his Coke in front of him. He
squinted. Right. That's why they had never really touched. They'd
found ways around it. No, her hands weren't smooth, but that didn't
stop them from sparking something hot and unruly deep inside him.
She caught him staring and her breath hitched.

He flexed his neck to keep the tension from
creeping up. “Let's find a table,” Dane suggested.

Reid grinned, his malicious intent clear in
his eyes. “Let's sit at the bar. Gives me a better view of
everyone.”

Peyton rounded the counter, her hands filled
with empties. “I told you I can handle drunks. A million
times.”

Reid finished his drink. “I'm getting drunk
tonight. You might have to bounce me.”

Brooke snorted. “So, is Dane the designated
driver?”

“
No.” Reid shook his head.
“Dane's a wuss.”

He scoffed at the insult.
“I could drink
you
under the table.”

Brooke laughed. “And I could drink you both
under there.”

Tate dug into his pocket and then threw a
twenty on the counter. “My money's on Brooke.”

Peyton threw money on that pile. “Oh, we
have family dinner this week. My money's on Reid.”

Brooke frowned at her friend. “But who'll
help you?”

“
Tate, since he's not
drinking hard tonight.” Peyton smiled at him.

“
Fine,” Tate said, “but
later—”

“
Jesus,” Reid cursed. “At
least wait until I'm drunk before you two start.”

Everyone else threw their own money into the
pot. Peyton collected the pile while Brooke lined up three shot
glasses. She motioned for Reid to wait. “We need to catch up
first.”

Dane glanced at the bottle
of top-shelf whiskey. He was going to regret the shit out of
opening his mouth, but this was going to be a group event. No one
would be left alone and temptation could be skirted. Well worth the
hangover in the morning. He could avoid daily lunches with her by
sending emails to coordinate their watches or only meeting Brooke
at the coffee shop. He wasn't going down the road of dating a woman
who held such contempt for him, for being human, for wanting more
than what
she
was
willing to give. Fuck that. He'd made that mistake once and never
again, attraction be damned.

He dug deeper into his wallet and paid for
another bottle. Brooke's brows rose, but her voice was even when
she said, “All right. Looks like I'm taking tomorrow off. On the
count of three.”

Down went their first round. He pounded his
fist on the bar. Brooke's eyes watered until she let out a soft
whimper.

Peyton sighed. “This is going to end so
badly for you, Reid.”

“
You're right,” her brother
said. “I'm out.”

Dane shook his head but faced Brooke. “You
and me, if you have the balls.”

She poured the next round. “Bigger than
yours.”

He couldn't help laughing. He waited until
she knocked back her drink to say, “If you ever asked nicely...I'd
show you.”

She choked and he drank his whiskey before
she could reply. She leaned on the bar and her cleavage suddenly
became the focus of all his attention. He wanted to wet the tip of
his finger, draw it down and then back up...

She said, a little breathless, “I think I
know what our wager is?”

“
Yeah?” He finally managed
to look up, and she wore a wide grin.

“
Go old school. A money
wager.”

“
You know what would be
interesting?” Tate said.

Wary, Dane asked, “What?”

She poured the next round for them, and this
time the liquor went down smooth, which was the first sign that he
was going to really, really regret having indulged in this drinking
contest come morning. Peyton strayed down the bar to fill some
orders, and Reid rose as though to help her. She waved him off. He
went anyway.

Tate added, “When you guys get the numbers,
the loser has to stand out on the street for a week holding a sign
for the winner's business.”

Brooke snorted. “I love it. There's the
possibility of pictures. You're going to look so cute holding up a
Hall’s Mechanic and Body Shop sign.”

“
Damn, that is good.” Dane
glared at Tate for even coming up with the idea. “Fine. We're
agreed. But, I know for a fact I'll win. Drink up.”

She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “You have
no idea who I am.”

“
Who is that?” Dane
asked.

“
I'm a Hall.” She lifted
her chin. “We don't lose.”

“
Huh.” The way she'd said
it with such pride sounded ingrained. He tried to hold that thought
and what it could mean, but the bar's temperature had gone from
cool to fry your balls hot. He unzipped his jacket and threw it
across his leg. “Then show me how a Hall wins.”

She bent beneath the bar and lined up eight
glasses. She poured like a pro, straight down the line. “Go!”

By the third one he couldn't stop laughing
long enough to drink. After every shot Brooke's face would scrunch
up like she was about to sneeze, ball her hands into a fighter
stance, and whimper. He finished after her, but he was still
chuckling.

“
Never drink like that
again,” he said.

She pressed a hand to her chest but stared
him down. “Shut it. My chest is on fire,” she wheezed.

He laughed harder. “Is a Hall throwing in
the towel?”

She looked at him partially impressed and in
horror. “You just belted those damn things down like they were
water.”

His mind fuzzed at the edges and his chest
burned from the liquor. He'd had too many shots, but it was too
late now for that regret. “Peyton has family dinner. I have annual
family trips. Last one was Russia. Vodka. Lots of vodka.”

She made a face. “Family trips?”

He checked to his left and blinked. His
friends were gone. He glanced around the bar. Tate was helping
Peyton. Reid was somewhere in the crowd, either picking up empties
or delivering drink orders. He'd gotten his hat back from his
sister and had put it on his fat head. Dane glanced back at Brooke.
They were alone. In a room full of people, but he hadn't noticed
anyone but her.

He poured himself another drink, conceding
for the moment. “Don't get me wrong. I love my family but the love
wears a bit thin after three weeks together.”

“
No one ends up dead? You
must have the patience of a saint or your family isn't half bad.”
She leaned on the bar again and that was where all his focus
went.

Full, soft, beautiful brown breasts. His
palms itched to cup them, bring them up to his mouth and taste her.
He sighed, finished the drink and tipped the glass upside down.
“For the record, I win the drinking contest. But, yes, my family is
like the Huxtables.”

Her cheeks were flushed and her gaze had
lost most of the edge it held whenever she looked at him. “Your
love of sweaters make sense.”

“
I flirted with fashion
design until I fell in love with literature.”

Her brows lifted. “That's a huge
change.”

“
My parents indulged me
when I was young. I could draw and I liked clothes. I had a hip-hop
phase. Suit phase. Everything in between. So, they sent me to some
camps. Found internships and apprenticeships that would further my
career when I got older. I wasn't impressed with the
behind-the-scenes of being a fashion designer. I didn't know what
to do and then I discovered Robert J. Parker. He was completely
different from anyone I had ever read at my private school. Books
became my passion. I didn't just want to read them or own them. I
wanted to share that love.”

Someone took the stage, and the music
blasted out the karaoke speakers. For a second indecision played
over her features and then she shrugged. He sighed, not ready for
the conversation to end. He was curious how she became a mechanic.
She'd probably dress him down if he said she didn't look like a car
nut. After talking to her the past few weeks, he’d decided she
would have made one hell of a CEO or some kind of business
consultant.

But ending their conversation before he went
way too deep into her past was probably for the best.

He shrugged too and turned toward the crowd.
It would never be a club. Not by a long shot. Whoever was singing
was drunk enough to believe they could have made it as an artist.
The song had a nice beat, and he was drunk enough to not care about
anything else. He spotted a pretty girl near him, not from town, so
he smiled.

It caught her eye. He rose and went to flirt
with someone who wasn't worse than his ex.

*****

Brooke was drunk. Had to be. Anger crept up
her throat and squeezed off any air.

Hours before, he’d had his lips plastered on
hers, and now he had those same hands she'd craved for, lusted
after, on someone else.

They weren't a couple, but
she couldn't shake the intense emotion. Yup. She was drunk.
And,
not
jealous
because that word implied what she felt for him was more than
passing attraction.

Seething was a better word. For thirty
minutes he'd fooled her into thinking he wasn't the chauvinistic
jackass she'd thought him to be. He was upper-middle class, but she
damn sure couldn't hold that against him, given her own upper
middle-class background. But growing up not having to fight for
every little thing skewed her worldview and likely his.