Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chance
It’s taking every last shred of my self-control not to cross this room, toss her over my shoulder, and march off like a caveman. Straight to her soft, warm bed where the first thing I’m going to do is give her the fucking kiss her pussy begged me for when she had me locked between the socks.
Just one more night… Just one more night… Just one more night…
My motto, my mantra, my battle cry—whatever you want to call it, is reduced to those four words.
They're my white-knuckle grip on my dwindling reason.
This time tomorrow, she and I will put the energy pulsing through both of us to good work.
Just one more night of my cock throbbing incessantly, leaving me grinding my fucking sheets like a ten-year-old starring in REMageddon: The Final Spurt. A race to nut before the sunrise.
Okay, seriously, I need her to go to her room. I can’t. This is more than a medical condition at this point. It's medical, psychological, and behavioral.
I pull out my phone, my fingers flying over the screen.
ME
Those socks are a security breach, Squirt.
HOLLY
Didn’t know you were the sock police, soldier boy. What's wrong with my socks?
ME
You know exactly what's wrong with them. Those are MY socks. MY thighs.
HOLLY
Funny, I don't see your name on them. Now Otis, on the other hand
ME
Keep it up, Squirt. You're gonna pay for this later.
HOLLY
Gee… what are you going to do? Lay beside me again tonight and touch me exactly… nowhere
Yeah, nowhere.
Because the moment I touch her like that, it’s game on—and we both know I’m not equipped for half-measures.
I drag my gaze away from her legs—a herculean feat—and catch sight of Everett’s Uncle Seth at the end of the bar.
His hair’s a touch grayer than I remember, but that’s where time stopped bothering with him.
Firmly planted in that mid-generation sweet spot—old enough to be respectable, young enough to still get away with questionable decisions. He was our unofficial booze supplier, thanks to that perfect balance of "cool uncle" energy and "don’t ask, don’t tell" policies.
When his gaze catches mine, recognition lights up his face. His smile stretches wider, and he nods, raising his beer in a silent, easygoing salute.
“When did your uncle get back?” I ask, returning my focus to Everett drying high-ball glasses with the practiced ease he learned in the years following college—his nomad years—otherwise known as the running from Sierra years.
“A month or so ago, about the time my dad announced he’s permanently handing me the keys to the kingdom.”
I glance at his uncle, now laughing with Cleo at the end of the bar. “And he’s… cool with that?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? He’s never been interested in running the place but likes to stay busy, so with Aunt Rosie gone, he’s helping me renovate. Keeps him out of trouble.”
“Wait—where’s Aunt Rosie? She didn’t…”
“Die?” Everett barks out a laugh. “No. Let’s just say whatever happened was mutual. He won’t spill, but judging by the way he’s working through every available skirt in this town, he’s more than fine.”
“Ah, a true Morgan recovery plan,” I smirk. “They teach that alongside ski lessons or what?”
“Pretty much. I’d like to think it’s genetic. I bet you’re glad you left your skirt at home, aren’t ya?”
He gives me a fucking wink meant for—anyone but me. Must need the practice since it’s the same one he uses to charm women straight out of their clothes after he uses my moves to get them to his room.
Funny how just two days ago, I was ready to brutally murder him for those.
Now I just want to smack him around a little, big brother style.
“Yeah, not sure I can handle your Uncle Seth. You remember that New Year’s party the year after we graduated? He gave me some advice about what ladies want. I know way too much about your Aunt Rosie now.”
Everett immediately throws a hand up, signaling me to shut the hell up. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this. I already need therapy for the summer I helped her clean out her closet and found her vibrator stash. Now you want to mix that into my mental soup? Hard pass.”
“Now those images are mixing in mine. Appreciate it,” I say with a pained laugh before taking another sip of my drink.
“I’ve gotta say, man, night and day difference between you now and a few years ago when you came up to lick your wounds.”
“Doesn’t take much to look better than the pile of shit I looked like when I cruised into town then.” I'd finally found out the extent of my ex-wife’s cheating and filed for divorce. I knew I was on borrowed time to tell my parents before they found out on their own.
I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let my father try to reduce me to some dumb kid who hid from the truth and responsibility.
But first, a bender so fucked up it carried a significant risk of death and altered my brain chemistry.
Actually...
I steal a glance out of the corner of my eye at my current bender where she throws back her head in laughter at something Eve says. The line of her jaw where it meets the shallow valley of her neck just begs for my mouth.
Her head tilts just so…
Yup, that’s the spot right there.
Definitely fucked.
Significant risk of death by big bro rage or lock cock.
That's a thing, right?
And for-fucking-sure, it's altered my brain chemistry.
Everett hums, that knowing fucking hum of his, as his gaze flicks toward Holly. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s her or anything…”
I stop my glass halfway to my mouth and pin him with a mind-your-own-damn-business glare.
Yeah, not going to admit it, guy.
When I finally confess, there’s only one man I owe the truth to and an apology.
“Sure, right about the time you finally admit that you and Sierra have unfinished business.” I toss back the rest of my drink after dropping the bomb. That should wipe the smirk off his face.
Everett’s smile slips for a short, unsatisfying second before he slaps it back into place and lies to us both. “No unfinished business. She made her choices.”
“So that’s it. They’re written in stone, then? By that logic, I’d still be with Noelle.”
He shrugs. “Marriages on paper are a thing.”
“Bite your fucking tongue clean off, asshole.” He knows firsthand how fucked up I was during that time.
Apparently, my barb hit harder than he wanted to admit, but still—fuck.
It all goes away tomorrow because the truth will be out. But for him, who knows how long he and Sierra will do this dance.
I’m definitely giving him back the shit he likes to dish out.
Everett laughs and tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Oooh, testy tonight. Well, then, you aren’t going to want to turn around.”
“Yeah, why’s th?—”
The words die on my tongue when I turn to Holly and find Everett’s uncle strolling over, casual as can be, but for the inferno of interest in his eyes.
Interest locked on Holly where she's perched on the window seat, her legs tucked under her, glowing under the twinkling lights sweeping across the window, as she laughs at something Eve says.
Fucking dick-swinging Morgan men.
“She’s got a target painted on her forehead,” Everett says lightly. “Or, you know, her lips.”
Every muscle in my shoulders locks.
Son of a bitch!
About five feet above her and partially obscured by the string lights—the goddamn mistletoe hanging like a fucking omen.
“My uncle has excellent aim. You gonna stand here and let him take his shot, or are you gonna handle that?”
I snag my phone from my pocket and bring up my gallery.
Yup, there it is, right at the top.
Time-stamped two hours and fourteen minutes ago. The mistletoe over the entry to the great room.
Because this is what I’ve been reduced to.
Tracking a mistletoe.
Collecting evidence.
Glancing up at the exact area now, and… no mistletoe. “The fuck?”
Slamming my glass down, I slide off the stool when something catches my attention from my peripherals.
A tool belt propped along the wall at the end of the bar.
The hammer.
Oh, I’ll handle it.
Curling my hand around the handle, I flashback to the way Holly gripped this very fucking hammer from the looks, and set everyone straight.
Most of all me.
Yeah, this would do. This would fucking do nicely.
I test the weight, adjust my grip, and tear up the distance between me and the goddamn problem.
By the time Seth leans into her—too fucking close and too fucking charming—with his hand braced against the ledge next to her head, I’m there.
Barely registering Holly’s widened eyes, I slide between her and Everett’s uncle, keeping her tucked firmly behind me.
Uncle Seth's grin widens, and I'm moving before I can stop myself my face stopping just inches in front of him.
"Chance? What are you?—"
“No.” It’s low and rough—a demand, a declaration—a single-syllable warning in a tone conveying any number of nightmare scenarios for Uncle Seth’s untimely death. “She’s taken.”
Seth’s grin widens, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Easy there, Chance. Just thought I’d do my part. You know, tradition and all that.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my jaw clenching until my teeth ache. "Find another tradition."
He chuckles, unbothered. “If you say so.” Leaning around me, he tips an imaginary hat to Holly. “Ma’am.”
Slick motherfucker.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands—her voice low, but sharp—all while delivering a hell of a poke to my goddamn kidney.
She’s trying to sound indignant, but there’s something else beneath it. Something that sounds a lot like excitement.
“What I should’ve done the after the first damn time.” I spin on her and prop my hand in the same spot Everett’s uncle had.
Each word is a growl of every bit of frustration, pining, lust, and fucking restraint choking me since I walked into that fucking airport and found her on her knees with her ass in the air.
“Yeah, soldier boy… and what’s that?” Her eyes gleam and her lips twitch, right where I kissed her at the bonfire.
Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
In two steps, I’m looming over her, a boot planted on the bench on either side of her hips.
Eve says something, probably another play-by-play, but I can’t distinguish a word, not with the adrenaline surging through me and the deafening pounding of my heart.
This wasn’t an accident.
It was a goddamn masterpiece of self-sabotage.
This angle leaves her mouthwatering throat exposed and stretched tight.
Fire and barely-banked lust simmer in her eyes.
Only overshadowed by raw hunger when her gaze sweeps over my cock, straining against the cargos she’s in a love-hate relationship with.
“Room. Now.”
She glares up at me, her jaw set in fierce defiance. "You're not the boss of me."
"You better run, Squirt." Raising the hammer, I swing and hook the claw around the nailhead with every bit of violence simmering inside from endless days subjected to various forms of torture.
Every form beginning and ending with the same ingredient: Holly fucking McAdams.
Wood splinters.
The hammer catches on the string lights, ripping a series of hooks off the window frame, leaving them drooping in Holly and Eve’s laps.
Our gazes lock.
She’s all fluttering breaths, pretty little mouth hanging open with shock to my chest heaving, jaw tight, teeth gnashing in frustration that’s finally reached its boiling point.
She blinks and whatever showdown we’re locked in ends.
Wonder who won?
She’s shooting off the bench the very next second, but I’m not fooling myself that she’s all of a sudden willing to follow orders.
Not at all.
Somehow, her retreat serves a purpose, and I’m about to find out what that purpose is.
Every bit of reason I pride myself on surrenders to reckless energy that’s out of bounds, beyond reason, and completely unstoppable.
With a yank fueled by a week’s worth of being edged by the evil little bastard swinging overhead, I rip the nail clean out of the wood dragging the mistletoe down with it.
No more pictures to document where this little fucker is.
No more wondering when the next temptation will be shoved in my face.
No more questions from Nick when I kiss her in front of him again.
No. Fucking. More.
Heading for her room, I take the stairs two at a time, hammer clenched in one hand and the mistletoe swinging from my fist in the other.
I throw open her door with a force fueled by blue balls, the ache in my cock unbearable. The sharp crack of wood crashing into the wall is a brutal punctuation as if the room itself is bracing for what’s coming.
We're about to test the limits of damage deposits.
Buckle the fuck up.