Strike the Match (Smoky Heights #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

WESTON

It kills me to say this, but this is the last blowjob I’ll be getting for the foreseeable future.

And for a guy like me, that’s a big fucking deal.

What’s a guy like me? That’s a guy who’s never been able to find anyone who sparks so much as a twitch anywhere above the cock.

Someone who wishes he could be set—like my brother—with the girl he always knew he was meant for, his whole life laid out for him from a young age.

If only I could be so lucky.

Unfortunately, I’m broken.

In a stranger’s apartment, halfway to coming down her throat, and it’s doing nothing for me aside from the obvious. Not even the sight of her blonde hair spilled out over my thighs, or the hot noises she’s making are making my blood pump any faster.

Nah, the only thing that makes my heart race is the thrill of a new chase, a new adventure. The boredom that creeps in and under my skin minutes after hooking up with someone new keeps me running, chasing the next new thing before my veins start to itch from the feeling of being captured.

Shit, the closest thing I’ve ever felt to what my brother Wyatt and his wife Rory have is a burrito that was so good I never wanted to let go of it.

It gave me food poisoning on the way out of my system. Fate couldn’t even let me have that moment.

So my reputation as a heartbreaker in our small hometown might have been earned through an appetite for variety in the bedroom (the kind that’s hard to satiate in a town of less than five thousand), but it’s not my fault I don’t get attached to my partners. I don’t mislead them, it just happens. They catch feelings, and I don’t. It’s why I’ve spent much of my adult life on the open road, free from labels and judgement, the kind that my brother is full of.

And why is this my last blowie? Well, that’s because this dumb fuck (still me) agreed to go back to said hometown for that very foreseeable future at his sister-in-law’s request. And once I’m there, not only will there be a painfully limited selection of women, but my brother has made it all too clear I’m not to break a single heart during my stay. Which, if I were to read between the lines, meant keep it in my pants. I don’t need another reason for him to hate me, to think of me as the fuckup little brother, so I plan to stick to his rules.

Basically, it all means I’m making the most of this moment, this mouth wrapped around my cock, this nameless woman bobbing on my lap, doing her best to suck more than half of me in and failing spectacularly.

I wrap my hand around the back of her head, threading my fingers through her honeyed hair to guide her down further—satisfaction rising in me at the way she moans as I take control—until I feel the back of her throat close around me.

That’s more like it.

The feel of my release, hot against the soft insides of her mouth, scratches the itch, but only for a minute.

I’ve barely repaid the favor—gentleman that I am—kissed her cheek in farewell and made it back to my current abode all alone again before the itch of boredom is already seeping in and under my skin once again.

This is my fate. It’s less of a curse, more of a burden. I know others out there have worse crosses to bear, but this is mine.

Never enough.

The need for more never sated.

Unfortunately, there’s no more to be had where I’m headed.

A long dirt road with only acres and acres of half-bare trees as my witness. If it weren’t for my sister-in-law and her older sister at the other end of this path, I might be tempted to do something stupid when I get up there.

If I get up there.

The streaky light of early evening comes through the mix of pines and deciduous, their light green leaves just starting to bud and form, the first touches of spring well and truly blooming here in the Smoky Mountains.

Somehow I turned a five-hour drive into an all-day affair, I’m a bit later than maybe I should be, but I haven’t been exactly chomping at the bit to come back to Smoky Heights, or the Heights, as the locals call it.

Being back for a few months doesn’t make me a local. This isn’t home.

I don’t have a home anymore.

I go wherever I can find work when I need it. Wherever looks interesting.

Wyatt would, and probably has, called me flaky. I would say I’m just not tied down. Able to go where the wind takes me, just how I like it. Some fresh scent is on the air, I follow it.

All the trails out there I could be chasing, and somehow I let my sister-in-law Rory talk me into a several-month stint painting interiors of all the revamped and brand-new shops, homes, and businesses here in the Heights as part of their grand reopening of downtown.

Rory’s the head of a whole project that’s breathing new life into this place. She’s pretty passionate about it, I guess that’s how she won me over.

And if she can come back here and make a home here after what she (and my brother) went through, well, I guess I can’t really complain about a short stint where I’ll make a shitload of money and then be on my way again, can I?

Plus, some time with my first and only niece, I can’t say no to that. She’s probably the only thing I’m looking forward to at tonight’s “family dinner.”

Not much feels familial about it. A brother who can barely stand to hold a conversation with me. His first love, who I’ve hardly seen in almost fifteen years save a couple of short interactions and their wedding, plus her sister and their stepdad.

And me, the black sheep of the Grady family, at least in my brother’s eyes. The one who never lived up to the bar Wyatt set but still tried.

If my mom were here, that would make all of this better, but she and my stepdad don’t partake in this weekly tradition. I’ll be seeing her in a few more days, but she’s not here tonight to save me from this, beautiful buffer that she is between her boys.

When I pull up to the top of the hill and park in the gravel lot to the side of the modern cabin my brother built on the land our grandfather gifted him, it’s no shock to my system that no welcome committee is waiting for me. In fact, I don’t even see anyone around from here, so I take a second to check the rearview mirror and blow out a big breath at my reflection—the only thing that follows me everywhere I go.

Forest green eyes that blend in with the scenery around me. Evergreen, like my smile. Golden skin, from so many days in the sun, on a dirt bike or a four-wheeler, over the last thirty-something years. Dark blond hair, a little longer than my mother prefers it, but none of my partners have ever complained about the mop of carefree strands.

Smile at the ready, I’m good to go, I guess. It’s all I have with me most days. My biggest weapon, my best defense, my sharpest offense. It can disarm damn near anyone.

Still don’t spot the others, even when I get out of the car. The large windows, set in thick, modern black frames, let you see into most of the modest house from outdoors, but there’s no sign of anyone in there. When my booted feet crunch over the gravel and around to the backyard (that’s underselling its scope, trust me), I finally spot them.

My brother and his wife, in each other’s arms at the back of the house, deep in conversation. A gruff look on his unshaven face, a warm expression on her much prettier one. She’s whispering something to him, and he gives the smallest of nods in return, listening intently, paying no attention my way.

A few more steps and I spot the rest of the invitees at a rustic-looking picnic table on the far side of the house. Trudging across the lawn, I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face when I see my niece. She’s gotta be the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. Pink, chubby cheeks, soft shock of light brown hair. Adorable as all hell in a bright silk dress, bouncing on her grandpa’s lap, giggling as she reaches for her auntie sitting next to her.

“We’re so happy you don’t have your mama’s original beak, aren’t we, baby girl?” Lexi coos at the girl she’s fawning over, who’s gripping her aunt’s fingers for all she’s worth. “Yes, you’re much prettier than she ever was, aren’t you?” Alexis shakes her head, rubbing her nose against the baby’s, wild hair shaking out around Lexi, as sweet giggles sound from the munchkin.

“Heard that,” Rory’s melodic voice snaps from where she’s crossing the distance to the table, a sharp bite in it that still can’t disguise a softness I’m not used to hearing from her just yet. Balancing a career, a marriage, and motherhood is working for her.

“I wasn’t trying to hide the truth, you’re a big girl, you can handle it,” Lexi tosses back in her throatier tone, not breaking eye contact with her sister’s mini-me.

“First of all, it was filler, okay, nothing surgical,” Rory starts off, touching the bridge of her nose, but their stepdad cuts in to stop that from spiraling.

“Am I going to have to separate you girls?” the oldest one at the table pipes up—though still barely in his mid-fifties—in his amused, husky drawl.

Lexi looks up, amusement splayed across her sharp features, but it abandons her face, swapped out for something that might be surprise, brows buried in her hairline, when she takes in my form in front of her, not my brother’s.

“West! No fucking way!”

“Fucking way,” I confirm with a single nod.

She gives our niece a kiss on the cheek before pulling one thick leg out from underneath the table to remove herself from a straddle across the bench and gives me a swift but hearty hug.

Alexis doesn’t bother with a trite insult, like “look what the cat drug in,” or “never thought I’d see the day.” She’s usually a little more clever with her insults, but then again, she and I have never had beef, and therefore our exchanges tend to be a bit less tumultuous than those with her sister, or even my brother by extension. Count my blessings for that too. She’s not one I’d want to tussle with on the regular. Some poor fucker’s gonna have his hands full with her some year.

Her brown eyes, so similar to her sister’s, bounce between my own and what I presume to be my brother’s behind me, before the corner of her mouth pops up in a catty smirk. “Finally, the good-looking Grady is back in town.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a closeted cougar, Lex?”

“Pfft,” Alexis waves Aurora off. “Not the life for me, but objectively speaking, Weston is quite handsome, can we not admit that?”

“Please,” Rory scoffs with zero delay, right next to me at this point. She leans in and gives me a giant hug, rubbing my back and scratching it briefly with those claws of hers before pulling back. “My husband is the hottest motherfucker in this town.” Her cat-like eyes cut to me again. “No offense, Weston.”

I pop a shoulder at her. “You’re not hurting my ego, sis.”

Her eyes run down me in a way that’s assessing but not at all sexual—an unusual feeling for me—before she looks back at Wyatt. “I mean, Weston’s not bad, but he’s not this .” Rory runs her arms over Wyatt’s chest and shoulders, then down his arms, all the ink there, and I pretend not to notice him shiver underneath her touch. I definitely don’t pay attention to the way his eyes darken and the promise in them when he glares at her in return.

“Ew,” Lexi takes the word right out of my mouth. The disgust on her face is mostly comical but definitely rooted in the trauma of walking in on them a time too many in high school. “Maybe it’s just because that one’s been tainted by you from such a young age, but I dunno, I just think ever since, maybe twenty-five or so, Weston’s really just been the closest thing to a Greek god the Heights has ever had. Puts you to shame, Grady Senior.”

Lexi’s got zero interest in me, she never has, but her riling up my brother is ten out of ten entertainment for me tonight.

“He’s not my fucking son, he’s less than four years younger than me for fuck’s sake,” my brother grumbles.

“Could’ve fooled me, old man,” I tell him, punching his shoulder lightly as he lifts his chin in as much of a greeting as I’ll get from him.

“If you’re counting emotional maturity rather than number of times around the sun, maybe,” he mutters.

Rory jabs an elbow into his ribs and he lets out a sharp exhale and narrows his gaze on her before rolling his eyes and gesturing to the table with a gruff, “Sit.”

Wow. I’m blown away by the warm welcome.

A smile breaks out across my face anyway, because I guess I can be that guy that finds the silver lining in just about anything. And to break bread with my only sibling, the love of his life, and the baby that came out of their decades-long love that’s probably still the talk of this town… hell, it’s not a bad way to spend a Sunday night.

Rory grins at me, hand on my shoulder as I sit down next to Gramps, as we’ve taken to calling the Weiss girls’ stepdad, and then she takes her daughter from him and lets me greet my niece thoroughly as she tells us all to dig in.

“Sorry it’s not homemade,” Rory offers with a small tilt of her head. “Actually, I’m not sorry, and you shouldn’t be either. It’s way fucking better for all of us this way. This is freshly frozen, straight from the boroughs, and warmed up locally. Enjoy.”

We all laugh, but no one louder than her sister.

And it is good.

Maybe great even? The tasty meal, the volley of soft insults that fly across the table between girls that share half of the same DNA, the undercurrent of warmth and familiarity in every exchange. The updates from Gramps on his recent travel overseas. Rory’s intense, passionate spiels on the New Heights project she’s heading to restore the businesses and breathe new life into the town as a whole. Even the chill in the air, the fresh scent that smells of new growth and fresh starts all around. It’s all pretty damn great.

Until my brother opens his mouth.

“So, Wes—” Wyatt uses the nickname I loathe until his wife places another well-timed, not-at-all subtle jab to his side. He doesn’t flinch, but he does elongate the syllable in a way that could almost be comical, and adds another consonant at the end. “—t.”

His eyes—so like my own, when not much else between our appearance shares resemblance—shoot to his wife’s and then back to mine.

“Welcome, uh, welcome back.” The way he clears his throat, and the distinct lack of direction behind those words, tells me this isn’t the speech he’d planned to give me. “Rory says you’ll be here for a few months, huh?”

“I’d believe her,” I say to him, eyes on her with a smile. She returns it, one hand rubbing Wyatt’s back while he nestles their sleeping baby against his chest as Rory eats her dinner. “This is her master plan, after all.”

“My master plan,” she corrects me, “is to get you back for good.” Not a bullshitter, my sister-in-law. She might be tough sometimes, but she’s a straight shooter, I’ll say that. “Or were you referring to New Heights, not the reunification of our family?”

I give her a bit of an awkward chuckle and shake my head. “We’re going there on night one, huh?”

“My second-favorite Grady taught me that ugly truths are preferable to pretty lies.”

Rory’s stepfather lets out a hearty laugh at that, and the baby coos at the sound of it, still sound asleep on her dad.

“Second favorite?” Wyatt pulls back from her, offended.

Rory’s eyes fall down to the precious sight in his arms pointedly, and his face relaxes, softening in a way it only does for those two girls. Her attention returns to me, face still lit with something unnameable.

“So, yeah, we’re going there,” Rory says. “All my cards on the table, I’ll happily have you back for a few months. It works out a little too perfect to be able to hire you for all the interior painting at these properties being renovated, and I couldn’t resist. But does a not-so-small part of me harbor hope that you’ll fall back in love with the Heights like I did—” her eyes find Wyatt’s again, “—and stay? Definitively.”

Lexi holds her silver can of Diet Coke in the air. “Hear, hear!” she cheers.

“I’ll toast to that.” Gramps joins her with his brown bottle of beer.

Committing to a few months here was hard enough for me. Hard to go with the flow when you’re confined to a tank. I like to leave my options open, not cage myself in. But I’d be lying to myself if I said something about that speech didn’t tickle a foreign place inside of me. A feeling of longing for something that never has been, and doesn’t seem destined to be, either.

I look back to my brother, the last one to hold his beer up, and he does, though with considerably less enthusiasm than everyone else at the table. When we all drink to it, Wyatt pipes up again.

“Seems a little far-fetched if you ask me.”

Aaaand here it goes.

“What does?” Alexis takes the bait.

“That he’d be able to be here full-time without breaking the hearts of the rest of the single gals of our generation.”

Lexi rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, but Rory’s hand pauses on Wyatt’s back, and I’d bet if I had x-ray vision, I’d see her claws digging into his shoulder.

“I’m a single girl in your generation, and I can promise you, I’ll be just fine with your brother on the prowl here.” Lexi shoots me a playful wink as she takes another bite to show me she’s got me on this one.

“No, seriously,” Wyatt continues. “Weston is incapable of hooking up with a girl without them tattooing his name on their ass, and then he leaves them. I don’t know how he’s supposed to go until the summer, much less beyond that, without giving in to some girl along the way and crushing her. This place is starting fresh, we don’t need a river of tears flooding out downtown in his wake.”

“He’s a grown ass man,” Rory chimes in. “He’s not sixteen anymore, Wyatt.”

“I remember having to talk to the two of you about your emotional recklessness not that long ago,” her stepfather says thoughtfully, then looks back at the cabin directly behind him. “Seems like a lot of glass in your own house to be throwing stones, there, son.”

Wyatt harrumphs, but at least he shuts up after that.

Maybe it’s only visible in the daylight, but my smile seems to have sunk with the setting sun.

Why does this feel like an omen of my next few months trapped here? Committed to staying until downtown reopens this summer. Agreeing to weekly dinners with this lot. Constant jabs I can’t duck from my brother, with the endless fear in the back of my mind that he’s right.

That I’ll never be able to assimilate into life in the Heights the way he always effortlessly has.

I’ll never find the comfort, the belonging that he so clearly has.

I might not be the irresponsible shit I was as a teen, but Wyatt’s not wrong to say I’m somewhat cursed on the subject of relationships. And Lord knows I’m not the best at the celibacy thing.

I either find a random hookup who can actually keep things casual, where it doesn’t get back to Wyatt, or I might not survive this trip. My need for variety might kill me, or else my brother will.