Rocky Mountain Hook Up (To Love Again Book 1) (3 page)

He should go over to see her. For once, he would make the approach. Yes, get up and go over. Just walk over. Easiest thing in the world, he told himself.

Just as Tray was rising, a tall man stepped in front of the woman. Darn, now it was too late. Tray moved a little to the side, watching how tentative the woman’s smile was. At last, she nodded, and the man disappeared toward the bar. There was something about him that Tray recognized. And then he put his finger on it. It was Scott Walker from his statistics class. A true jock, Scott sat at the back and sniggered through the lectures of the mandatory credit class. The girls loved him, drooled over him like he was cotton candy. Of course, Tray couldn’t complain too much in that department, he got his own share of attention. But the crowds around Scott did make him wonder about some women’s taste.

Damn it all. He had missed his chance. He cast his eyes around the crowd, looking for another possibility, but his gaze kept coming back to the redhead. She continued to fidget and he couldn’t help hoping that Scott would not be her type.

Then he spotted Scott making his way back through the crowd, but he stopped mid-way at an empty table and tucked himself behind a pillar. It was difficult to see what he was doing, since he was half-hidden by the pillar, and the strobe light made everything seem to quicken then slow down. Like watching from inside a dream. Tray saw Scott reach into his pocket and drop something into the drink.

This time, Tray’s blood rose in anger. So it was true. Rumors were circulating around campus that Scott was the connection for Roofies, the rape drug. And if Tray was right, he had just slipped one into this woman’s drink. Tray knew that in a short while the redhead would lose her coordination, appearing more drunk than she might already be. Then she would black out, but remain conscious. It was despicable what some men would do to have their way with a woman. Later, she wouldn’t remember a thing.

During high school, a boy from a visiting sports team had used a rape drug on Tray’s sister. Tray had almost killed him. Fortunately he didn’t have to, because the sheriff pressed charges, but it took Sheryl years to get over it. She’d confessed last Easter that even now it came back to her in flashes and still had the power to plunge her into depression for days.

Tray seethed, knowing that a brief pleasure for one man could produce such lasting desperation for the woman involved. Fueled by raw anger, he started to make his way across the room. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing.

Even with the adrenaline pumping through him, it was slow going. He pushed his way through the throng on the dance floor, feeling a hint of desperation rising in him as he saw Scott place the drink on the table in front of the woman. Tray quickened his pace and brought on a few dirty looks and rude comments as he forged his way through the crowd.

Scott and the redhead were talking, laughing, and so far she hadn’t picked up her drink. She was stirring it with the straw, and just as Tray reached the table she lifted it toward her mouth.

“Sorry, miss,” Tray said, grabbing the glass from her hands. “I think the bartender made a mistake with this one.”

“Oh, but I ordered a spritzer.” She looked surprised, annoyed and vulnerable all at once. Tray found it endearing. She was even more stunning up close.

“Yes,” scowled Scott. “The lady ordered a spritzer, and I bought her a spritzer. You’re not even the bartender that served me…hey, aren’t you in one of my classes?”

Recognition crept across Scott’s face. Tray held his gaze.

“Stats,” said Scott. “You sit in the front with all the answers. Give the lady back her drink, pal.”

Tray’s body thrummed like a high-tension wire and he noticed the redhead looking puzzled and more than a little annoyed. “Will you excuse us while I speak to Scott privately?” Tray directed his question at her while he pulled Scott off a few feet to the side. With the loud music, they didn’t have to go far to be out of earshot.

“Tray, isn’t it? What do you think you’re doing exactly?” Scott shifted his weight from foot to foot and leaned toward Tray.

“What I’m doing is saving you from a major mistake, Scott. I saw you put the drugs in the lady’s drink.”

“Is that all?” Scott laughed. “Come on, everybody’s using them. It’s no big deal.”

Tray felt himself turn cold with pure fury. “Not everyone is doing it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Take this drink and get the hell away from her. In fact, it’s probably time for you to leave.”

Scott looked back at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I came for a good time, and I’m going to have one.”

Tray closed the small space between them until their faces were only inches apart. “Not with this lady, you’re not. And not with the help of drugs. You see the guy on the dance floor in the green shirt?”

Scott followed Tray’s gaze until his eyes rested on Barry.

“That, pal,” Tray said, twisting the affectionate term into a slur, “is my best friend. He’s also a cop.”

Scott blanched and Tray knew he finally had his attention.

“Say goodnight to the lady, pick up your jacket and go home, or my friend there will take you down to the station and lay charges against you.”

“With what?” sputtered Scott, in a last ditch effort to save face.

“With this drink, asshole,” Tray said, waving the drink in front of Scott. “And with the rest of the pills that you have in your inside pocket.”

Scott stared at Tray with a look that would burn through glass, and then turned and stalked back to the table.

“I seem to have forgotten an appointment,” he said to the redhead. “I enjoyed meeting you.” He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, shot one final look of disdain in Tray’s direction and stormed toward the door.

Tray moved into the empty spot where moments ago Scott had been standing and met the woman’s eyes. Another jolt coursed through him. She really was beautiful and, just now, looking quite vulnerable making her even more attractive.

“Can I ask what that was all about?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Tray jutted his chin in the direction of the empty chair.

“How about if you explain yourself first?” She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. A protective gesture.

Of course, he thought. She doesn’t know me from Adam. “Fair enough,” he said. “I know Scott from the university, and…” He paused, not sure how to proceed, not wanting to scare her. She had looked so nervous from across the room that he was sure she would bolt if she knew the truth. And he wanted, needed a chance to get to know her.

“Well?” she prompted, watching him closely.

“His girlfriend’s a good friend of mine.” He vowed to himself to tell her the truth later.

“He has a girlfriend?”

Tray nodded.

“But why did you take my drink?” she asked, the uncertainty clear in her expression.

She had him there. Why did he take her drink? “Because it was the only way I could think to interrupt. Scott doesn’t know me very well, but I know who he is.”

“Oh.” The redhead looked pensive. “So you were saving me from a cheating boyfriend.”

“In a way.” Tray laughed. He was starting to calm down, and her easy manner washed over him like a gentle breeze after a storm. He found himself responding to her in a way he had not responded to a woman in a long time. Years even.

She cocked her head to the side and smiled up at him. “How long were you watching Scott?”

“Oh. Scott.” He shifted back a step. “Uh, actually, I was watching you.” He could feel his face starting to flush, like a damn teenager.

This time the damsel rushed in to save him. “So what is your name, white knight?” she asked, a spark returning to her eyes.

“Tray. And you?”

“Isabel.”

“Isabel. Nice name. Now can I join you, Isabel?” Tray motioned again to the empty chair.

“Well, now I don’t have a drink,” she said.

Of course, she doesn’t have a drink. How could he be so clumsy. “Let me go and pick up drinks for us then. What would you like?”

“It was a spritzer, remember?” She grinned. “In fact, it’s still sitting on that table.”

Tray looked back to the table where he had confronted Scott. Sure enough, the drink was sitting there. He felt sick. What if someone else picked it up? “I’ll get you a fresh one,” he offered, flashing her a smile. He was starting to relax, the rush of adrenaline and anger slowly being replaced by the anticipation of getting closer to his goal. “Be right back,” he said, and after picking up the drug-laced drink from the other table, he edged his way back into the crowd.

CHAPTER FOUR

Isabel watched him go, wondering for the first time how a man’s back could possibly be as attractive as his front, but knowing now that it could and already wishing that he was on his way back to her.

He was what? Twenty-two, twenty-three tops? Barely older than her daughters - a notion she quickly banished from her thoughts. The next thing she knew, she’d be pouncing on the poor boy. She was so jumpy that the thought of pouncing brought on a nervous laugh.

She shifted in her seat, hoping her outburst hadn’t called attention to herself, and surveyed the crowd again, praying that Tray would be back quickly with her drink. She needed one. Her nerves were shot. Tonight she would get a taste of what it was like to look for meaningless sex. Although she wasn’t sure if you could call the first sex in over three years meaningless. And even though she was only here to look, it would be a good experience. Something she could build on for the next time.

She caught Tray’s head bobbing toward her across the dance floor. Even from a distance he was delicious. In fact, he looked like he’d just stepped off a poster advertising for the local gym. Shoulder-length blonde hair teased the neckline of his t-shirt, a cotton number in periwinkle blue that stretched thin over his bulging pecs. He was eye candy personified.

As Tray reached the table, the warmth that had started to flow through her made it hard for her to smile without feeling goofy. She struggled to compose herself. Leaning forward to place her drink on the table, he towered over her. Six one, she guessed, six two. Good lord, he has a foot over me, we’ll never line up! She stifled a grin and reached for the glass.

“Thanks, Tray,” she said, sliding further along the bench so he could slide in beside her.

“What’s so funny, Isabel?” he asked. “You look like you just swallowed a budgie.”

“Canary.”

Tray stared at her blankly.

“The saying is swallow a canary,” explained Isabel, catching her breath. “It’s an old mining expression.”

Tray surveyed her closely and she felt her skin start to smolder. His cool assessment of her made her fidget, but he moved slightly in her direction, pressing his thigh firmly against hers. “Just how old are we talking about?”

Isabel laughed out loud and rolled her eyes. “I read about it in books,” she said.

“Canaries always remind me of the Police song,” he said. “Do you know that one? Canary in a coal mine?” He reached for her shoulder and started to play with the strands of her hair. Isabel shivered.

“I love Sting,” she said. “He’s coming to town soon.”

“We should go then,” Tray suggested. “Why don’t we?”

Isabel stared at him as though he had just come from Mars. “Well, because…”

“Because you barely know me?” asked Tray.

“Yes, that…and because it’s the type of thing people say to each other in bars and then never do. In fact, it’s the type of thing men say to women to make them think there is a future for them.”

Tray’s expression sobered and he cocked his head, but his eyes were twinkling. “That’s a little cynical, don’t you think?”

Of course it was, she chided herself. Shut off the research engine there, girlfriend. She smiled and looked down at her drink, hoping for inspiration. She needed to relax and stay in the moment. “You’re right. I guess I do tend to over-analyze. It was meant to be a witty observation.”

“Hmmm.” Tray tipped back his beer and took a long swig from the bottle. She watched his Adam’s apple slide up his neck as he swallowed. Placing the bottle back on the table, he licked the liquid from his lips and flashed her a warm smile. “Consider it observed. I won’t rush out to buy tickets.”

Despite her reservations, Isabel found herself warming to him, the weight of his arm across the back of the bench comforting against her shoulders. He leaned in until he was only inches from her neck and breathed deeply, then stood and extended his hand in a manner she found old-worldly and gallant. “Dance, miss?”

She took his hand, let him pull her up from the table and guide her into a small open spot on the dance floor. The deejay had put on some old John Cougar and they started to gyrate.
Little ditty about Jack and Diane…two American kids growing up in the heart land…

The crowd pressed in around Isabel. The intoxicating blend of expensive perfume and liberally applied cologne overwhelmed her and she tried to focus on her dance partner. He seemed at ease on the dance floor, his body moving easily to the music, and then she caught the rhythm and let her body do the rest. Tray’s smile warmed her and she could feel herself start to loosen up. She knew it wasn’t the drink since she’d barely touched it. She couldn’t take her eyes off her partner. A tingle crawled up her spine as he reached for her arm to spin her. Then suddenly he was behind her, holding her close, his hand firm against her stomach, swaying her back and forth to the music. The musky mix of cologne and the feel of skin on skin filled her senses. Isabel was amazed that she was actually doing this. She wanted to relax and enjoy it and she needed to shut off her brain and her need to be in control and somehow just let her body take the lead. This was heaven; it had been so long since anyone had touched her.