Chapter 6
Dash
It’s a good thing I’m so engrossed by the weird showdown with the douchebag in front of me that I haven’t ordered a drink.
Because if I had one in my hand and had taken a sip, I’d have spewed it all over the bar at the word fiancé.
It’s also good that the one who uttered the word is Mallory Rutherford, a woman who’s grown more intriguing to me over the past month, starting with a full cart of drinks and dog food and an out-of-the-blue text asking me out. Sort of. I believe the exact wording of the text was, “It’s Mallory Rutherford. Are you free to meet for dinner?” I wasn’t sure if she wanted a date or a business meeting.
And now this dude who’s puffing his chest out like a territorial rooster.
Or at least he was.
The word fiancé has shut him up and turned his swagger into a series of stammered syllables. He finally decides to slug down the rest of his drink in response.
“Really.” Sarcasm drips from his tongue like maple syrup drowning a pancake in its god-awful sweetness. “You expect me to buy that? I saw you two hours ago, and you didn’t mention it.”
It shouldn’t make my pulse tick up a notch when he refers to seeing her earlier. I shouldn’t feel possessive enough to run my hand up her back. She stiffens at first, but when she relents, I run my fingers through her hair and feel her shiver beneath my hand.
“Yes. It’s been a whirlwind. I’ve been…distracted.” Mallory’s eyes heat and linger on me. It leaves no question about exactly how I’ve been distracting her, and it makes my dick twitch in my pants at the things I could do to distract her for real.
This is a woman I spent the better part of my teen years fantasizing about, after all. Now, up close and personal, she’s every bit as fierce and lovely as I imagined.
And also possibly delusional.
“Bullshit,” he says, finally, his shocked expression morphing into a fake smile.
“Hey.” Instinct takes over and I get in the guy’s face. I don’t like how he’s talking to Mallory, even if I’m still doing a double take after her pronouncement that we’re…engaged? “Watch your language.”
The guy casts me an annoyed glance and returns his glare to Mallory. “I’d have heard about it if you had a boyfriend.”
“Really? Do you have little minions reporting back on everything I do? Because that borders on creepy stalking.”
I could insert myself more into the middle of this, but something tells me I’ll learn more and get farther if I observe. Mallory grits her teeth and balls her fists at her sides, but she seems like she can hold her own. For now.
“Face it, Mal. I’m not the outsider I was when we met. I know a lot of people in this town. People who are very aware of our history.” He looks at me when he says it, maybe hoping for a reaction. I give him nothing.
Mallory shrugs.
“People talk is all I’m saying, and no one’s said anything about you and a new boyfriend, let alone a fiancé.”
“Maybe because they have better things to do than blab about me to my ex-husband.”
Instead of a snappy retort, the reference to him as an ex seems to shut him up. He clears his throat and looks around the room as though something or someone will give him an excuse to linger.
And now I have my explanation for why he feels like he has any right to talk to her the way he is—not that it excuses his rudeness.
The pieces click into place, and I realize why I’m the sudden object of Mallory’s affection. This is a revenge play, plain and simple. Or at least a fuck-you sendoff. Well, I can get on board with some good, clean sayonara fun.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my time with my fiancé,” Mallory says, emphasizing the word. “Gosh, I’m still getting used to calling you that, but I do love it.” She locks eyes with me, and there’s a pleading in them and also an intensity that mesmerizes me. For a second, I allow myself to believe it has nothing to do with her ex.
Her look makes me sweat with discomfort and charges my veins with a fire I’ve never experienced.
“Better get used to fiancée, because soon I’ll be calling you my wife.” Nothing wrong with adding a little fuel to this blaze she’s started.
I watch her ex swallow down his irritation. It seems to stick in his throat, and he coughs and turns away.
Hearing myself say the word wife should send a petrified chill down my spine, but, shockingly, it doesn’t. I even like it a little bit, which I attribute to how much I already hate her ex, if surface impressions are any measure.
Mallory’s eyes widen, but she quickly schools her expression, and the broad, fake smile returns to her face. I wonder how her ex doesn’t recognize it when he’s obviously spent a lot more time with her than I have, but some guys just aren’t that observant. He seems ruffled by her whole act.
I wrap my palm around her waist, enjoying the feel of her warm skin where her yellow shirt rides up an inch. I rub my thumb over the bare skin and feel her shudder under my touch. Her body melts just a little bit into my hand, and I pull her closer.
Meeting Mallory’s eyes, which seem to blaze with desire, I hope mine convey the exact same thing—game on.
If she’s going to drag me into whatever charade this is in front of her ex, I am one hundred percent in, but I’m going to give just as good as I get.
“I-I guess that will take some getting used to as well.” She recovers enough of her composure to nail me with her full smile—plush, ruby lips, straight white teeth—and I nearly lose my mind.
I lean in close, making sure my breath feathers across her neck as I speak in a low, growling tone her ex can hear. “You won’t just get used to it; you’ll love it. I’m sure of that.”
As long as we’re both putting on a show, I might as well swing for the fences. I give this guy another five minutes of discomfort in the situation before he bugs out of here. Fine by me.
My friends wait at a table across the room, where a cold beer gathers condensation in front of my empty chair. They’ll love this story, especially from the guy voted least likely to get married—ever.
I haven’t given much thought to marriage. I’m the youngest of three guys in the family, and so far, only one is engaged. There’s an order to things, or so I always assumed, and with Archer still holding the mantle of oldest single guy in the family, I figure I have plenty of time before I need to settle down.
Besides, this little stage play is simply that. As soon as her ex blows out of here, we can go back to what we were—not friends. Not a couple. Barely acquaintances, even if bonded by a pickle mishap and an unreturned text. And now this. Not sure what that makes us, but I’m open to ideas.
Yet hearing Mallory refer to me as her anything, let alone her fiancé, has unleashed a sudden urge to throw her onto one of the wooden game tables in the pub and tear her clothes off. Slowly. Luxuriously…
“Sure, yeah. Okay, well I still need to hash things out with you. Time’s a-ticking and we’re in this together…” her ex says, jutting his chin out but taking one step backward.
“Send it in an email. I’ll look at it when I’m at work.” One warm hand wraps around the back of my neck, and she drags a finger from the other hand down my chest. “Right now, I want to play. Okay, honey?”
I feel my cock twitch in my pants, which surprises me because I know this is an act. She could barely stand the sight of me a month ago in the grocery store, and the only thing different now is her ex in the room.
But my body responds to her touch nonetheless. It’s purely physical—I have no illusions about that. But in another minute of letting this little fantasy play out, everyone within ten yards of me will know I’m not acting by the wood in my pants.
“I’m all yours.” I am nothing if not a good sport, so I carry the ball all the way over the goal line. Pulling Mallory’s body firmly against my hip, I caress the side of her face with my hand. She watches me with a slight look of fear, more because she doesn’t know what I’m planning to do than because she isn’t willing to go along for the ride.
The corner of my mouth lifts, my partial smile reassuring her we’re in this together. She nods ever so slightly and lifts her chin. I don’t have to glance to the side to see her ex’s eyes glued to us. Even if it pains him, he can’t look away from the car wreck that is his lost relationship with this woman.
I feel bad for him there. I may not know Mallory well, but this guy was outclassed when he had her.
Then I go in for the kill, showing him that he should seriously regret whatever he did to screw up the relationship because I know without asking that he was the one who screwed it up.
Dragging a finger down Mallory’s cheek, I stare into her eyes like a soldier coming back from a year at war. I let the sounds in the room fall away and listen for her breath, which comes a little faster as I touch her skin. Pre-performance nerves, I’m guessing.
Her eyes stay locked on mine, focused. We have a job to do. Even if her heart is beating like a snare drum under the pale skin of her throat, she’s here for the show. I won’t disappoint. “Been waiting all day to see you.” I make sure my voice has plenty of growl, enough to make sure her ex knows she drives me wild.
“Aw, I missed you too,” she coos, nuzzling against my hand.
“Jesus, Mal, enough already. You’re not even into public displays.” Her ex sounds bored, but the crimson at the tips of his ears says otherwise. He’s pissed. Or mortified. Or both. He stares at the two of us like he just might hire a hitman.
“I am now.” Her voice is breathy and soft, more audible to me than him.
But really, it’s all for him. I remind myself again.
“Whatever. I call bullshit on this whole charade. I’ll send you an email.” He moves toward the exit, but he still has the drink in his hand. I stay focused on Mallory’s chest rising and falling, but I can see her ex pause by the door. Watching us, nosy.
So I lean in and brush my lips over hers. They’re softer than I expect, and I catch a whiff of cherry, which only makes me need to taste them. Her eyes drift shut and I deepen the kiss, cupping her cheek.
I need to keep this real, even for a zealous boyfriend, so I pull back only slightly and linger. Her breath melds with mine, and I tip our foreheads together. Then I kiss her once more, softly. And once more, like I can’t get enough.
I keep her tight against my hip and move my arm up to her shoulders. Possessive. Unwilling to go a second without having her close. She tips her head up and kisses my neck, and I have to fight to keep from carrying her into the nearest closet or the back of my truck and tearing her clothes off.
I feel the breeze when the door opens with a wheeze, bringing a little more air in from outside and letting her douche of an ex out.
Other than the woman I gather is Mallory’s friend, who’s been staring at us with her mouth agape, not a single person in the room seems aware of what just happened in our corner of the bar.
People make out in bars all the time, and even more people get into fights in bars. Probably as a result of making out with the wrong woman. It’s all connected, from where I sit.
Mallory’s interaction with her ex barely qualifies as a scuffle, and our kiss barely tips the radar on public displays. But it was a hell of a good kiss.
I can tell by the color rising in Mallory’s cheeks and the slightly dazed look in her eyes that she agrees. She refocuses quickly and takes a long swig from a glass of amber beer. I wouldn’t have pegged her as a beer drinker. She seems like a champagne or rosé gal, based purely on perception, but that’s changing by the minute.
“Thanks for that,” she says nonchalantly. She goes to the board and plucks the darts out one by one.
“Oh no, you don’t.” I cross the space in two strides and stand in front of her so she can’t easily evade me. “What the hell was that all about?”
She shrugs. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, I need to make a phone call.” She hands the darts off to her friend, and a second later, I’m watching her tight little ass sashay through the bar in the direction of the restrooms.
“She means she’s got to use the loo,” her friend explains helpfully with a cackle.
“Yeah. I caught that.”
It’s the only part of the conversation we just had that makes any sense.