6. War
CHAPTER SIX
war
Outwardly, I’m all cool confidence as I wrap a towel around Laramie. Internally, though, there’s a loud, blaring voice that sounds similar to my father screaming, “ What are you doing? This isn’t you.” I grit my teeth, fighting to dislodge his disapproving words.
I took a stand today, a stand last week. My life isn’t a spiraling mess. Today is the first step in making my future what I want it to be, and what I want right now is to go out with this woman.
This woman I just met. This woman who asked me out. On a date I agreed to with no planning. No groundwork. No suit. Shit.
“Having second thoughts?” I release the slowly tightening grip I have on her arms. “Did I freak you out? You can say no.”
“No!” I startle us both with my yell. Taking a deep breath, I regroup. “No. I want to go out with you, but I only have my gym clothes.”
Her chocolate brown eyes study me, raking me over from head to toe. “I have an idea for that, but you’ll have to trust me. Give up some of that control you seem to cling to.”
“What makes you think I’m controlling?”
“People and horses aren’t all that different.” Her head slants as she continues to scrutinize me. “You learn to read them. The way they carry themselves, the subtle movements and—” She smiles. “Let’s say… quirks that give them away.”
“And what did I give away?” I’m genuinely curious. She’s not wrong. Everything in my life has been so carefully orchestrated since I was born that I cling to the control I do have. Things like my apartment, my car, my clothing. In bed. I’m also controlling at work, double and triple-checking every document that comes across my desk. Holding tight to the company’s social media.
Or at least I did. I guess that’s all gone now.
Laramie’s sweet drawl calls me back. “There’s the way you frown at Dr. Panter when she corrects your form during an exercise. The way your eye is still ticking over my suggestion we go out today.” She grasps my wrist, looking at the watch face. “The way you fiddle with that ridiculously expensive watch as if knowing the time, date, and what’s probably the planet’s current orbital location can give you control.”
Damn, she’s got a read on me. I can’t decide if I like that or find it unnerving. Laramie’s thumb caresses my cheek. “Hey, Pretty Boy, there’s nothing wrong with needing or wanting control.” She leans in so her lips graze mine. “But there’s also nothing wrong with letting go.”
I step closer, touching as much of her as I can without outright groping her in the aquatic therapy room. My mouth chases hers as she takes a half-step.
“So what’s it going to be? In or out?” Her teasing tone and the smirk on her full lips have me in her thrall.
Swallowing, I answer. “In.” All in, Trouble. All in.
I tug at the fitted jeans Laramie coaxed me into at some discount big-box store before climbing into her truck. This is so far out of my comfort zone I may as well be on another planet. She asked me out. She’s driving. She picked my clothes. She paid for them.
Pursing my lips, I mutter, “I look dumb.”
“Stop grumbling! You look sexy.” Her appreciative gaze rakes over me. “I bet I could bounce a dime off your ass. And don’t get me started on your thighs.” She waggles her eyebrows. This woman. She is definitely like no one else I’ve met.
Running my sweaty palms over the denim, I ask, “Where are you taking me that this…” I gesture to the pearl-snap shirt and jeans. “...is an appropriate outfit?”
“Stir-ups.”
My brow crinkles in a silent question.
“A fantastic little dive bar that serves the best steak fingers you’ve ever eaten.”
I snort. “The only steak fingers I’ve ever eaten.”
Laramie glances at me as she pulls off the highway and onto a narrow, two-lane road. “Oh, War, you poor, deprived thing. You’ve really never had a steak finger?”
“Well, we had a cook growing up, and steak fingers weren’t exactly on the menu.”
“That’s a damn shame. I’m happy to help you pop your steak finger cherry.”
“The mouth on you.”
“You don’t know the half of what my mouth can do.” She winks before returning her eyes to the road. “Am I too much for you? Because this is who I am. Like it or lump it.”
I itch to lace my fingers in her hair and kiss her until she’s flushed and writhing. The image of Laramie splayed out before me, that sassy mouth commanding me to please her, has me gritting my teeth in a futile attempt at keeping some of my blood above my belt. My voice is rough when I finally answer. “I like it.”
I don’t miss the way she bites her lower lip or squirms in her seat. My chest swells at her reaction to my words. To me. Laramie is a breath of the freshest air I’ve ever inhaled.
“So tell me more about you, War. Besides being a former swimmer who injured himself in the water, what do you do?”
I weigh my words. “I worked for my dad at Phillips Construction, which you already know, but recently, I decided to branch out on my own.” Not a lie… today is recent, and being disowned means I have no choice but to branch out.
“Really? I figure a family business like that, you’d take the reins from your father in a few years.”
“My father and I have different visions, and it was time for me to find where else my strengths lie.”
Her eyes cut to me. “My dad owns a stud farm, sir; I know horseshit.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “Damn, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“Nope. Want to tell me what you mean behind the corporate double-speak?”
Do I want to tell her? Tell her how I betrayed my sister for years and only just grew brave enough to stick up for her and myself? How I’ve been railroaded and bullied into a career I didn’t want, a life I’d never have chosen for myself?
When I don’t answer, her hand drops from the steering wheel and squeezes my thigh. “No pressure. You don’t owe me any answers. If you’re happy with where you’re headed, that’s all that matters anyway.” She slows the truck as we pull up in front of a building that more closely resembles a shack than any sort of business. “You ready?”
“This is the place?” The bar sits catty-corner to a questionable motel and nothing else. It’s as if the two buildings sprang out of the earth in the middle of nowhere. Competing garish neon signs fritz in and out, and the pock-marked parking lot is full of worn gravel and pickups that look like Laramie’s.
“Yep.”
I consider snapping a selfie in front of this ramshackle bar and sending it to my parents to show them how far I am, physically and emotionally, from the man I’ve always been. Instead, I nod. “Let’s go.”
As we enter the smoky, crowded space, I’m thankful for my outfit. I blend in with everyone here. If I’d shown up in a suit, I would have stuck out like a sore thumb. I rest my hand on Laramie’s lower back and whisper, “Good call on the clothes.”
“I’ve got you.”
Those words settle over me, calming my nerves while stoking the embers of my want for her. She’s got me. In more ways than she even knows. Shaking my head, I try to ignore the unfamiliar feelings powering through me. I don’t do fast. Instant connections are for fairy tales and people who deserve them, like Tuesday.
“Hey, Noah, we’ll take two house shots, two waters, and two of whatever you’ve got on tap tonight.” Laramie is perfectly at ease, sliding up to the bar. And fucking hot in painted-on boot-cut jeans and a fitted button-up shirt. Her eyes glitter beneath the brim of her cowboy hat, and her long, shiny brown hair cascades down her back in waves. It isn’t a look I’m normally drawn to, but on Laramie, it’s got me hard as a rock .
“Sure thing, darlin’. You eating too?” I clench my jaw at his overly familiar pet name and press into Laramie’s side.
Without missing a beat, she slips her hand into my back pocket as she answers, “Hell, yes. Two specials. We’ll be in the corner.” Before I can process that she ordered for us, she’s leading me across a floor coated with sawdust and peanut shells. Twangy music plays over the speakers, and a handful of people dance off to the side of the bar. Others call out to her in greeting. Laramie waves but doesn’t pause on her trek.
When we reach the dimly lit back corner, Laramie tosses her hat onto the table and slides into a curved booth with worn vinyl, patting the seat. When I hesitate, her eyes soften. “You good? I promise I won’t bite—unless you’re into that.”
“Damn, I am so far out of my comfort zone.” Despite the boisterous crowd, Laramie hears my mumbled words.
“Hey, if you hate it, we can go. No hard feelings. I get this probably isn’t your usual scene.”
I huff and settle next to her, hooking my arm around her shoulder. Something about touching her feels so right. “No, it isn’t, but maybe that’s a good thing. What exactly did you order?”
“The house shots are just the worst, cheapest tequila you’ve ever tasted served with lime and salt. Tap will be something light and watered down. Tonight’s special is the previously promised steak fingers and water…” She grins. “Do I need to explain that one?”
“You’re such a smart ass.” Without thinking, I drop a kiss to her head and breathe in her subtle and surprisingly floral scent. I freeze, waiting for her reaction, but all Laramie does is snuggle into my chest. Clearing my throat, I say, “The bartender seemed to know you. Are you a regular?”
“Only when I’m in town. I travel a lot during the year, but when I’m at home, I stop here at least once a week. ”
I’m about to ask her why she travels so much when an older waitress with a tired, kind smile drops a tray on our table. “Hey there, Laramie.”
“Hi, Dolores. How’s Mel?”
Our waitress—Dolores—snorts and waves a weathered hand. “You know that old SOB. He’s as ornery as ever.” Dolores leans in and pats Laramie’s hand. “We both think it’s a real damn shame about your arm. You’d have taken the title this year; I know it.”
Laramie’s entire body stiffens, her weight shifting slightly as tension pulls her shoulders toward her ears. “There’s always next year, right?” Her words are stilted and practiced, and I’m reminded of myself at shareholder meetings promising returns on investments regardless of the state of the economy.
Thanking Dolores, I snag the shots and pass one to Laramie. “How about you show me how this is done, Trouble?”
The relief in her body is instant, and she shifts her attention from Dolores’ retreating form back to me. “You’ve never done a tequila shot? Maybe instead of Pretty Boy, I should call you Sheltered Boy.”
A barking laugh rumbles out of me, and I lean into her, dropping to a whisper. “I have done shots before, but you looked like you needed an out. Want to talk about it?”
“Nope, but I do want to lick this salt off you and then suck this lime from your lips.”
My mouth drops open, and Laramie takes advantage, sliding the lime between my teeth.
“You okay with this?”
At my nod, my brazen cowgirl snags my arm and rolls up my sleeve. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, she licks the thin skin of my inner wrist. The warm wetness of her tongue has me dropping my head against the warped padding of the booth.
If it feels this good when she licks my wrist, I may not survive having her mouth anywhere else. My mind paints a vivid picture. One of Laramie on her knees, guiding my hands to her head before opening to take me deep. What a way to go.
“Welcome to the afterlife, Warren Phillips. What brings you here?”
“Death by blowjob.”
I reach beneath the table and discreetly adjust my cock. If these goddamn pants weren’t so tight, I could hide it better. As it stands, anyone within ten feet can see exactly what this woman does to me.
The lime wedge barely stifles my moan when her sweet tongue runs up my skin once more. She drains the shot and leans forward, her lips pressing to mine as she sucks the sliced fruit.
It’s over far too quickly. My cock throbs, and I swear I’ll let her use my body for all her eating and drinking needs from now on if it means putting her mouth on me again.
“Your turn.” Laramie slowly parts her lips, allowing me to slide the lime wedge into her mouth. She offers me her wrist, and I mirror her actions, relishing the taste of her.
My pulse pounds as I lap up each grain of salt, throw back the shot, and capture her mouth, draining the lime dry.
She wasn’t lying; this is the cheapest, nastiest tequila I’ve ever had, and nothing has ever tasted better.
When I break away, her pupils have eaten up the brown of her eyes, leaving them like midnight without a moon. Laramie’s hand cups the back of my head and she pulls me in, her fingers grasping the short hair at my nape. The kiss is demanding, hungry, and perfect. There’s no gentle exploration. It’s a mutual conquering. Each of us taking and giving, battling and conceding control.
She tastes like lime and the sharp bite of the tequila, and this just became the best date I’ve ever been on.
It isn’t until a gentle cough sounds that we break apart. “You two wanna come up for air? Or at least for food?” Dolores gives us a cheeky smirk.
“You have the worst timing.” Laramie laughs, fanning her flushed cheeks as she takes our order from the waitress.
“Oh, to be young and beautiful again. All caught up in those first-date flutters.”
“I’ve seen you and Mel; you two are disgustingly in love.”
Dolores blushes. “Alright, enough of that. Can I get you anything else?”
“Three more rounds of shots, please.”
Three more? She really might be trying to kill me—or make me come in my pants.
When Dolores drops the drinks off, Laramie crooks a finger. I offer her my wrist, but she shakes her head. Then, with a slow smirk, she says, “Not there.” She tilts my head and laps at the side of my neck before sprinkling salt there. This time when she goes to lick my skin, she nips too, then soothes away the sting before downing her shot.
Desire, desperate and hot, courses through me when Laramie cants her head, exposing the slender column of her neck. Like it has a mind of its own, my hand settles around her throat, my thumb skimming over her pulse point. I love the way it paces at my touch. At her shudder, I lean in. Instead of licking, I place an open-mouth kiss on her neck. Followed by a second one. And a third for good measure. Only when she’s squirming and making soft, needy sounds do I sprinkle the salt on her skin.
Hours pass in a blur. Talking, laughing, lingering touches. Kisses that almost reach the point of no return. Before I know it, we’ve downed shots three and four. Who knew steak fingers and cheap tequila pair together so well? Throughout the meal, the salt has found new and unique places to be licked from, and the time spent sucking the juice from the lime has grown.
“I need to share this with Manon, my parents’ cook.” I fight back a hiccup as I drag a French fry through a mixture of cream gravy and ketchup before feeding it to Laramie, groaning when she nibbles the tips of my fingers.
“Told ya. Food of the gods. Or at least of the hungry and tipsy.”
When Dolores clears the baskets—not plates—from the table, I slump against the booth, nursing the warm beer Laramie ordered when we first arrived. I clear my throat. “Do you have anything else planned for the evening? If not, I’ll call us a car.” At her single raised eyebrow, I add, “Separate, of course.”
Laramie’s hand skates up my thigh as she leans closer. The soft brush of her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “How about instead of a car, you get us a room? We can sleep off the tequila at The Rusty Spur? Or, even better…” Her teeth scrape my lobe. “Work it off.”
Holy shit. Who is this woman, and how can I convince her to be mine?