Chapter 9
NINE
The morning air was crisp. The trail curved sharply, leading the Adventure Buddies into a dense cluster of trees, their footsteps crunching against fallen leaves. Waylon kept his gaze forward, determined not to let Frankie get under his skin again, but damn if she wasn’t making it hard. He’d done his best to start things on a positive note, from the moment he picked her up. He’d even given her a peace offering. Now, they were arguing, and Waylon couldn’t even remember how it started.
“I’m just saying,” Frankie said, her tone defiant, “not everything has to be about competition or vanity. Some people hike just because they love it.”
Waylon snorted. “Sure, but they aren’t the same ones who carry their tiny dogs in backpacks and post inspirational quotes under pictures of sunrises.”
Frankie stopped mid-stride, her glare sharp enough to cut through bark. “Wow. Way to dismiss anyone who doesn’t live up to your macho mountain-man standards.”
He turned to face her, crossing his arms. “It’s not about standards. It’s about reality. The wilderness doesn’t care about your feelings. Either you’re prepared, or you’re screwed. People who romanticize it are the ones who end up needing a rescue team.”
Frankie stepped closer and jabbed her finger into his chest. “You think I don’t get that? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be unprepared for something life throws at you?”
Her voice cracked slightly, but her fire didn’t dim. It hit him like a blow—raw, honest, and completely unexpected.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growled, feeling his own pulse quicken.
“My problem,” she said, closing the gap between them, “is you standing there like some know-it-all, talking down to me like I’m an idiot.”
“I’m not?—”
“Yeah, you are!”
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing, and before Waylon could stop himself, he grabbed her arm and dragged her off the trail.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, stumbling slightly as he pulled her behind a thick tree trunk away from the other Adventure Buddies, half-thinking he didn’t want to broadcast their fight, half-wanting to be alone with her to savor her anger, her enthusiasm. His body told him in no uncertain terms that it wanted her pressed close against his chest, his lips on hers as his cock hardened.
No way that’s happening .
Once he got her alone, he stared at her, caught between frustration and something he couldn’t name. Her energy was intoxicating, her fury pulled him in.
Before he could find the words, Frankie dropped to her knees in a move so abrupt it left him speechless.
“What the?—”
She stared up at him, her eyes blazing with fury. Then her fingers brushed against his belt buckle, and the world tilted.
“What? What are you doing? Why are you on your…oh…”
His breath caught as she moved so fast he barely registered her hands on him. His pants were suddenly down, and her mouth—hot, soft, demanding—was on his cock.
“Oh, God.” The words slipped out as a half-moan. How did she move so fast? That thought got obliterated as pleasure slammed into him, white-hot and overwhelming when she sucked him in hard, her tongue teasing his shaft, circling the tip, and she moaned.
“What is this? A grudge blowjob?” He tried to pull away, even as he laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but she wouldn’t let him. Her lips tightened around his cock, and God help him, she actually growled like a wild animal guarding her meal. The sound sent a jolt of lust straight through him, and before he could stop himself, his hands tangled in her short curls, his hips thrusting. He fucked her sassy mouth. Her gorgeous lips, her magic tongue, all his now, all he wanted. Everything.
How? How could it feel this good?
“Frankie…” His voice cracked as she moved with him, taking him deeper. The woman who hated him—he was sure of it, or had been up until this moment—repositioned until she took his entire cock inside her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat. She was incredible, all fire and velvet.
Her gaze locked on his, no longer furious but lit with something else. Laughter? Challenge? His heart leaped in his chest as a strange feeling of familiarity and warmth flooded him. But of course she was familiar; he’d spent his Saturdays with her.
What a weird thought to have .
Before he could wonder anymore, her head bobbed faster and he groaned.
“Ah, Frankie, yeah, just like that. God, that feels amazing. So damn good, baby. Oh, fuck, fuck …can’t hold back…”
His body shuddered, pleasure ripping through him as the world blurred. For a fleeting second, he thought he’d never felt this good, this complete.
Then he blinked, and it was gone .
“No, no, no ,” he groaned, waking up as he ground his cock against his wadded-up bed sheets and blankets, jetting all over them. Waylon grabbed his cock and stroked himself through the last of his powerful orgasm. When he got his breath under control, he growled at the mess he’d made.
“What the hell was that?”
The answer was obvious—and infuriating.
Frankie .
Waylon scrubbed a hand over his face, sweat slick on his skin. What am I, a teenager?
Except even as a teenager, he’d never come that hard. His still-hard cock throbbed in time with his heart banging against his chest. It wanted more. He hadn’t come in his sleep for at least a decade. Then again, he hadn’t had a long dry spell like this one, either. That explained it.
“But why her, you idiot?” he asked his cock. It twitched at the mere thought of Frankie, at remembering her in his dream. God, it was so vivid that if Waylon didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn the mischievous little pixie had sneaked into his room, played with him mercilessly, then vanished the moment he started to come.
“Dude, you’re not supposed to like her.”
Especially ever since she left the rec center. The way she’d casually tagged him on the arm and turned away. Just walked off like she hadn’t zapped him with an emotional cattle prod straight to the heart.
Sorry, but I have a date .
He’d felt a surge of heat and cold shoot through his entire body at once, like he’d been electrocuted by a lightning bolt made of icicles.
A date?
Date? As in dating? A guy?
Oh, shit. Am I jealous?
I’m jealous.
Shit.
All he could do was tell her No problem .
And let her go.
That’s the important thing, isn’t it? I let her go.
A traitorous vision of her eyes flashed through his mind. Not angry, only warm, laughing eyes. Beautiful beyond belief. That weird feeling of familiarity returned, as if she reminded him of someone. He ached to know who. He also tried to remember what ‘peace offering’ he’d given her in the dream. Something small and ordinary but important somehow that he’d pulled out of his pocket. He felt like if he could just remember what it was, he’d know who she reminded him of.
Sighing in frustration and a strange feeling of loss, Waylon got out of bed, tore off the sheets, and dropped them into the laundry hamper. Then he plodded into the bathroom. He was already naked, so after taking a piss, he went straight into the shower. His cock woke back up as warm water hit it. Snippets of the dream came rushing back, taunting him. The way her mouth felt, her lips stroking his cock, her heat, her sexy moans.
But it wasn’t really her. It was just a dream .
Didn’t matter to his cock.
Waylon tried to concentrate on other parts of the dream, hoping to settle his dick down. He snorted when he remembered their argument—he couldn’t see Frankie caring one way or another about influencers hiking only for the selfies, or himself caring enough to fight about it. That must have come from his first impression of her, thinking she was some sort of vegan.
You think I don’t know what it’s like to be unprepared for something life throws at you?
Now that was more like the real Frankie. Waylon felt his face turn hot, as if she’d really said those words to him, like he didn’t understand or care what she’d been through.
“Just a dream, dude.”
And he went straight back to the vision of Frankie sucking him off, her eyes on fire with lust. His cock jumped.
It was one thing to have a wet dream about someone who wasn’t interested in you. That was beyond his control. It was another thing to actively jerk off to a fantasy about them. No way Frankie would ever know, but it still felt like a violation.
Something a stalker would do .
That unwanted thought shut his cock down faster than a bucket of ice water as shame flooded him. Waylon quickly finished his shower and got dressed.
“Fuck, I’m running late.” He’d never get to her house on time, and that bothered him. It was rude.
He grabbed his pack and a protein bar and went out to his truck. He checked the address again, even though he had it memorized the moment he read the scrap of paper she’d given him. As soon as he’d gotten home, he’d looked it up on the street view of an online map. Her rental house was tiny but in good shape and the neighborhood looked like a safe one. He’d almost asked Shane to double check its safety since Watchdog had the resources beyond an online real estate report. Waylon had told himself there was nothing wrong with making sure a woman living on her own was safe, especially a little pixie-sized woman with no family in town.
He’d picked up the phone to call Shane but stopped himself just before he hit the call button. That was going too far he told himself. Back the fuck off .
As he drove to her place, Waylon remembered his surprise at seeing Frankie in the weight room and clenched his jaw. Elias had totally set him up. He didn’t appreciate that one bit, firstly because Elias had been asking him about Frankie non-stop between call outs at work, not taking Waylon at his word that there was absolutely no chance he’d be dating his Adventure Buddy.
“Just performing my wingman duties,” Elias had said in the back of the rig after they’d taken a patient to the emergency room on Monday.
Waylon scoffed. “That’s only appreciated at Cocks and Strippers, brother. Not with someone I have to spend time with every single weekend for the next month or so.”
“I can’t think of a better time to be a wingman,” Elias countered.
Waylon ignored that, pretending to be absorbed with charting on his tablet—as if anyone ever loved that part of healthcare. And his thoughts kept drifting back to how light Frankie had felt in his arms, like he was cradling thistledown.
“Stop ignoring me,” Elias said.
Waylon set the tablet aside. “The only reason she’s sticking with the club is for Stephanie’s sake. Same with me.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive. Frankie outright told me.” And it shouldn’t have mattered to Waylon, but when she’d made her reasons clear on the way back to the rec center, he’d felt an unfamiliar pang of loss, one that sent him practically running off the bus.
“Eh, people change their minds all the time,” Elias said with a nonchalant smile.
“Not in this case, brother. I say this with all due respect, but lay off. There’s nothing there now and there won’t be when this is over.”
The other, perhaps bigger reason Waylon didn’t appreciate being blindsided at the rec center was because that meant Frankie was also blindsided. He could tell the moment she looked up at him when he walked in—the shock in her eyes, the way her hand went straight to her hair. She was obviously self-conscious of it, though Waylon had no idea why. She had dark, glossy hair, short of course, because it was growing back out. He could only imagine how beautiful it would be once it cascaded over her shoulders in waves. Hell, it was cute now, the way it stood up in some places and curled in others.
Pixie .
He’d turned to see if Elias was in the least bit sorry he’d put Frankie on the spot like that, and it was apparent the asshole didn’t regret it in the least. Hell, he was gloating. Waylon gave his brother the stink eye, then looked back at Frankie to reassure her he hadn’t meant for this to happen.
Too late—she was glaring at him with those incredible eyes, issuing a challenge. Didn’t matter how tiny she was, her eyes held all the fierceness of the bravest warrior. If he were back on the battlefield, he’d think twice before fighting a soldier who looked at him like that. He’d undoubtedly lose the fight. God, he admired her at that moment; no wonder she’d beat cancer. He couldn’t help smiling.
And when Wren had grabbed Frankie’s hand and pulled her up, he felt his heart thud against his chest. Frankie wasn’t friendless in Colorado anymore. She’d been swept into the pack as fast as Wren had been, thanks in part to Waylon pushing Elias into admitting his feelings for her.
Shit . If Elias thought this Adventure Buddy situation was even remotely like his with Wren, he was completely wrong. Elias and Wren had been love at first sight—something Waylon didn’t believe in.
Not anymore. Not for a long, long time.
Hard to keep that in mind as they played Pickleball. He loved watching her in action. She wasn’t about to let anything or anyone stop her as she sent the ball flying back at him time after time. He found himself thinking, if only we’d met before. The adventures we would’ve had .
He couldn’t help his heart speeding up when Wren invited her to Bear and Ellie’s. He could spend a little more time with her without freaking her out. Just a group of friends getting together, not a date.
I don’t deserve to date .
Especially not when Frankie was already dating someone else .
He turned the corner onto Frankie’s street.
Whoa. Nice Corvette parked in front of her house.
Waylon grinned. “Maybe I’ll let her drive us after all.”
He pulled up behind it and looked at her porch.
Where he saw Frankie’s boyfriend. And Frankie herself, holding a dozen roses.