Unfiltered & Undressed (The Unfiltered Series) (10 page)

She was the only person who knew everything about me.

Well, everything except what happened that night in The Coffee Cave.

“Damn right she is,” I said, turning to face him and chugging the beer in my hand. When I’d downed it, I slammed it on the table. “And if you fuck her over, I swear on a stack of bibles, I’ll hunt you down and cut your balls off.”

Lucas’s mouth dropped open, his expression stunned at first. And then his mouth stretched wide as he reached out and hauled me against him. It was the strangest hug I’d ever gotten.

“You’re as good a friend as she says you are,” he said against the top of my head. He let me go then, and went back to watching Em. “I won’t hurt her. Promise.”

Satisfied that he meant what he said, I went to the bar just as another song started. This wasn’t like The Dunes, where it was hard to get service…or noticed. The bartender spotted me right away, and eyed me in a way that made it clear there wouldn’t be any delays in my service tonight.

“Red Bull and Vodka,” I stated, thinking what a strange place this was.

Usually the bartender matched the bar—cowboy-types worked at honky-tonks, leather-wearing guys who could kick your ass worked at biker bars. Ex-surfers worked at beach bars.

This guy didn’t fit much of anywhere. “I like your piercings,” I said, pointing at the studs in his bottom lip.

He grinned, a look verging on a leer. “Snakebites,” he answered.

I took my drink and hoped he didn’t think I’d been flirting with him.

Zane and Emerson were back, and Zane slipped his hand around mine. “You girls play pool?”

I gave Em a quick look. “I don’t know…” I hedged.

But she was all over it. “Yes! Boys against girls!” She was already heading toward the one available table and scouring the racks for “the cutest stick” she could find.

I went to work racking the balls while I let Zane pick out my pool cue for me. When he realized I was fumbling over the order of the balls, he used the opportunity to lean over my shoulder so he could rearrange them while he explained the alternating solids-and-stripes pattern to me. I pretended to be engrossed in his description, but all I could think about was how close he was.

Emerson and I agreed to let Lucas break, and when he sank a ball on that first shot, he called dibs on stripes for the boys’ team, leaving solids for the girls. When it was my turn, I struggled to line up the blemished white ball with the shiny red one, and missed by a mile when I tried to send it across the table into the right corner pocket.

Emerson played about as badly as I did until the guys had only two striped balls to our complete set of solids still remaining on the pool table. That was when Zane ordered yet another round of drinks and Emerson gave me the signal. Apparently, we were done messing around.

“Here,” Zane offered, coming up behind me as I reached for my cue again, this time chalking the tip until the blue powder covered both the end of it and my fingers. “Let me show you.”

I blew the residue away in a cloud of cobalt dust. “That’s okay.” I offered him a sly grin. “I got this.” I rounded the table and used my cue to point at the yellow ball. “Side pocket.” Zane’s eyes went wide when I called my shot, and he recognized my mistake. Their orange striped ball was in the path of our yellow one.

“Lauren…” It was obvious from the way he said my name he was patronizing me, but that’s exactly the reaction I’d wanted. I liked that he doubted me. I liked that I was about to blow his mind.

Ignoring his half-assed attempt to warn me, I leaned forward at the waist, keeping my legs straight as I concentrated on my shot. I used my hand to brace the tip of the cue as I elevated my back elbow so my aim would come down hard on the cue ball—because, yeah, I knew the white ball had a name.

I held my breath and tucked my chin as I struck down on the
cue ball
. Just as I’d hoped, my aim was spot-on, and when the ball jumped, it cleared the boys’ striped ball and landed with a solid thunk against our yellow one.

Our ball shot straight toward the side of the table and dropped like a rock into the pocket. I couldn’t have contained my smile if I’d tried. I went to work on the next ball, a far easier shot, and I sank it with barely a second glance. The next two went in just as fluidly, and by my fifth shot, I ventured a quick look up at Zane and Lucas.

Both were watching me, mouths hanging wide open. Emerson looked like she might explode from trying to hold back her enthusiasm.

When I missed my next shot, I whirled around and feigned innocence with a pert little shrug. “Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

“
Bull
shit,” Lucas announced, dragging out the “bull” to let us know what he really thought. “We just got hustled, Z.” He snatched his cue and lined up his next shot, only to miss by a mile.

Emerson strutted up to the table next, and flashed him a mocking look over her shoulder. “Aw, that’s a shame. I guess I’ll just have to wrap things up here.” That was Em’s strong suit—clean up—which is exactly what she did.

She cleared the table of our solids and the eight-ball followed just seconds later, and when she spun back around and leaned against the rail, she sighed. “Wanna play again, boys? Maybe make it interesting this time?”

I glanced at Zane. Emerson and I had done this hundreds of times—humiliated guys who thought they couldn’t be beat by a couple of girls. It was fun to see them underestimate us, make derisive comments even, only to wipe the floor with them. Even better if we could earn a few bucks in the process.

Zane lifted his hands in defeat. “I know when I’m in over my head.”

“I’ll play.”

I whipped around, stunned to hear the voice of the last person I thought I’d see tonight.

Will looked every bit as comfortable here, in this shit-kicking cowboy bar, as he had behind the counter of The Dunes, or carrying a surfboard on the beach. He looked casual in blue jeans and a black t-shirt that accentuated the muscles of his chest and exposed the cut of his biceps. Knowing what I did about his background, about almost going pro, it made sense why he was in the shape he was. And even though he was no longer competing, I knew he was still surfing.

My pulse quickened as his eyes fell on me. He dropped a hundred dollar bill on the green felt, and Emerson snatched it up. “You’re on,” she said, not bothering to ask whether I was still interested in playing, or whether I was even still staying or not.

I scanned the bar, hating how badly I wanted to know if
she
was here too—Tess. “What about a partner?” I asked, feeling the words stick in my throat.

Will watched me like he didn’t have a care in the world. He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

My chest loosened, and I told myself that just because she wasn’t here didn’t mean she didn’t exist.

Zane scooted closer and handed me my beer. He stopped short of pissing on me, but I got the impression this was his way of marking his territory. “You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, when I reached for my beer. I took a long drink from the bottle, telling myself it was normal to be nervous with that much money on the line, except what did I care? I had a duffle bag full of cash that said his hundred bucks made no difference.

It was Will who made me nervous, or mad, or whatever it was I was feeling right now.

“No,” I muttered beneath my breath, taking yet another swallow. “But it won’t last long,” I assured him. And then I grinned, because that much was true at least. This game would be over in no time.

“I’ll play with him,” Lucas volunteered, and Emerson glared at her boy toy. “Traitor,” she accused.

Lucas wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be mad, babe. You saw me play. Trust me, I’m doin’ you a favor—playing for the enemy.”

Casting an appreciative smile his way, her cocked her head. “You say the sweetest things.”

As much as I wanted to ask Zane to take me home, I just as badly wanted to show Will up. To wipe that smug look off his face once and for all.

“Fine. I’ll play,” I said, glaring at Will. “It’s your money.”

“Not for long,” Emerson threw in, and I could practically hear her spending it already.

Zane started to help me rack the balls, but I gave him a look to let him know I didn’t need his help this time; I understood the pattern just fine. Since we’d won the last game, Em and I let the guys decide who would break, and Lucas decided to go first again, and again, he sank one ball on the first shot.

Zane stayed glued to my hip, carrying my beer wherever I went. I couldn’t decide if he was trying to keep Will away with his presence or trying to charm me with his attentiveness, but he failed on both accounts, managing only to come across as clingy.

Will didn’t seem to mind Zane’s nearness. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it made him work harder to annoy me, or Zane…or both of us.

Irritable at being stuck in such confined quarters with Will and having Zane buzzing around me like a bothersome gnat, I downed the last of my beer. “I’m getting another,” I announced, and when Zane started to follow, I held up a hand. “I got this.”

I might as well have kicked a baby, the way he looked at me, but I didn’t care. My mood was sour, and having Zane underfoot when I went to the bar would only make it worse. I needed a little breathing room.

WILL

I thought about not going after her, not because she looked particularly peaceful or anything, but because I was the reason she was fuming right now.

But that was also
why
I wanted to interrupt. I liked that side of her—that hot temper of hers.

Did that make me a little twisted? Sure it did, but it’s not like I could help what seeing her like that did for me any more than I could help noticing the way her nipples strained against the thin yellow fabric of her dress, or the way they’d hardened the moment she’d noticed me standing there.

That was when I knew I wasn’t alone in this…whatever the fuck we were going through. She might not like it, but she felt something for me, same as I did for her.

Her nipples didn’t get hard when that Zane kid hovered around her.

“I had no idea you’d be here tonight, you know.” When she spun away from the bar to face me, her brown eyes flashed with fury and I almost felt bad. She might be attracted to me, but goddamn, I pissed her off, too.

I knew I’d fucked up that night at the pool, when I’d lost control and let myself kiss her…touch her. Hell, I’d almost fucked her right then and there. I should’ve had some self-control, and if she hadn’t been so eager, I might have.

I shifted uncomfortably, the memory making me stiff in my jeans, even now. God, even while she was glaring at me now I still wanted to fuck her. What did that say about me?

“Well, now you know,” she spat. “So why don’t you just leave?” She sagged forward against the bar as the bartender, the same guy with the long dreads who’d served me the night I’d come in to get shitfaced after giving Lauren her private lesson, handed her another drink. She’d stepped up from beer, and was drinking something dark on ice.

“Lauren, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, her eyes going all sad and soft, and that was a hell of a lot worse than being pissed because I wasn’t sure how to respond to sad. “I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. I’m not the one you should say sorry to.” Her soft lips were so fucking tempting.

“I’m not sure what—” I started, just as a raspy voice called my name, or at least a version of it.

“
Billy
! Wondered when you’d be back for more.” The girl was as hot as my whiskey-drenched memory had recalled. She had on a black leather vest, seemingly with nothing beneath it, and a matching short leather skirt. Her black boots were more combat than cowboy, and the hot pink feather clipped in her hair was neither.

But it was her legs I remembered most—long and tan, and silky smooth. This couldn’t possibly end well.

Lauren was doing her level best to kill us both with her pointed stare, so I figured I ought to be polite and introduce the two of them.

“Lauren this is…” I hesitated, because even though I could remember what her legs felt like, I couldn’t conjure up a name to save my life.

Working up my best self-effacing expression, I silently implored the girl to help me out.

“Heidi,” the girl said, throwing me a bone, along with a look that said I owed her, and even though I wasn’t confused by her meaning, I knew she’d never collect. She held out her pink-polished fingers to Lauren for a handshake.

“Heidi,” I finished as if she hadn’t just said it for me. “Heidi—Lauren.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and turned back to the bartender. “Can I just get a shot?”

The bartender, who seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much, asked, “Of what?”

“I don’t care. Whatever’s closest.”

I would’ve said it was a bad idea, except it was none of my business. Heidi put her hand down, not all that bothered that Lauren had ignored her attempt to be civil. “I’ll have the same,” she said to the bartender.

“Two
whatever
s coming up,” the bartender said, like it made no difference to him. He slid two shot glasses filled with amber liquid toward the last two girls I wanted comparing notes—the one I wanted and the one I’d rejected.

Lauren picked up her shot and threw it back without missing a beat. Within seconds, her face scrunched up as she made a fist with her other hand and she leaned forward, waiting for the liquor to find its way to her gut.

Heidi took a sniff of her drink and then tasted it. “Someone should’a told you—always sip Jager.” She said it like she was some sort of Jagermeister connoisseur—something no one should be proud of.

I scowled at the bartender. “Dude, that’s messed up.” Lauren took several deep breaths, and I started to worry she might puke or something. I put my hand beneath her chin. “You okay, Brown Eyes?”

“Oh, so she gets a cute nickname, and you can’t even remember my name.” Heidi was still nursing her drink and watching me suspiciously, like anything I did was any of her business.

Lauren knocked my hand away, but her focus had gotten bleary. “I’m fine,” she said combatively, and then told the bartender, “I’ll have another.”