Chapter Whit
Whit
After rounding the side of the building, I lean back against the brick exterior and slam my open palm into the rough wall. The neon bar sign gives little light to an otherwise pitch-black alleyway, and I scrub a hand over my chest, willing my lungs to take a full breath of cigarette-laced air.
“Whit?” Colt’s concerned, albeit angry, voice carries through the still night air.
Though Sheridan’s significantly bigger than Wells Canyon, it’s still a sleepy town that rolls up the sidewalks the moment the sun goes down. Aside from a few people milling about, smoking cigarettes outside of the bar, there’s not a soul around.
“Whit. I know you’re around here somewhere. Can you please come back inside?”
Seething, I bite my lip.
He calls my name again, closer this time.
“Hey.” His whisper makes me lift my head. He’s standing at the corner of the building, hands stuffed in his pockets, squinting at me in the dark.
“That was…” He warily moves closer, as if I’m liable to bite or run away. “I might’ve overreacted.”
“You think?” I focus on glaring at him. It’s the only defense mechanism I have left, especially with his massive body closing in on mine. If I don’t scare him off with the look he’s previously admitted to being afraid of, I’m a goner.
“I just—fuck. I’m actually losing my goddamn mind.
It’s…I don’t even know. Do you know why I don’t know?
Because I can’t think when you’re around.
” He sighs with exasperation. “And I’m far from the sharpest in the tool shed on a good day.
But then you show up, and the two brain cells I had rubbing together start heading in completely different directions. ”
I swallow hard—the only reaction I’m willing to give him.
“I lose my mind with you. And seeing that guy all over you.” He bites at the inside of his cheek, and everything in him tightens with the memory. His eyes cut to the neon bar sign hanging high on the wall above me. “Do you know how goddamn badly I wanted that to be me dancing like that with you?”
The cold brick supporting my back does nothing to squelch the fire blazing inside me.
Something in the way he looks at me shifted on that dance floor, becoming jealous, possessive, hungry, like the way I’m watching him with a predatory gaze right now.
Being here with him is dangerous in the way standing on the edge of an eroding cliff is.
And we’re working up the courage to jump.
My voice comes out heady and low. “W-why didn’t you?”
Colt’s a good guy. He deserves so much more than I can ever give him. I shouldn’t reach for him, but here I am doing it anyway.
“Because…I like you. A lot. I didn’t want to move too fast and scare you off.
But if you want some guy’s dick rubbing on your ass until he creams in his pants on the dance floor, I guess you don’t spook as easily as I thought.
” He’s so close, I can feel the heat from his skin and smell the body wash I imagined as I came earlier today.
I bite back a hoarse laugh. “I didn’t actually mean what I said in there. It was nice to feel wanted by somebody.”
“And I don’t count?”
“You do.” You count the most.
“Well, I want you. Fucking hell, do I want you.”
I drag my palm down the bricks at my back. None of this feels real. I’m in someone else’s body. Someone who goes out to the bar and ends up in an alleyway hearing a man confess his feelings. Whoever that someone is, I like her.
My ankles shuffle farther apart, encouraging him to stand in the space between my legs.
His breath quivers. “Fuck it. Fuck taking my time here.”
Placing a firm grip on either side of my jaw, Colt crashes his lips to mine.
Our kiss is ravenous, the air between our bodies charged as we lean into the hunger.
My heartbeat chases his, matching his pulse among our frenzied kisses and roaming hands.
I’m so turned on by his rough hands on me that my skin feels too tight, like it might rip wide open.
The warmth of his mouth leaves mine to murmur, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so goddamn bad.”
“You do?”
My hands tiptoe down his chest, trepidation setting in as they venture farther south. Then a little farther again, to the ridge of his waistband. His work-worn palm slides over the back of my hand, securing my hold of his hard cock through thick denim.
“Doesn’t this feel like I fucking want you?”
The kiss that follows is rough and tender all at once.
I lose my senses indulging in the feel of his tongue searing and sliding over mine.
My hips rock into his, and I do nothing to prevent the way my dress shifts further and further up my thighs.
I want to feel the hard length of him rubbing over my pussy.
I want to be that girl who doesn’t care if anybody around is watching.
Colt notices, groaning—painful and gravelly—against my already sore lips. His fingers leave my tangled mess of hair, reaching to pull the dress down to cover my exposed ass.
“Whit,” he murmurs. “Not here. Not like this.”
He presses a chaste kiss on the tip of my nose, stepping back to smooth his hands down my sides.
I lick the taste of him from my lips and blink away the sexually frustrated fog that had me moments away from begging to be fucked in an alley.
Colt adjusts himself in his pants, hiding an erection by tucking it into his waistband, and rights his lopsided cowboy hat.
There’s a sudden chill in the air at the loss of his body blanketing mine, and I rub my palms up and down my goosebump-speckled arms.
“Come on. Do you want to go back in, or go home?”
My fingers comb through my hair. I know what I want to do, but stealing a glance toward his truck, I sigh. I made a silent promise the moment I found out I was pregnant; nothing I want or need will ever come before my child.
I want Colt to kiss me until I’m boneless and breathless. I want to feel his hands on every inch of my skin. Jonas needs Colt to be in his life as a friend and role model. So that settles that.
“We should go back in. Blair will be pissed if I ditch the party early.”
“Back to the dance floor, then? The world needs your scuba diving move.”
I smack my forehead. “You’re never letting that go, are you? I can’t believe I showed you that.”
“Never seen a hotter scuba diver. I mean…I’ve never seen a scuba diver, period. But I know you’d be the hottest one.”
He takes hold of my hand, then lets me lead the way.
Another reminder that it’s my call whether we move the alleyway passion to a more intimate location or return to the crowded bar.
But if we let lust take over, it’ll be the end of everything as we know it.
That’s a decision that shouldn’t be made when I can still feel his lips on mine.
Colt’s hand drops mine at that exact moment, as if he’s reading my mind and had the same realization that whatever—whoever—we were a minute ago ends here and now.
“You don’t want people talking, so we probably shouldn’t waltz inside like a couple.
” His lips press quick and hard against my temple, and we push our way through the raucous bar doors, joining the party in the middle of “Mony Mony” by Billy Idol.
Laser lights shine in every direction, frantically crossing paths and illuminating the dust and dirt floating through the air.
Suddenly it smells more like stale beer and sweat than I remember.
Without thought, my lips silently form the lyrics, and Colt gives me a curious look.
“Billy Idol is—or maybe was—my mom’s favorite.” My cheek presses to his shoulder as I shout over the music. “The only time she swears is during the secret bonus lyrics.”
A burly man bumps into me as he walks by, and I feel the warmth of Colt’s hand glide against my lower back to settle on my waist. He holds me steady, tilting his head to hear me clearer.
“I met your mom, and I can’t imagine her telling anybody to ‘get laid, get fucked.’ ”
“It’s quite the sight,” I reply through a laugh, then I squint off into space as I process the rest of what he said. “Wait, when have you met my mom?”
“Today.” His thumb slides across the thin dress fabric, and it catches on his hardened skin.
“Turns out Jonas and I might’ve gone overboard picking you flowers, so we brought her a bouquet.
I know it’s your birthday, but she did all the hard work thirty years ago… seems fair she gets something, too.”
I might need fresh air again.
· · ·
If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall in love with this man.
The night goes by in a blur of longing glances, discreet touches, and doing a half-ass job of pretending we’re just friends.
Honestly, thank God the girls are drunk and the guys are oblivious.
Something about being the girl who made out with a hot cowboy in the alley unlocks a no-fucks-given attitude.
I let Kate try to teach me how to twerk, I attempt line dancing, and I drunkenly giggle with Blair in our booth while Denny keeps us well supplied with both drinks and French fries.
Eventually it’s a little after midnight, the bass radiates through my dance-weary legs, and I chug a much-needed glass of water while Colt and Kate destroy the dance floor together.
By destroy, I mean Colt’s wearing my crossbody purse—he helpfully took it when I went to the bathroom and never bothered to give it back—and moving around the floor like one of those inflatable tube guys in a hurricane.
Long, tanned arms flailing to some techno music, the man is a menace to all the drunk couples trying to make out under the flashing strobe lights.
The craziest part? He’s completely sober. Hasn’t even consumed sugar tonight. Alex would never let loose like this in public, even under the influence of alcohol.
“Hey, Mama,” Colt says between panting breaths, fanning himself with his cowboy hat after stumbling off the dance floor in the dull space between songs. Sweat-damp shirt clung to his abs. My purse hanging against his waist. “Still having fun?”
“Yeah, just needed water.” I hold up my empty glass. “By the way, I’m glad you lost that bet. The mustache looks good on you.”
Laughing, he strokes it. I take that as an invitation to run my fingertips over his upper lip, then across the soft skin of his cheek, before finally trailing down to scrub the harsh stubble lining his jaw.
“Discount Riley Green?” He yells the question into my ear over a sudden bass drop.
“Hotter than Riley Green,” I shout back. “Jonas wouldn’t know a good mustache if it slapped him in the face.”
The smell of him and the slow circling of his fingers on my lower back makes the world hazy. I can’t help but imagine him drawing a similar pattern in a very different place.
With a tug of his shirt, I pull him close enough that my lips brush the shell of his ear. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Yeah?” He tucks hair behind my ear. I imagine I look a mess after hours of drinking and dancing in a bar filled with other sweaty, drunk people. Maybe it’s my tipsy brain playing tricks on me, but I swear he still thinks I look pretty somehow.
“I already told Blair we were leaving soon,” I say. “Jackson’s gonna drive them home.”
“Let’s get outta here then.”