25
“Y ou ready to get your ass kicked?” Davis asks, holding the door open for me. The electronic clacks and dings of the pinball machines are music to my ears.
“Uh-huh,” I deadpan. “If memory serves me correct, I was usually the one kicking your ass, Hotshot.”
The minute we step into the neon lights and lasers beams of the Rose and Cowboy Arcade, the place goes quiet.
Heads turn, gazes direct our way, and I wince.
The whole town believes I’m pregnant with Davis Montgomery’s baby, and even though my brain screams it’s an idiot plan, my heart says otherwise.
I’m pregnant. Does it matter who the father is?
I step closer into Davis’s body, into all those muscles that have me drawing from his strength. “Everyone’s looking,” I whisper.
He drags in a breath, nostrils flaring. Then he takes my hand and leads me across the floor. “It’s okay. I got you.”
I square my shoulders.
He does.
Ignoring the attention zeroed in on us, I roam my eyes around the Rose and Cowboy Arcade.
An arcade-slash-pool hall with a retro Wild West vibe.
It’s the hot Saturday night thing to do in Resurrection that doesn’t involve falling dead drunk off barstools at the Neon Grizzly or drag racing down Dead Fred’s Curve.
I fell in love with the arcade and its neon lights the second it came to town. When we were kids, Fallon and I would beg our father for quarters and play the afternoon away.
It’s the place I had my sixteenth birthday. I took my first Jello-O shot with Patti Ann behind the Street Fighter arcade game. It’s where I took Davis when I met him at the ranch. He asked me what I did when I was bored in this town and I told him I’d play a game of pinball.
I glance down at my stomach, cup its low swell, then look over at Davis and smile. “Baby’s first pinball,” I tell him.
And according to Davis, our first official date. Since he declared no friends, no secrets, my head’s been spinning. After months of dancing around it, we’re finally moving in a direction that feels dangerously close to what I’ve always wanted.
Us.
God, I hope we last.
I can survive Aiden, but I can’t survive Davis letting me go again.
Davis grins and steps closer, fitting his warm palm to the small of my back. “Where to, Koty?” The steel in his voice, the way he possessively cups my back, has me hot all over.
He cares. And it’s been a long time since I had that.
I scan the room, seeking out familiar machines, one in particular. It’s a long shot, though, because the Rose and Cowboy trades out the machines every few months to bring in new ones.
I squint through the crowd, aware Davis is waiting for an answer. “I don’t…”
“Over here,” he says, taking my hand. He leads me to a darkened corner of the room, and we stop in front of a bright bubblegum pink pinball machine. Cowgirl Coven .
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “They still have it.”
I grasp the plunger, test out the flippers, and run my eyes over the colorful machine. Fallon and I always loved the cheesy ’80s storyline. Cowgirls battle the devil in a Wild West apocalyptic showdown that’s part zany hijinks, part psychedelic mushroom trip.
Unbidden tears spring to my eyes. My favorite machine’s still here. Existing. Like even though things have changed, some little part of my life is still around.
Davis scruffs a hand over his face, stares at me like I’m killing him dead. “Koty.”
“I’m okay.” I wipe my cheeks and sniffle. “It’s just…it feels hopeful that it’s still here. Not everything changes. I know this is stupid. I’m crying over a pinball machine.”
A half-smile touches Davis’s lips. “Cupcake, you cry your beautiful eyes out. And when you’re done…” He pauses, leans in. “I’ll kick your ass.”
I sob-laugh. “Bullshit.” I grab the flippers and hope the need for competition will dry up my tears. “I wonder if our high scores are still there.”
Davis drops a token in the slot and the blaring banger of a theme song—dueling banjos and electric guitar—drowns out the sound of every other machine in the arcade.
“You ready for an ass kicking?” I taunt.
There’s a rumble of a chuckle from Davis. “Going from crying to ass kicking? That’s what I’d call underhanded diversion tactics, Cupcake.”
I scoff. “Let’s play.”
“You’re on,” he says as he wraps one massive hand around the plunger.
“Outta my way,” I tease, elbowing him aside.
We play token after token. Long and loud into the evening. Even with my weak arm, I kill it and beat my best score. Squish kicks in my belly like he–or–she is keeping rhythm with the bright noises of the arcade.
“Damn skill shot,” I mutter. “Damn bitch, multi-ball,” I growl as three balls come out of nowhere. My game’s ended with a deafening “yeehaw” and the crack of a whip.
“Shit,” I whine. “I almost had that.” Then I look at Davis, our scores, and lift a brow. “Still beat you, Hotshot.”
It makes his lips curve, and I relish the sight.
“There she is. The Koty I remember.” Davis encircles me, his broad, rough hands slipping over my backside.
I gasp as he spins me around to cage me against the machine.
My senses are consumed with him—my breasts crushed against his powerful chest, the vibration of the pinball machine, the electric arc of our bodies. Heat and heart and soul.
Davis dips his head, his voice a husky rasp against my ear. “My sexy little trash talker.”
“You’re one to talk.” Brazenness zips through me, and I palm the front of his chest. “I never knew you had such a filthy mouth under this uptight exterior.”
His eyes flash. “Uptight, huh?”
“Oh, very. Davis Montgomery. Boss of brothers. Broody super soldier. Cupcake eater. And—”
Nothing else gets past my lips.
Davis silences me with a kiss so mind-melting my knees nearly go out.
We sway together as I drink in his heady taste, my arms twined behind his head.
The arcade gets louder, the lights brighter. My cheeks flame. But I tune it all out.
I tighten my grip on the man in my arms.
What Resurrection thinks doesn’t matter. What matters is I am kissing Davis Montgomery in public. What matters is I am alive. What matters are all the tiny glimmers of happy I’ve collected this last month.
Maybe this town is still mine.
And maybe so is Davis Montgomery.
Margaritas drunk: 0.
“Remember how those poolhall margs just hit different?” I ask with a sigh. I gaze longingly as a fishbowl-sized margarita gets delivered to a nearby couple, two straws for the win.
“Remember how they hit you,” Davis says, giving me a full-wattage grin that has me melting.
“The dancing.” I cover my eyes and groan. “I remember the dancing.”
We’ve claimed a sticky high-top in the middle of the room, and despite the clang of arcade games and the clack of billiard balls, conversation has been effortless. A reminder of yet another reason the muscled Marine claimed my heart.
“Drinks?” the server asks. He looks bored, the typical small-town kid working a Saturday night shift to scrounge up some extra cash to get the hell out of this town. The bolo tie around his neck looks as frayed as he does.
“No. Nachos,” I tell him. My palm finds my stomach as a small cramp settles in my right side. Squish and I—we’re both starving.
“Kitchen’s closed until six.”
Davis looks at him with a frown. “Come back at six,” he warns. “On the dot.”
“Sure thing,” the kid says before hustling away.
“Stay here,” Davis says, slipping off his stool. Before I can say anything, he heads outside and returns with a box of granola bars. When I say nothing, only stare at him, he goes on. “You get hungry. Low blood sugar’s dangerous for you and the baby.”
I arch a brow, my heart free falling. “And you just happened to have a stash in your truck?”
He gives me a look. “You gonna eat ’em or interrogate me?”
I grab a bar and tear at the wrapper. “Maybe I like to interrogate you.”
“I’ll give you three questions.” His eyes are dark with humor. “Ask away.”
“MONSAR,” I say and take a small bite of granola bar. “Do you like it?”
“I do.” A muscle rolls in his jaw. “It helped with the PTSD, after you left.” He exhales, cradles his beer between his palms. “The ranch is Charlie’s. MONSAR, the dogs, they feel like mine. Even if I used them to run away at first.”
“They helped you.”
He nods, his face unreadable. “They did. I hid myself for a long time. From what happened overseas. From what I did for Charlie. I’ve seen things that make monsters out of men, and I didn’t want that for myself. I didn’t want to be helpless, so I fought through it.”
As I listen, I see him so clearly. I always have, but more pieces fall into place. Those Fort Knox-like layers of him peel back and reveal why he takes my protection so seriously. Why he’s a hard-ass around his brothers. He pushes people away even when he wants them to stay.
“It gets hard when it’s a kid on the front lines, but…” Davis inhales. “I goddamn love it. I do.”
My heart squeezes at the thought of a baby or a kid in trouble. “I couldn’t imagine,” I say softly, cupping my belly.
Davis watches me closely. “Nothing will happen to your baby, Dakota.” The words come out rough and determined. “I swear it.”
My smile fades and I fight a shiver at the sudden dangerousness etched on his handsome face. “You think he’s here, don’t you?” I try but fail to hide the note of fear in my voice.
“I’m not sure,” he says grimly. “I wish I were.”
“Is it stupid to hope that he’s given up?”
“No.” He takes my hand. His fingers, warm and rough, curl around mine. “Hope’s not stupid. It keeps you going.”
I smile. Leaning on Davis doesn’t feel like taking a step backward anymore. It’s accepting support.
“What else? Interrogation, remember? Still got two more questions,” he says with a lift of a dark brow.
Elbow on the table, I prop my chin in my hand and think on it.
Maybe it’s the neon of the arcade or the baby in my belly, but a sudden braveness overtakes me.
I sit up straight, even as my stomach flutters with what I’m about to ask.
“Has there been anyone else, Davis? While we were apart?” I bite my lip as he stays silent.
“Not that I have a right to ask, but I…I just wondered.”
Muscles tense in his broad shoulders, those impenetrable brown eyes flickering. “No. There hasn’t.”
My heart pumps hard, dangerously close to giving out. The answer’s close. So close.
“Why wasn’t there anyone else?”
“Because I couldn’t have you.”
For a moment, his simple truth stuns me into silence.
The warm edges of a flame flicker against my heart, and I look at him under lowered lashes.
“I don’t need a date to know I like you, Davis.
I’ve liked you ever since I met you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy as the summer we spent together. ”
A shudder rocks Davis’s body.
Emotions knot my throat, but I go on. “In fact, all these long years, I’ve been the very best at missing you.”
Dark, smoldering eyes stare back at me, crackling with intensity. This time, he draws my hand closer, his lips sweeping over my knuckles. “As far as I am concerned, we aren’t starting over.”
My lungs constrict. “We’re not?”
“No.” Emotion slashes across his handsome face. His next words come out unguarded and raw. “We’re picking back up right where we left off. I’m not wasting another minute without you.”
Oh. Oh god.
And just like that, my heart’s on the moon.
“Last question,” I announce, trying to hear myself over the hammer of my heart. “What do you want in life, Davis? Like really want?”
Before he can answer, a piping plate of nachos is dropped on the table with a clatter. “Six on the dot,” our server says flatly, setting down silverware roll-ups and appetizer plates.
A growl rumbles in Davis’s throat at the interruption, and I can’t help but laugh out loud. My soul feels so light.
The baby turns over in my belly, causing another cramp, and I gasp. No more time for questions. The truth will have to wait.
“Bathroom,” I say to Davis. “Squish is massacring my bladder.”
“Like I said, kid’s got perfect timing.” But he’s grinning as he stands and carefully helps me off the stool.
Without another word, I’m off in search of the bathrooms.
Halfway there, a thought crosses my mind and I backtrack to stop at the customer service counter.
Gus Sanders, sporting a pornstache and a bowtie that has him looking like a human version of Roger Rabbit, glances up from his phone. “Hey, Dakootie McGraw. What can I do ya for?”
I roll my eyes at his old nickname for me. “Still got the bowtie, huh, Gus?”
“Never stopped.”
“That machine…” I point to Cowgirl Coven . I’m already picturing it in my new bakery. “If you ever plan to get rid of it, will you call me? Sell it to me?”
“Can’t.” He taps out a message on his phone, looks up. “That thing ain’t going nowhere. It’s already been bought and paid for. With strong instructions to never move it from the premises unless we, uh, ‘want our asses beat.’”
I frown. “What? By who?”
He jerks his chin. “You’re sitting with him.”
My eyes rush to Davis, sitting at the high-top, arms crossed, stern and stoic. He bought our machine. My heart gallops as I turn and head to the restroom.
Giddy. It’s the only way to describe how I feel. This perfect moment, this night, this man. That life that once felt so out of reach seems so close all over again.
It’s a step forward.
We’re a step forward.
Us.