Chapter 12
Twelve
Lane
“I can’t believe you won,” I huff, arms crossed over my chest in fake annoyance as we cross the dimly lit parking lot, our boots echoing against the asphalt.
Did I actually think I’d win? Not really. But a tiny, desperate hope had flickered that beginner’s luck might favor me. Turns out, ax-throwing is way harder than it looks. Every swing, every spin, every thunk against the wood proving it.
Jameson pulls my door open when we reach his Bronco, something I could very much get used to. “I wasn’t going to let you pay me back either way, baby,” he murmurs smoothly, closing the door with a muted thunk before rounding the hood.
Baby.
Normally, I don’t like that term of endearment; it feels too generic, too overused. But when he says it, in his deep timbre, goosebumps spread over my body. My thighs press together instinctively, and I shift in my seat, trying to play it cool. But yeah, I like it. Way more than I should.
Jameson slides behind the wheel, the leather creaking beneath him. “I figured you wouldn’t,” I mutter, sinking back in my seat.
He turns toward me, the streetlights casting shadows across his handsome face, his eyes darkening. “Then why did you bet me? Did you hope I’d ask for a kiss, Wildflower?”
My breath hitches. Jesus. That voice, that look. My whole body hums like he’s tuned me to a frequency only he can hear.
I look away as heat rushes to my cheeks, my ability to form words becoming nonexistent.
His tone sharpens just enough to make me obey. “Eyes up here, Lane.” My eyes snap to his. “Did you hope I’d ask for a kiss?”
Did I? Is that what I was hoping for?
“I-I don’t know.” I stammer, because I don't. I don’t know anything at this moment.
He doesn't speak, doesn’t move. His eyes hold mine, pinning me in place.
I squirm under the heat of his gaze. How am I supposed to function when he’s looking at me like that?
“Yes.” The word slips out in a rush, shaky and raw.
“Good girl.” He turns the key, the engine roaring to life.
I press my thighs together, the vibration making the ache worse. I never thought I had a praise kink, but the wetness between my thighs says otherwise. In fact I would say yes to just about anything right now just to hear him call me a good girl again.
By the time we’re standing on my front porch, the cool night air against my overheated skin, I’m dizzy with want and anticipation.
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “I had fun tonight,” I say, my voice too quick, too nervous.
He smirks knowingly, his right hand coming up to cradle my face. His thumb grazes across my lipstick-stained mouth, smearing the color with a featherlight stroke. My lips tingle in his wake. “Are you waiting for me to kiss you, Lane?”
I nod, biting my lip.
“Use your words, baby,” he commands, his voice dropping.
Velvet edged with steel. He guides me back until my spine presses against the cool wood of the door, his body heat enveloping me.
He braces his left hand above my head, caging me in.
“Is that why you’re so nervous? Because you want me to kiss you? ”
“Y-yes.”
The word has barely left my lips before his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss isn’t soft or tentative, it’s all-consuming. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, urging me to open. When I do, a low growl reverberates from deep in his chest, vibrating against my skin.
I fist the back of his shirt, the fabric soft and warm beneath my fingers, dragging him close. The clean mix of soap, whiskey, and leather that clings to him. His tongue tangles with mine. Demanding. Teasing.
He nips at my bottom lip, then soothes with a swipe of his tongue. When his hard length presses against my stomach, a needy moan slips out before I can stop it, swallowed by his mouth.
Weeks of fantasizing about him crumble into insignificance. Nothing I imagined prepared me for this; the heat, the need, the all-consuming pull of him.
I roll my hips against him, a soft whimper getting caught in my throat. He tears his mouth away and presses his forehead to mine, his breathing ragged. “I have to go, Wildflower.”
I pant, my body burning with need. “What? Why?”
He pulls back just enough for his eyes to lock with mine, molten and unsteady. “Because if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to take you inside and fuck you until neither of us can walk.”
Heat blooms from my center. “I want you to fuck me,” I murmur, my voice breathy.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, chuckling low and dark. “Don't worry, baby, I plan on fucking you, just not tonight.” His fingers trail down the side of my neck, leaving heat in their wake. “Go on another date with me, Lane.”
I want to say yes, but hesitation claws at me, fear threatening to smother the desire.
He senses it. His hand comes back up to cup the side of my face, voice softening. “It’s just another date, Lane. Just like tonight. Nothing to be afraid of.”
I chew my bottom lip. That’s easy for him to say. He’s probably never been hurt by someone who was supposed to protect him.
“How about this? We take it one date at a time. No rush, no expectations.”
“Okay,” I breathe out. I wait for the panic to creep in. It doesn’t come.
He leans in, his lips brushing softly against mine. He lingers a beat before pulling back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He pulls away, hand slipping from my face, and I miss the warmth immediately. I lean against the door frame, eyes trailing him as he crosses the gravel path and slides into his truck. He drives off, taillights disappearing into the quiet night.
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes from the now empty street and walk inside.
“Tell me everything!”
Kam’s voice explodes out of the dark, and I stumble back, slamming into the door. “Jesus Christ, Kam!” I snap. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Kam emerges from the living room, and I make a mental note to start leaving every light in the house on. She cocks her head to the side, looking at me as if I’m the crazy one in this situation. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be here waiting to hear every detail?”
I give her a pointed look. “I’m taking your key back,” I mutter and head to the kitchen, suddenly in desperate need of a very large glass of wine.
She follows, sliding into a stool at the island as I pull a wine glass down from the cabinet.
“Lane, it’s your first date in forever. I just wanted to make sure it went well and be here in case you needed me.
I may have gotten overly excited when I saw him kissing you within an inch of your life.
But truly, I’m here because I’m your best friend and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. ”
I exhale, pulling down a second wine glass, setting them on the island with a soft clink. “It was a pretty great kiss,” I admit, unable to fight the grin that spreads across my face.
“TELL. ME. EVERYTHING!” she squeals, practically bouncing out of her seat as I slip onto the stool beside her and pour us each a glass that’s well above the recommended serving size.
I lean forward, elbows on the counter, voice dripping with excitement. “He took me ax-throwing.”
Kam sips her wine, lips pursed. “We were supposed to do that,” she whines
I cock my head, giving her a look. “Kam, we were never going to go ax-throwing. Just like we were never going to learn archery. Neither of us has any hand-eye coordination. I proved that tonight.”
I recount the entire date, from the bet to the stolen kisses, to the heated glances and teasing banter. It’s easy to open up with Kam. I feel like someone finally sees me, not just the armor I’ve built to survive.
When I’m finished she gives me a teasing grin. “Look at you, saucy minx. Making a wager to kiss him.”
I roll my eyes, taking a sip to cover my grin. “I was just trying to get him to let me pay him back.”
“The lipstick smeared around your mouth says otherwise,” she smirks pointing at my mouth.
Damn it. I forgot about that. I set my wine down, and grab a paper towel, wiping my mouth clean. “Thanks for telling me sooner,” I mutter sarcastically.
She sits back, crossing her legs, completely at ease. Wine glass dangling from her hand. “So why aren’t you and Jameson currently naked and tangled in your sheets?”
I cross my arms, eyes narrowing. “What would you have done if he had come in?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Gone out the back door.”
“I’m a little terrified you had an exit strategy in place.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. With the way you two were going at it on the porch, I could have walked out the front door, and you wouldn’t have noticed me. Which brings us back to the question of why you are alone.”
I pick my wine back up and take a large swallow, giving myself a moment. “He wants to take me out again.”
“By the smile he was wearing when he left, I assume you said yes, so why do you sound so unsure?”
Her question hangs heavy. I’ve been debating this for weeks. I can’t give her Ceciley’s story, but I can give her Lane’s.
I straighten, steeling my spine. “I was married.”
The words taste like iron on my tongue, hanging heavy between us.
I take another gulp of my wine, this one for courage.
I expect the words to get lodged in my throat, but the second I open my mouth they flow out like Kam was always meant to hear them.
“He was abusive. Both mentally and physically. That’s why I don’t date.
I’m afraid any man I let in will be the same, that they’ll trick me the way he did. ”
The memories rush back sharp as broken glass. Slammed doors, his hand bruising my wrist, the sour taste of fear.
“He was everything I thought I wanted, until we got engaged. It was like a switch flipped. He started controlling what I wore, saying I dressed for other men. He told me what jobs I could take, what friends I could see, even what I should eat. Always with that twisted smile, like he was helping me become ‘better.’”
I drain the rest of my wine, trying to ease the burn in my throat. My chest feels like it's cracking open, but still I continue on, needing to get it all out. To purge it from my system.
“He didn’t start hitting me until after we were married.” Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “And I stayed. For years. I’m ashamed of that. Ashamed I let him strip me down to nothing before I finally left.”
I reach for the bottle, with a shaky hand, but Kam’s covers mine, stopping me. She gently pulls it from my hand and refills both of our glasses, not stopping until the liquid laps at the rim.
Kam’s eyes harden. “I want to kill him.” She grabs my hand, squeezing gently, her voice softening. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I’m sorry I pushed you to go out on dates. I would never have pushed you if I had known that. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, meeting her gaze. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be hiding. I’ve kept men at arm’s length, using hook-ups as armor. But I don’t want to live numb anymore.” My throat tightens, but I force the truth out. “I want Jameson. I want to try.”
Letting Jameson in terrifies me. Every instinct I’ve honed over the last five years screams to keep the walls up, to stay safe, to stay hidden.
But the thought of never letting him in, never giving myself a chance at something real, terrifies me even more.
The fear still lives there, warning my heart to tread carefully, but I want to let him in. I want to stop living in fear and cut the last thread Byron still has wrapped around my life.